Among The Cloud Dwellers (Entrainment Series)

by Giuliana Sica

  “No. They have a different driver.” I took a bite of my own bagel and chewed for a while. “Bene—after what you were telling me the other day, I think you should meet Evalena.”

  “What for?” She dropped the last caper. It tumbled on the place mat and rolled somewhere off the table. I almost expected it to hit the floor with the impact of a cannonball. Eros ignored it.

  “Why not?” I countered.

  “Why at all? I shouldn’t have brought it up.” She looked skeptical and afraid, just like me at the beginning of my endeavor. Evalena’s fame is renowned in mystical circles. This could be compared to an ancient visit to the Oracle of Delphi, minus the cryptic divination. Evalena’s visions are pure and crystal clear—and not for everybody.

  “But I’m glad you did,” I said. “I was afraid to see her, too, for my past life regression. But now I’m grateful. It opened up avenues I would have never explored on my own.”

  “We’re not walking the same path. I don’t need a past life regression.” Benedetta’s fragility spilled through her quivering lips.

  I pursued nonetheless. “I know that. But I think you should at least speak to her. It might help you see things more clearly.”

  It took some persuasion, but Benedetta finally agreed. Somewhat reluctantly, she took Eros and left me to make arrangements. I phoned Evalena and asked if she might be available for dinner. Apologizing for the short notice, I quickly explained the situation. I told her Benedetta was quite distressed. She understood the importance of the matter and agreed to come over around seven that evening. She told me she would bring wine. I sincerely feel for those without an Evalena in their life.

  I spent the rest of the day organizing my assignments and tidying the place up. Never did find the cannonball caper that rolled off the table from Benedetta’s bagel. I called Oscar and left him a message saying that I had the Chez le Chat article underway. Then I called Helen and briefly told her I didn’t have any news yet but that as soon as a decision was made I would notify them. As gracious as ever, Helen told me Camille had sent a parcel, and would I please let her know when I received it?

  *

  On my way to the farmers’ market to collect fresh ingredients for dinner, moist heat forced me to crank the air conditioning on. I cast a look at the somber sky where the end of summer, in one last, sacrificial effort, must have saved the best for last. Scorching humidity now unleashed a grand finale before leaving center stage to fall. I smelled rain in the air and wondered how long it would take for those heavy clouds gathering on the ocean to crash into the shore. At least the hurricanes had been sparing us . . . well, since Erin.

  I parked my car next to an old Buick with Alabama plates. Dean’s Market is the only organic one in the area. I grabbed a basket and headed toward the herb section to inspect fragrant bouquets of basil, chervil, sage, lemongrass, mint, and oregano. I picked a few bundles of basil and moved on to get garlic, organic pine nuts, and walnuts. At the last moment I added a couple of pounds of vine-ripened tomatoes, mozzarella, and Georgia peaches so fragrant I could have eaten one right there. I paid for my groceries and drove to the Awakenings Books and Gifts store where I bought white candles, some frankincense, and a bundle of Native American white sage to smudge.

  A few years back I would have never thought of such ways, but frequenting Evalena had opened doors that I’d never have had the courage to peek through on my own. Especially after being raised—eclipsed from it all—by a very pragmatic Joséphine. Thanks to the mystic blood coursing through my veins, Evalena was sure magic would have found me regardless. And it did.

  In an herb-infused car, I drove home thinking about how I had become so much more receptive to the metaphysical world. I remembered how doubtful I had been at first. I didn’t feel comfortable to call upon the powers yet and had a strong, queasy feeling this lesson wasn’t going to get much practice time. I somehow knew I would be catapulted, despite my own will, into a burning mosh pit where the only way out would be to summon magic or put my life on the line. I understood now that every woman is a reflection of the divine feminine; every one of us enchanting creatures has the potential.

  I had opened a door.

  Talking about doors, Gerome had left a parcel on my doorstep. The packing slip told me it was Camille’s. I used a knife to cut the box open and found two bottles of Pinot Gris, the same brand we had enjoyed at Lumière. A short note, handwritten by Camille, accompanied the two bottles.

