by Ashlyn Chase
“Oomph.” She pushed her friend’s shoulders. “Get off of me, you fool.” As much as she pretended to be mad, she wasn’t. It was about time they caught a break.
* * * *
It was Christmas Eve and Brigit hadn’t made the same oversight that she had at Thanksgiving. She’d invited Ethan to her family’s home for Christmas dinner. She even managed to hold back a huge sigh of relief when he said he couldn’t come. Apparently every three years or so, he got to leave the area and go to visit his family in Arizona.
He invited Brigit to join him, but she didn’t feel comfortable doing that just yet. She knew he had a touchy relationship with his dad and stepmom. Truthfully, he seemed relieved when she begged off too. So here she was, sitting on her couch, taking his advice. She had looked for an experienced medium online. She finally found one close enough to meet in person and called her.
“You say you can see spirits already? You just can’t hear them?”
“That’s right.”
“I think you’d be better off with my grandmother. She taught me how to hone my gift and now I’m pretty busy using it.”
“Ah. So is this a gift that runs in your family?”
“Just the women. And it seems to skip a generation. My mother either shut it off or never had it.
Ah! Another person besides Hanna is able to shut it off. How lucky is she? Brigit thought.
The woman continued with, “The men have made it clear that they don’t want it, and act like it’s like a communicable disease.”
She remembered she was hoping to earn some money with this ability—if she could ever learn to control it. She briefly wondered if her mother or sister had ever experienced anything of the spirit world, only to keep it to themselves.
“So, your grandmother...is she in the Portsmouth area?” Brigit asked.
“She lives across the river in Kittery Maine. Her name is Evelyn, but everyone calls her Eve.”
“And you think she’d be willing to see me?”
“I’m sure of it—as long as she’s feeling well.”
“Oh. Is she sick?” Don’t sound so hopeful, Brigit, you bum.
“No, no. She’s fine. I just meant, you know...people get colds and stuff this time of year.”
“But as far as you know, she’s healthy?”
“Yeah. She’s in great shape for her age.”
“Okay. Good. Should I call her or would you rather tell her about me?”
“Well, I’ll be seeing her tomorrow. Why don’t I tell her about you and give her your information. She can contact you when she gets home tomorrow afternoon or evening.”
“Sure. That would be fine. I’m not working at the moment, so I can come to her place or meet her somewhere during the week or on weekends. Whatever is convenient for her.”
“I’ll let her know.”
Brigit gave the woman her cell phone number and was about to hang up with the young lady said, “By the way...not to be nosy, but are you pregnant?”
“How the— Yes. How did you know?”
“Ah!” She said, knowingly. “There’s a spirit hovering over my shoulder that said to tell you congratulations.”
Are you shitting me? “Uh...that’s some gift you’ve got there.”
She chuckled. “Thanks. I guess you know what it’s like to have them intrude from time to time.”
“Yes. The only difference is that I don’t know what they want. If they only want me to express their congratulations, that’s easy. I can handle that. But, don’t they want you to help them with unfinished business and stuff?”
The woman on the other end of the phone sighed. “Sometimes, but that’s not up to us. We usually connect them to someone they know, and that person can follow up if they want a message relayed.”
“So, I guess Enzo was an anomaly,” she mumbled. “He probably had no living relatives.”
“Who’s Enzo?”
“Oh, a spirit from around the civil war time period. He wanted a Christian burial. I don’t know why he latched onto me and insisted on following me until I helped him. I couldn’t hear him.”
“He must have known you could see him and get him the help he needed.”
“Yeah. I guess so. But how would he know I had friends who can hear spirits, but not see them?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was just hoping you did. You probably have a powerful gift, and they can sense a sympathetic heart.”
Great. Just what I didn’t want to hear.
* * * *
When Ethan returned, he was happy to hear that Brigit had found a medium mentor. They sat on his couch in front of a roaring fire and stared into the flames. She had told him all about her first meeting with Eve.
