“Playing up the Stevie Nicks look today?” Ava smiled as she took in the sight of Ember’s outfit.
“Not all of us can pull off Ozzy Osbourne’s dead bat.” Ember felt the weight of her duffle bag and purse weighing her down.
“Please. This look is more Prince than Sabbath,” Ava teased.
“You’re going to be hot as hell in that,” Ember grunted in reply as Ava popped the trunk. Ember slung the baggage in with all her might, glad to be free of the weight.
“Why thank you Em, that’s kind of the point.” Ava closed the trunk and Ember rolled her eyes as she approached the passenger side.
“Not really what I meant,” she mumbled, leaning against the window of the Impala as the wind blew strands of fiery red hair across her freckled face.
“Have you ever been to a Renaissance festival before?” Ava looked through her aviator shades as they coasted up the highway.
“Of course, I have. Hasn’t everyone?” Ember replied.
“I haven’t,” Ava said seriously.
“Really?” Ember was pleasantly shocked.
“I always wanted to go but none of my friends growing up were dorky enough to come with me. They were too cool for that,” she purred.
Ava turned off onto the exit and the brightly colored Renaissance signs became more apparent.
“They have a lot of this kind of stuff at these things?” Ava asked curiously.
Ember turned. Deciphering Ava’s language was a learned talent.
“What sort of stuff, Ava?” Ember waited for her reply.
“Our sort of stuff,” she answered.
“I don’t recall there being many psychics or fortune tellers, at least not when I went,” Ember answered.
Ava’s bright red lips bore a sinister smile. “Good. That means no competition. No competition means we make better profits.” The red plumage danced in the slight breeze blowing against her short, dark hair.
Ember nodded in agreement.
The shop, which they were told to set-up in, was far better than any tent.
Like most in the Renaissance village, it was wooden, carved, and built for longevity. The same vendors were booked year after year and the chances of getting in were slim to none; there was a huge waiting list. The fact that she and Ava were even called up was a miracle, but then again Gregg would have done anything to impress Ava.
He stood in front of their spot, key in hand, dressed as a page boy, all but salivating over her.
Ember gazed at the expanse of the room as they were let inside.
“I know it's small but it mostly stored merchandise.” Gregg nervously ran a hand through his hair.
“It’s more than big enough Gregg. Really. I can’t say enough how much we appreciate this.” Ember opened the large duffle bag and started unpacking her décor.
Ava set down the butterfly chairs and popped them open.
“Do you have any plants, Gregg?” She looked toward him and Ember could swear she saw sweat on his brow.
“Do I have … plans?” he asked, taken off guard.
Ava rolled her eyes and shot him an annoyed glare. “PLANTS. Not plans. Ferns, flowers, something green?”
Ember pulled out the crystal grid and set it on a shelf behind the chairs before digging through the duffle in search of her box of stones.
Gregg opened his mouth to speak but Ava cut him off, dialing back the tone in her voice. “Never mind, don’t worry about it. We’ll take it from here.” She smiled sweetly.
Gregg swallowed and nodded. “Sure, sure. If you need anything, you have my number. Anything. At all.”
He took a deep breath and looked at Ember. “Maybe you could do a reading for me later?” He raised his eyebrow.
Ember smiled. “Of course. I would love to. Consider it a thank you.” Ember brought out a box and opened it as she dug through, looking for the proper stones for her grid.
When she looked up, Gregg was gone and Ava was scowling at her.
“Really? Consider it a thank you?” Ava crossed her arms.
“You should be nicer to Gregg. After all, he’s the one who called you for this gig in the first place. He could have called anyone. We’re pretty low on the list.” Ember pulled out several clear quartz stones along with some rose quartz and aventurine.
Ava looked over her shoulder. “Aventurine? What’s the idea behind that?” she asked.
“Green. You wanted something green and it is synonymous with fortune and money.” Ember shrugged.
“You’re too good to me Em, you know that?” Ava dug into the duffle and came out with the glass diffuser and several votive holders.
“I know,” Ember answered. It was true.
Ember had been busy nonstop since the festival opened.
They’d only been open for 3 hours and she was already starting to feel drained. Of course, at 11 o’clock in the morning, the sun was almost at its peak, which didn’t help matters. Perhaps two festivals in one day was not such a good idea.
A crowd of people surged by, laughing and talking as they bustled amongst the trees and along the dirt paths, which were lined with pirates, lords, and even some steampunk style characters.
Ember loved to watch the people at these fairs. The atmosphere was infectious and she found herself pretending like it really was another time. If she closed her eyes, for a moment it would feel like it truly was.
Ava bent over, cutting off the view, her hands on her knees, giving Ember an eyeful of bosom.
Ember put her hand up to block the view.
“You look like you need a break Gypsy Rose,” Ava’s voice cut through Ember’s thoughts like a knife through butter.
“What?” Ember blinked. “What did you call me?”
“What? Gypsy Rose? Please tell me you got that reference.”
Ember could see the dark, kohl eye makeup rimming Ava’s eyes had started to smear in the autumn heat. She shook her head and took a deep breath.