  *

  Dear Porzia,

  From one wine appreciator to another, I trust you to enjoy this wine as much as I have since my fortunate discovery years ago.

  Don’t wait for special occasions to uncork . . . every given day should be celebrated as special.

  *

  Best regards,

  Camille Weir

  *

  I cleaned up the packaging, made room in the fridge for the two bottles to lie down on the top shelf, and began dinner’s preparation. Peridot poked around, curious about my purchases. I removed the candles and incense from a brown paper bag and dropped it on the floor for his enjoyment. He promptly attacked the bag, sniffing loudly, and finally crawled inside it and fell asleep. Meanwhile, I made a pesto so bright green and fragrant I couldn’t resist a taste. Perfetto!

  I turned the radio on and set the table with cheerful summer plates, a hand-woven bread basket from South America, salt and pepper shakers in the shape of roosters I had found at a secondhand store in France, and generous wine goblets I knew we wouldn’t have a problem filling with a bottle or two of Camille’s Pinot Gris, deliciously chilled.

  After a quick shower I changed into a loose sundress with a pattern of orange and red stenciled fish that I love to lounge in. I wrapped my hair in a French twist and moved on to make a Caprese salad with the fresh tomatoes and mozzarella I had bought at Dean’s. I sliced the juicy tomatoes and the mozzarella into thin slices and alternated them on a serving platter into a red and white pinwheel. Not able to resist, I ate a slice of mozzarella so creamy and moist it practically melted in my mouth. I sprinkled the appetizing slices with salt and fresh pepper and drizzled olive oil here and there, ending with a few basil leaves I tore with my fingers. Basil easily bruises if cut with a blade. I always use my fingers.

  The doorbell rang as I finished. I went to open the door and found Evalena standing there with a small bouquet of bright orange roses. She hugged me, saying, “I changed my mind about the wine on my way over here and got you these instead,” and handed me the fragrant bouquet.

  I took the roses, smiling, and was about to close the door when I caught sight of Benedetta’s car pulling into the parking lot.

  “Look, Benedetta is here.”

  Evalena turned and leaned against the wall to take her sandals off. “Great! I finally get to meet her.”

  Benedetta got out of her car carrying a long paper bag stuffed with a couple of baguettes. She wore her usual warm smile, a pair of baggy turquoise silk pants tied at her waist by a drawstring, a white ribbed tank, and a crown of sun-kissed locks that framed her delicate profile, exposing her exquisite neck and shoulders. She climbed the stairs and handed me the bread.

  “Hi. I hope I’m not late.” Pushing her glasses up her nose, she stepped inside and tossed her flip-flops into the corner in one kick. She met Evalena’s inquisitive stare.

  “Benedetta, this is Evalena. Evalena . . . Bene.”

  They shook hands. I read Benedetta’s struggle in her strained features while Evalena silently took in my dear friend. She broke the silence first. “Nice to meet you, Benedetta. You have a beautiful name.”

  “Thanks. Porzia might have told you it means ‘blessed’ in Italian.”

  Evalena looked at me. “You did mention something after your recent trip to Georgia.”

  I nodded, motioning them to follow me to the kitchen. “It’s almost ready. The pasta is boiling
.”

  Benedetta knelt to check inside the bag. I had forgotten Peridot was sleeping in the middle of the kitchen floor. “What do we have here?”

  Evalena settled into a chair and looked at the bag curiously.

  Sleepy and disoriented, Peridot crawled out. He looked at Benedetta, arched his back in a stretch, and then saw Evalena. Totally ignoring Bene, he walked straight under Evalena’s chair where he drew eights a couple of times until she scooped him up on her lap. He purred and we all laughed. I took a bottle of wine from the fridge, uncorked it, and filled glasses, feeling grateful for my icebreaker micio. I filled a carafe with fresh water and set it on the table, then got busy with the pasta and slicing the bread, allowing my two guests to make small talk and get acquainted.