Apparently the woman taught Brigit that using fire was one way to scry. He hadn’t done much of that, but it made sense. Fire could be mesmerizing, and if stared at long enough, pictures could form.
“I thought you were interested in learning how to hear spirits. Not finding other ways to see them.”
“It wasn’t the spirits I was seeing. It was their messages.”
“Oh. I understand...” Then he shook his head. “No. Not really. Explain it to me.”
“Well, she said I might never develop the ability to actually hear them speak, but I can find other ways to communicate with them—or more accurately, let them communicate with me. It’s not charades, but they can show me things that matter.”
“Ah. I see. But having a fire at Myranda’s shop isn’t feasible, is it?”
Brigit chuckled. “No. I don’t think the fire marshal would appreciate a roaring bonfire in the middle of her shop. But I don’t have to use fire. It’s just what Eve used to teach me. She didn’t have a crystal ball. Myranda has one and does some scrying. She said she doesn’t get enough practice though. Most people want her to do tarot card readings.”
“So, is that what you’ll be doing? Using her crystal ball?”
“No. I’ll need to get one of my own. Myranda has years of energy stored in her crystal, and I’m sure it responds to her frequency.”
“True. What if I were to give you mine? I’ve barely used it. I can give it a good wash in salt water and the energy should be cleansed from it.”
“Really? Are you sure?”
“Positive. I know the large ones made of real crystal aren’t cheap.”
“I’ll pay you back.”
“No, you won’t. That’s not what I was getting at. I got mine in Salem several years ago. I don’t remember what I paid for it, but as I said, I’m not using it. Call it a Yule gift.”
She threw her arms around him. “Oh, Ethan! Thank you!”
He chuckled. “Wow. And to think I almost bought you a necklace.”
“You don’t have to buy me gifts. I didn’t get you anything.”
“On the contrary...” He rubbed her belly. “You’re making something more precious than jewelry.”
She shrugged. “Well, they say home-made gifts are the best ones.”
He grinned. “Agreed. So, getting back to Eve. Is that how she communicates with spirits all the time? Does she have to have a fire going even in the summer?”
“Oh, heck no. She doesn’t need any props anymore. She sees what they want to show her in her mind.”
“Will you be able to do that someday?”
“Maybe. She said it depends on how much practice I get and how open I am. She’s teaching me how to shut down when I don’t want to be bothered. In the meantime, I like the idea of being able to limit communication to Myranda’s shop when I have a crystal ball—kind of like an ‘open for business’ sign.”
He smiled. “I’m proud of you, Bridge.”
“Really? Why?”
“Just a few weeks ago, you seemed terrified of your gift. Now you’re not just facing it, you’re learning how to use it to help people.”
She smiled, shyly. “Yeah. I guess so.”
“Hey, Ethan, it’s me, Charlotte.”
; He almost chuckled and said, ‘Who else would it be?’ until Brigit spoke up.
“Hi, Charlotte. Who is that with you?”
Ethan snapped to attention. “There’s another spirit here?”
Brigit sighed. “I seem to attract them like flies. Oh, sorry, ladies. I didn’t mean that to sound the way it came out.”
“Ladies?” Ethan repeated.
“Yeah. I see two women. Charlotte, of course, and a woman with short hair, wearing more modern clothing.”
“Can you tell Brigit my friend here would like to try communicating with her?”
“Uh, yeah. But why don’t you have her talk directly to me?”
“Because she doesn’t want to talk to you. She wants to talk to Brigit.”
“Okay.” He swept a stray lock of hair behind Brigit’s shoulder. “You have a chance to practice your skills right now, if you want to. The spirit would like to communicate with you, not me.”
Brigit stared at the fire. “Okay. I’ll try it.”
She didn’t say anything at first. Then she said, “I see a mother holding a baby.” After a brief interlude, she said, “Another figure is forming. A man.” She fidgeted uncomfortably. “Um...she seems to be showing me a family.”
