Carrie arrived in a red miniskirt and short blazer, her long blonde hair in a thick bun and her eyes a web of red. She gave Oliver unsolicited advice on puppy training. He listened half-heartedly, absently agreeing with everything she said. He was dressed in his usual sweater vest today. No costume, again.
Not quite ready for conversation this morning, I started cleaning out my inbox, opening the following email:
Congratulations to Edna Reynolds! Today marks her 25th year with The Insurance Company. After starting as a mail clerk, Edna has been promoted three times and is currently a Policy Representative. Please be sure to congratulate her for her years of dedication and loyalty.
Sincerely,
Simon Lawless
I ex’d out of the email and deleted it. I’d been here six months and I was a Policy Representative. Is that what I had to look forward to? Twenty-five years of being a Policy Representative, chained to one spot all day, every day, following the same instruction, taking the same scheduled breaks? Without my Romeo? Would kombucha ever get me out of this place?
I thought about Alice and her reading and my so-called destiny, my vertex, wondering what she’d have to say about all that tonight.
By five o’clock, I still hadn’t seen Robbie. I bolted for the elevator and dashed across the parking lot, eager to get out of here, away from Robbie’s repulsion, to Alice and her comforting magic. I was the first to arrive at Oliver’s Honda. Once Carrie, Pete, and Oliver arrived, we piled into the car and left the parking lot, all of us as giddy as teenage girls. Even Pete had a hopefulness about him that was contagious.
The house was the same, and yet different, almost darker. Or was it just me? I was darker. And there was definitely the sense that someone else was there, someone unseen.
Pretty Kitty met us at the door, practically wagging her tail and jumping at me. “No jumping,” Alice scolded. Her grin was broad. Murray sat on the top step of the staircase, flapping his tail and looking down at the four of us huddled in the foyer. Alice clapped her hands and closed the door behind us. “Come in! Welcome, welcome! Up here. We’ll be in the healing rooms.”
Healing rooms? We followed her up the elegant staircase, filing curiously behind like school kids in a line. Alice led us down a wide, ornate corridor, stopping at the first door on the right to gesture Oliver in. She followed him in, murmuring, “Excuse us,” to those of us who remained outside as she closed the door. A few quiet moments later, she was in the hall again, closing the door behind us. She did the same for Pete and Carrie.
“How are you, dear?” she asked once we were alone in the hall. That was when it all fell out of me. I followed her, blathering the whole way. I told her Robbie was confused. And there was this other guy, Angel. He was a perfect dream, but…but it was confusing…and I knew Robbie was coming back. I knew it, I told her; we were soul mates, I pleaded. All she had to do was predict Robbie’s return, assure me that this temporary separation was for the good, somehow designed to make our relationship stronger, better.
Alice didn’t say any of that.
“Candace,” she interrupted, stopping in front of another closed door. Murray, who’d followed us, plopped his butt at her feet, scolding me with his scowl. “You sound like a battered woman. Honey, you are not a victim.”
I didn’t respond, too stung by her candor. She smiled, satisfied. Then she opened the door to a large room with a simple table in its center. Maple bookshelves covered one wall, floor to ceiling, each shelf packed with colorful bindings.
Alice pointed to a neatly folded towel and booties on the table. “Take off your clothes and put these on. When you’re done, drink this.” She indicated to a steaming goblet sitting on an ancient bureau next to a collection of narrow vessels. What if I don’t want to? I thought.
“What is it?”
“Homemade pumpkin tea. Made from my own patch.” She grinned. I tried to remember a pumpkin patch outside, but she had so much property it could be anywhere. “I’ll be back in a minute.” She clicked the door closed behind her.