  With her soft embracing aura, it didn’t take Evalena anytime at all to make Benedetta comfortable. Her face relaxed, her shoulders dropped, and her locks shook with laughter at a funny comment Evalena made about cats’ faithfulness.

  I drained the trofie and dressed them with pesto, mixing them swiftly until nicely coated, then added freshly grated Parmigiano in abundance. Mixing it all one more time I then transferred the pasta into a serving bowl, dusted it with extra cheese, and after taking the Caprese salad out of the fridge, refilled everybody’s glass and announced dinner.

  Evalena left to wash her hands while Benedetta sat at the table with me. Her smile reassured me; she would be alright. I reached over and squeezed her hand, not sure if she needed the extra comfort or not. I was just glad to have them both there with me. Silently holding hands we waited for Evalena to come back, then reached for our glasses and toasted friendship, old and new.

  “Heavens! Am I glad I brought you flowers instead! My wine choice would never have matched this!” Evalena puckered her lips and took another sip.

  “It wasn’t my choice but a timely present from someone who knows how to enjoy every given day.” I followed her example.

  “This looks delicious,” Evalena said as I filled her plate with a generous helping of trofie al pesto.

  “Wait until you taste it! The stuff is addictive. I often wonder if she secretly mixes marijuana with the basil,” Benedetta joked, eagerly handing me her plate.

  “I know a few people who could use such a secret ingredient—” Evalena winked, skillfully using her fork to capture the first bite.

  “It’s illegal,” I shrugged.

  “Like that would stop you,” Benedetta teased.

  Evalena tasted the wine and gave us a piercing stare above the rim. “I read somewhere chocolate was close to being declared illegal as well when it was first imported to Europe from Columbus’s expeditions.”

  Benedetta nodded in agreement. “It was the drink of royals, believed to have magical powers and therefore forbidden to the commoners. The Mayans used the beans as currency and as funereal offerings for fallen warriors and aristocrats.”

  I looked at her. “You’ll never cease to impress me with your knowledge of arcane stuff.”

  She smiled and took a sip of wine. “I just like to know about the stuff I eat, and chocolate is one of my favorites.”

  I passed the Caprese salad around and asked Benedetta to help herself to extra juices to mop with bread.

  “Good idea.” Evalena made a colorful pile of mozzarella and tomato on a slice of bread and bit into it.

  It brings the Italian out in me when friends gather at my table and truly appreciate simple flavors. I just love it. I poured more wine, and amidst small talk, laughter, and teasing, we enjoyed dinner, reminiscing about earlier times, how we met, and how easily acquaintance had given way to the stronger emotion of friendship. I shared with Bene the tale of my first encounter with Evalena and how many of her herbal remedies rang bells and brought back memories of childhood. Bene nodded her agreement to this or that balmy plant or soothing salve. Ever since she’d embraced Wicca she’d been devouring herbal manuals and had pledged to a healthy and respectful appreciation of Mother Nature.

  CHAPTER 30

  Benedetta helped me clean up. I asked Evalena to take the peaches out of the fridge and bring them to the table where only the wine and glasses remained. I handed her fruit plates and knives. We sat back and I refilled our glasses. Then, using the dull side of the knife blade, I took a peach and began to loosen the skin, making it easier to peel. Benedetta and Evalena watched me in silence while I sliced my peach and dropped a juicy sliver into my wine glass with a splash.

  “My father often ends his meals like this when peaches are in season,” I explained in answer to their puzzled looks.

  “Getting his peach drunk?” Benedetta asked with one raised eyebrow.

  “That’s right.”

  “What have we got to lose?” Evalena mused, and dunked a slice of her own unpeeled peach in her glass.

  “Bene, go ahead. It tastes great,” I encouraged.

  “Can’t be worse than Delilah’s aguardiente.” She peeled her peach and dropped a small slice into her glass.

  “Now what?” Evalena asked.

  “You carefully pick it up with your knife and eat it.” I demonstrated how to proceed; they both followed my example, and the delighted look on their faces made me smile.

  “See? I told you it was good.”

  “Better than dessert,” Benedetta admitted, daintily nibbling at her slice.