He wanted to ask, ‘Is it us?’ but didn’t want to ruin her concentration.
After another pause, she said, “I see knitting.” She glanced at Ethan. “Do you know any knitters?”
He was almost afraid to say it, but he really did want to help Brigit. If this conversation was going where he thought it might, it was going to hurt. In a soft voice, he said, “Yes. My mother used to knit.”
I’m getting a nod. “Are you Ethan’s mother?” she asked, point blank.
He held his breath.
Brigit took his hand and gave it a squeeze. “It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Cox.”
The air went out of his lungs and for a moment, he thought he might pass out. He’d been waiting for his mother. Now she was here, but she didn’t want to talk to him!
“I—I’m not sure what you’re trying to tell me,” she said to the air beside the fire.
“Scry, like the medium taught you,” he reminded her, a little sharply.
“Oh, yeah.” She worried her lip, but stared at the fire. After what seemed like an eon with no more information, he stared at her. Brigit had her eyes closed.
“Are you trying to shut her out?”
“No.” she whispered. “I’m seeing what she wants to show me in my mind.”
Wow. Talk about a quick study. She’s already communicating without props. Or maybe my mother is motivated to get her point across.
“Brigit, what do you see?”
“Uh...it’s kind of personal.”
Personal? My mother has something personal to say to a woman she’s just met but won’t talk to me? He wanted to get angry. Yell. Punch a pillow. All of which would ruin Brigit’s concentration. He steeled himself to walk away and say, ‘What the fuck?’ later.
#
It was clear to Brigit what Mrs. Cox wanted. Get a grip, Brigit. Just because a ghost gives you her opinion doesn’t mean you have to listen to it. For some reason, she knew she was kidding herself.
She clearly saw Ethan putting a ring on her finger. It was the amethyst she had seen him place on the altar some months ago. He had said it was his mother’s ring, and her mother’s before that. Obviously, his mother thought she should be the next in line to wear it.
“I—I think I understand what you’re saying. But you have to understand, I promised something different.”
Uh-oh. Mrs. Cox looked angry. She jammed her hands on her hips. Brigit still had her eyes closed, but she could see the woman as if she were standing before her.
Suddenly another picture formed in her mind. She was sitting on a bench, holding a pink blanket. When she took a good look at the blanket, it was empty. Oh, God. Is she saying I’ll lose the baby? Or that Ethan will fight me for custody and win? She just couldn’t see him doing that. Maybe she needed his health insurance, for—for the unthinkable.
A lump formed in her throat and the spirit’s expression seemed to soften. Another picture formed in Brigit’s mind. A happy family in the very living room she was sitting in now. Ethan holding the child’s hands and walking with her toward Brigit. Then letting go and their little girl taking the few steps to her mother. Her first steps.
By now, tears were rolling down Brigit’s cheeks and she whispered, “But, he hasn’t asked me...”
* * * *
Hanna was waiting for Mr. Blake, Michele’s step-dad, in his living room. She’d been there for an hour and had divided her time between pacing and sitting on his couch.
At last she heard a car in the driveway, and a moment later his side door rattled like a key in a sticky lock.
Please be Alex Blake and not some lock-picking intruder.
A tanned gentleman with salt and pepper hair breezed in. She didn’t really remember what her friend’s husband looked like, so she hoped this was him.
He halted in his path to the kitchen when he caught sight of her. Before he had a chance to panic, she introduced herself.
“Hello. My name is Hazel Meriwether. I was a long-time friend of your dear departed wife.”
“How did you get in here?” he demanded.
“Before we get into that, I need to tell you that my reason for being here is of the utmost importance, and I beg you to hear me out.”
His eyes widened. “Is Michele all right?”
“That’s what I’m hoping. Actually, I haven’t seen her in quite some time, but I’m looking for her.”
Alex snorted. “And what makes you think I know where she is?”
What could she say? Because you sold her car? He’s obviously protecting her. Hanna took a few steps toward him and he didn’t retreat. That was a good sign. At least he didn’t feel threatened.