“Yes, I got the reference,” she said quickly.
Ava twisted her lips in thought then stood up straight and produced some fresh bills from her pocket. “Go have lunch. Grab some terrible watered down cappuccino made from powder that they’re trying to pass as coffee, get yourself a giant turkey leg, or whatever it is that you actually consume besides coffee, and meet me back here in 30 minutes.”
Ember opened her mouth to speak, but Ava cut her off.
“Shoo. Out with you. You're no good to me as a starving peasant. Now go!” She waved her away with a light smile.
Ember knew better than to argue.
Ember strolled down the dirt path, amid the festival-goers and took in the beautiful scenery around her. The trees loomed above, fractured rivulets of sun peeking through. Her stomach grumbled and Ember suddenly felt peckish. She followed the signs that read ‘Ye Old Café’, hands shoved in the pockets of her skirt. As she turned down the hill, past the stage of performing wenches, she settled her eyes on a small bridge, which read ‘The Kissing Bridge.’
She wasn’t prepared for what she saw there.
The sound of lyres strummed in the distance, and the sign faded from view.
She looked around to discover the congregation of people had also dissipated. The scent of summer rain hung in the air, and the sun cast an amber glow.
Something touched her arm and she jumped in surprise.
No, not something-someone.
Soft lips brushed her ear and a voice whispered. “What do I call you this time, my dear? Aphrodite?” Lips softly kissed her neck. “Joan of Arc?” Fingers peeled back the collar of her blouse, lips leaving warm traces on her collarbone.
Ember felt the weight of this mystery man against her, and although her brain fought to resist every ounce of her being succumbed as if she had lost control of her body entirely.
“Call me yours. That’s the only thing I want you to call me.” Her voice sounded strange to her, even as a familiar heat built inside her very being. “What’s in a name? That whic
h we call a rose, by any other name would smell as sweet.”
Shakespeare. Ember knew the words, even though she had never read anything by him. Not once in her 25 years of life.
“Rose, then. Call yourself Rose. It has a lovely sound, don’t you think?” His fingertips trailed along her skin.
She wanted nothing more than to fall under the waves of his voice.
As she turned around to face him, suddenly, the world was alive with chatter, small children bustling past wearing fairy wings, the air rich with the smell of fried turkey.
Chapter Nine
Ava slung the handles of the collapsed butterfly chairs over her shoulder while Ember zipped up the duffle bag.
“You guys were a hit today.” Gregg offered to carry the bag for Ember, who did not object.
Ava adjusted her aviator sunglasses and smiled. Her red lipstick had amazingly remained in place despite the heat.
“You expected less?” she said as she brushed past Gregg, her studded boots hitting the dirt path with purpose.
Gregg followed in tandem, and Ember slowly meandered down the wooden steps after them.
The chicken pita pocket and coffee had helped, and she felt less drained from the readings, but she still couldn’t shake what happened at the kissing bridge.
When she dreamed of Mr. Blue Eyes, she had watched everything unfold, like some discreet fly on the wall. Her vision had been more like a memory from long, long ago. Visions were just that--sight, though sometimes they were accompanied by sound and smell.
The sunlight on her face, the way her skin came alive at the caress of his touch; she felt it as if it was a part of her, like a living, breathing thing, like muscle memory.
The feel of the man’s fingertips, the pull of her collar, the heat his lips left on her skin ...
It had all felt so very real when he’d whispered in her ear when she’d spoken the words on her own--without hesitation.
Rose, then. Call yourself Rose. It has a lovely sound, don’t you think? The memory of his voice caressed her like a lullaby.
Was it the same Rose who drank gin martinis and read cards in underground speakeasies?
How was she, Ember Rose Stone, involved? She wasn’t clairvoyant, or an empath--she read cards. She interpreted the stories that others brought to her through her deck.
Yet she knew the line of Shakespeare without ever having read it. She knew, despite all logic, that the Mr. Blue Eyes from her dreams was the same Mr. Blue Eyes who had asked her for a reading the other night, and the same Mr. Blue Eyes from her vision--the bartender who could throw a bottle in the air and catch it with his eyes closed.
***
Ember glanced at Ava leaning on her podium, her eyes glued to her phone. Their morning at the Renaissance Festival had run longer than expected, which meant neither of them had time to change. She’d left her red plume in the backseat of the Impala, but despite her fantasy derived attire, she blended right in with the crowd at The Witches Festival. They still had half an hour before the gates were opened to the public. One of the many things Ember appreciated about Ava was her punctuality. The woman was always fashionably early.
“Do you mind if I go take a look around? I promise I’ll be back before the customers are let in.” Ember clutched her purse to her side as Ava glanced up at her with a worn smoky eye.
“You can just say ‘Hey Ava, I’ll be back in a few, going to stretch my legs’ or something. I’m not your mother.” She returned her eyes to her phone.
“Alright then, going to stretch my legs, be back in a few,” she mocked.
Ava grumbled and Ember took off for the fairgrounds.