  Evalena wasn’t having much luck with her knife; she abandoned it and used her fingers. I thought of Camille: if she could see us now. I had the presumption to believe she would toss the knife to use her hands just like Evalena.

  “I’ve never had a drunken peach before,” declared Benedetta as she tilted her glass to drain the last drops of sweetened wine.

  “Me neither,” Evalena said. She paused for a moment and then looked straight at Benedetta.

  I summoned a long breath. I knew what was to come and exhaled slowly as Evalena spoke. “Porzia has done a great job at making us feel relaxed and comfortable, but honey, I believe you have had questions since your accident that need to be answered.”

  Benedetta looked back at her. A sharp edge sliced her blue eyes. “Yes. I do.”

  I moved my chair back, away from the energy connection that was palpably forming, and gave them space. Evalena leaned forward in her chair. I noticed she didn’t cross her legs. She never does. She’s always grounded, with both feet on the floor.

  “Emotional scars take longer to heal,” she told Benedetta.

  Benedetta bowed her head and murmured, “Why do you say that?”

  “Because often they’re not only scars, but portals for change. And you’re changing. Through these scars you’re empowering yourself. Along your journey you’re gathering strength, knowledge, magic. Events confirm your growth.”

  Benedetta’s head snapped upward. She looked at Evalena, then at me, then back to Evalena, and finally nodded, bowing her head in agreement but also defeat.

  “Sort of like Greek myths,” Evalena mused. “We’ve erased the nuances of the meaning of myth, reducing it to a dried pit of certainty—”

  “All things considered, certainty of knowing gives us serenity. Knowledge, on the other hand, is a constant discovery . . . therefore always implying uncertainty,” Benedetta concluded for her. She’d raised her head and her eyes now shone with awe, respect, and gratitude.

  Evalena nodded and asked me to light a white candle and some frankincense. I stood to do as requested. My hands shook as I lit the candle. How did she know of Bene’s accident? And of Bene’s love of Greek myths? She had tapped into the core of my dear friend and brought up to the surface her issue through the comfortable path of her love of mythology.

  Evalena’s breathing rose and fell, steady, calm, while Benedetta’s body hummed with a light tremor. She took a deep breath and reached across the table to lay her hands in Evalena’s. “Is this the right choice—” My swe
et fragile friend took another deep breath as if afraid to continue.

  Evalena’s voice rose like intoxicating plumes from a boiling cauldron. “It’s an indispensable thread in the web of your dream-consciousness.”

  Benedetta, paralyzed with awareness, barely nodded. I myself was afraid to blink, fearful of disturbing the current flowing between the two women in front of me. I held as still as possible.

  “Scars will flaw your skin only if you choose to view them as flaws. Change will occur and you’ll never be the same if you choose to embrace it. But just like the ever-shifting sky, change is never permanent. Permanence resides rather in the fact of change,” Evalena stated.

  Evalena’s words catapulted me back to Australia, behind Umeracha on the threshold of an enchanted forest when I first thought those exact words. I realized how far I had come in my own mystical journey.

  I no longer stood on the threshold of my nightmares. I was in the water, feeling it shift into quicksand, and only I held the power to rise, to awaken. Did I want the power? Yes, of course I did. I was about to need it . . .

  Benedetta’s voice reached me from afar, interrupting my thoughts. “I know,” she said in a tiny voice.

  I spiraled back into my kitchen.

  “Apparently we’re causing a chain reaction.” Evalena cast me an inquisitive look. “Are you well, dear?”

  “Not quite,” I murmured. “Perhaps I ought to leave you two alone. I feel I’m being pulled in.” In a daze, I pushed my chair back and stood, ready to walk out.

  Benedetta grabbed my wrist and squeezed. “I can’t do this without you here.”

  I struggled to focus and met her pleading eyes. My entire being shook uncontrollably.

  “I believe we’ve had plenty for one evening.” Evalena sounded exhausted. “It’s extremely tiring for me to summon such energies.”

  Her own exhaustion shrouded me as well, like constrictive ivy suffocating a tree.