“I—I know why she ran. I figured she’d go to you for protection. I want her safe too. I was her high priestess when she lived in Portsmouth.”
Alex narrowed his eyes. “Okay. I know Michele thinks she’s a witch, but you need to realize I don’t believe in that nonsense.”
Hanna shrugged. “That’s fine. You don’t have to believe. I just ask you to call her and give her the option of speaking with me. What can that hurt? If she doesn’t want to talk to me, I’ll respect her wishes.” Hanna made it look like she was clasping her hands behind her back, but she was actually crossing her fingers.
“You must be pretty confident that she’ll talk to you. Otherwise you wouldn’t have come all this way.” He sighed. “Why don’t you have a seat in the kitchen. Can I get you a beer or something?”
At last she seemed to be getting somewhere. “Yes. Thank you, kindly.”
He shook his head on the way to the refrigerator and she hoped it wasn’t a stalling tactic. Even if it was, if she could just get him to make that phone call, she might be able to use her magical GPS and transport herself to Michele—wherever she was. Following airwaves was tricky, but witches had come a long way from riding brooms in the moonlight.
She sat at his kitchen table and he placed a glass in front of her. Then he opened the beer and set it beside the glass, allowing her to pour it herself.
“I’ll be right back,” he said. He pulled a cell phone from his pocket and moved down a hallway.
She closed her eyes and tried to hone in on the call. To her delight, she could ‘hear’ both sides of the conversation. The odd thing was Michele’s greeting. Apparently she was working in a place called, ‘The Enchanted Broom,’ because that’s how she answered the phone.
“Hi honey,” Alex said. “There’s someone at my house who wants to speak to you. She said her name is Hazel Meriwether.”
“Hazel? Oh!” she exclaimed. “That’s Hanna. My old high priestess.”
Old? I’ll assume she means ‘former’ since forty is really not that old.
“She said her name was Hazel.”
&
nbsp; “Yeah. It is...in real life. Her witch name is Hanna.”
“Witch names? Never mind. Don’t bother explaining it. Just tell me what to do with her.”
“Send her over. I’d love to see her.”
“Are you sure?” Alex sounded doubtful. “We went to a helluva lot of trouble to keep anyone from your past from finding you.”
“I know. But Hanna...Well, she’s different. I trust her to keep my location to herself. And if she’s already found you...”
“I get that you trust her, but do you think she could have been followed?”
Michele chuckled. “I doubt it. Listen, put her on the phone. I’ll speak to her.”
“All right. I hope you know what you’re doing,” he said.
A few footfalls later, Alex reappeared and extended the phone to her. “Here you go, Hazel or Hanna—whoever you are. She wants to talk to you. Keep it short, just in case.”
“I understand,” Hanna said. She took the phone and got right to the point. “Michele, can I see you? It’s very important.”
“Please. I’d love to see you. Let me give you directions to my shop.”
Ah, so she has her own magical shop. Hanna remembered her wish to open a shop like Myranda’s someday. She couldn’t help being proud of her for accomplishing her dream—despite the challenges she’d had to face.
Hanna took down the directions and said, “I’ll see you in a...” She was about to say a second, and then remembered that Alex was nearby, probably listening. “A few minutes,” she finished.
“See you in a few.”
They hung up and Hanna was tempted to let out a huge sigh of relief. Then Alex appeared from around the corner and said, “I’ll drive you.”
* * * *
Ethan remained in his kitchen, trying to give Brigit her privacy as he made a pot of coffee. He slammed the coffee pot a little too hard on the counter, but thankfully it didn’t crack. He hoped whatever his dear departed mother had to say to his girlfriend was something she could share with him later.
Why, if she had the ability to visit, hadn’t she made her presence known to him? The question niggled at him like an itch he couldn’t scratch. Did Charlotte know?
“Hey, Charlotte...”
“I’m here,” she said.