The Chester County Witches Faire, more affectionately known by residents as The Witches Festival, was one of the fall highlights in Chester. While attendance at haunted houses dwindled, the public seemed to become enamored with witches again, and there was nowhere that showcased that more than here. The festival had grown as interest in modern-day witchcraft rose, and over the last few years the owners had added more vendors, from vegan food trucks to animal rescues, and this year promised to be the biggest yet.
If there was one thing Chester did right, it was Halloween, and what is more Halloween than a witch festival?
Ember took in the aisles of vendor tables one at a time.
Tables full of rocks, precious uncut gems, and jewelry were sprinkled in between booths of canvas tote bags, tie-dyed skirts, booths piled high with books, boxes of oracle decks, candles, and oils.
The smell of sage mingled with patchouli and cedar, fighting for dominance amid the sweet smell of spiced apples and pumpkin. It was heady and thick, and Ember loved it.
She stopped at a booth selling printed clothing, her eyes fixated on a black dress that had several moon phases running vertically down the front. The silver gleaming moons contrasted against the dark fabric caught her eye in a most delightful way. Ember glanced down at her renaissance ensemble, and the decision was made.
“How much for the dress?” Ember asked.
The man sitting on a metal foldout chair looked up from his phone.
“We’re not open yet,” he said.
“I’m working here too.” Ember fished around in her giant tote bag and produced a business card.
The man set down his phone and approached, looking at her card. “Psychic, huh?” He took the card and put it in his pocket.
Ember waited.
“Doesn’t seem your style,” he said as he walked over to the pegboard it hung from.
“I worked at the renaissance fair today. Didn’t really have time to go home and change.” She felt herself blush slightly.
“Tell you what, since you’re a vendor I’ll give you a discount. Forty dollars,” he said, crossing his arms.
“Done. Medium please.” She brought out her wallet.
The man nodded and grabbed a folded dress from the back table, delivering it to Ember with one hand while the other took her money.
“Thanks!” she said, leaving the booth and heading for the restroom.
A shiver edged up her spine as she turned past another booth, which appeared empty. The banner read ‘Rhyan Family Vineyards’, and boasted black smoke with thorns and flowers. The curls of smoke around the thorns and flowers intrigued her. At much closer inspection, she noticed the flowers were roses. Was it purely coincidence? She wondered. After all, roses were quite a popular flower.
She turned into the restroom and locked herself in a stall.
Ember stood in front of the mirror, eyeing the dress’ perfect fit. It fell to her knees and her black Converses blended in well with the look. She pulled out the purple scarf holding her hair back and the long red tresses tumbled out. She smiled at the waves, which were a result of the heat after being kept up.
She shook her hair loose and tucked the scarf in her purse. It wasn’t a female pirate outfit, and it certainly wasn’t a petticoat, but it was more appropriate than what she had arrived in.
Ember slung the tote on her arm and checked her phone. Ten minutes to go before opening. She hurried around the bend, and right into a large figure carrying a heavy crate.
The sound of clinking glass bottles and a string of curses cut the air as Ember fell backward, her bag slugging her in the chest with its weight.
She really needed a better purse.
“Are you alright?” a voice asked with exasperation.
Ember looked up to see the victim of her clumsiness, and her heart almost gave out.
The man’s arms extended from rolled-up black sleeves, gripping a crate containing several bottles of wine. Her gaze traced his toned, defined arms touched with a sun-kissed tan trailing upwards along the line of his broad shoulders. His dark, black hair hung across his face in a poised, elegant sort of way, contrasting the brightness of his cobalt blue eyes.
“Ember …” His voice trailed off.
Like the alignment of the planets or the voices of a hundred souls pushing through the void, Ember knew, with ev
ery ounce of her being, the tower that stood before her.
“Derek …” Her voice formed his name the way burning coals ignited a fire.
Instinctually.
Chapter Ten
Derek set the crate atop the bar set-up, the glasses finding their stability. He reached his hand out to Ember and she took it without thinking.
His steady grip on her hand pulled her up, but her legs gave out anyway, and she fell forward into him with the grace of a wrecking ball.
She could feel herself flush with heat as her face turned six shades of red.
“You know my name, I’m impressed.” He held her at a distance, his brows furrowing.
Ember let go of his hand and stood on her own.
“Lucky guess.” She righted her purse, her fingernails gripping the strap harder than she meant to.
Derek started unloading the bottles from the crate.
“ Derek for short.” Those blue eyes burned into her brain like branding, the timbre of his voice startlingly similar yet not quite the same as the man who stood before her.
“Gin martini, dry please.” She could hear the words in her head, as they forced their way to the surface, on the tip of her tongue.
At a loss for words, Ember tried to clear her mind. Words from visions and eyes from dreams danced together, and when Ember opened her mouth to speak the words that came out of her mouth surprised even herself.
“Gin martini, dry please.”
Derek glanced back at her and the look in his eyes was questionable. Confused.
“I didn’t gauge you as the martini type.” His voice carried a hint of a question as he tucked the crate underneath the bar and nodded in the opposite direction. His voice was softer than she remembered. “It’s almost time to open.”
A Cursed All Hallows' Eve Page 66