I only sulked for a minute before undressing. A victim, she’d said. That was someone that let things happen to them instead of making things happen. The towel Velcroed to stay up. After sipping the tea to taste it, I gulped it down, unable to resist, as if it were a drug and I were its fiend. It was delightfully sweet and warm, the feeling sweeping down my throat and into my chest, where the warmth stayed, wrapping my heart in a thick, silky blanket. I forgot the witch had offended me. I felt safe and secure, like everything in the world was going to be okay. Cinnamon and nutmeg lingered on my tongue, but that wasn’t even the strange thing. The flavor seemed to change, sweetening, like a series of sweet treats dancing across my buds—from chocolate to candy corn to caramel apple, cinnamon spice, pumpkin steamer. It was as if Willy Wonka himself had made the potion.
I walked around the room, admiring the art everywhere before the strange titles lured me to the bookshelf. Bringers of the Dawn, The Vortex…. Some I recognized, like Louise Hay’s Heal Your Body, which I liked to use, and was that Brian Greene’s The Elegant Universe? What could be her interest in string theory? What surprised me was Alice had a whole section devoted to fiction. I was a little girl again, reading Cinderella. One of my favorite books stood out on the shelf, Richard Bach’s Illusions and the Reluctant Messiah. There was something comforting about having a book in common with someone. Then one title grabbed and hooked my wonder.
The binding looked ancient, but was probably only a hundred years old. I carefully lifted it, as if it could crumble in my clumsy hands. Inside, on the brittle pages, there was a list of the Seven Hermetic Principles: Law of Mentalism, Law of Correspondence, Law of Vibration, Polarity, Rhythm, Cause and Effect, and Gender. Under the first, it said, The Universe is Mental. I began to read further but something touched my shoulder and I nearly jumped out of my flesh. My heart was still pounding when I realized it was Alice.
“Sorry, dear. That’s a good book—when you’re ready for it.” The witch picked up the book and examined me. “Let’s see what your healing reveals before we decide, huh? Then again,” she mused aloud, tapping her chin and studying me, “it’s no accident you picked it up. Maybe you should take it home. But let me warn you: there’s no unknowing truth—once you know.” She grinned and gestured toward the table. “Shall we begin?”
I followed her instruction, positioning myself belly up on the table, which was unexpectedly comfortable. The room darkened and I saw smoke come from nowhere. Was I hallucinating? Alice’s hum was enchanting, charming me into a haze. I couldn’t understand her words, or even the language she spoke, but occasionally she stopped to tell me something. By now she’d massaged oil on my upper chest and neck and plucked heaviness from my aura. Dark, wispy shadows followed the direction of her gentle fingers.
“Ah,” she said. “Your throat chakra stores your voice. That comes from your father. It’s pretty clogged. Something at a young age. Two, maybe? Three? Four?”
Must have been my father’s accident and funeral. Most of it eluded my memory. All I really remembered was how sad my mom had been. “You adopted…uh…inaccurate, shall we say, beliefs about marriage.” Alice pulled shadow after shadow out, chills rippling my skin, my eyes stuck on each shadow. They seemed to float, as if they were in water, then transmute into lighter colors until eventually evaporating. “Can you see the fragments?”
“The shadows?” I nodded.
“Suppose you could call them shadows. Most people can’t see them. But I had a feeling you’d be able to. They drain your energy and keep you from clarity in various areas of your life. In your case, romance.”
“Keep me from clarity?” In romance?
“Yes, dear. Humans have many layers. If not for the layers, life would be too easy and no one would play.” The witch laughed. “But don’t worry. We’re getting rid of ’em. Don’t be surprised if your world turns upside down…briefly.”
I nodded like I understood, but had no idea
what she meant. It seemed it was already upside down.
At last Alice instructed me to get dressed and handed me a small vial of smoky liquid. At the question on my face, she said, “Let’s call it a love potion, to keep it simple.”
“But, I thought—”
“This puts you in control, dear. It will make anyone you want fall in love with you. You both take a drop. Just one. Any more than a drop and you will surely die.”
“But…it wouldn’t be real, would it? If I made someone fall in love with me?”
“Nonsense,” she said. “Everything is mental. It’s as real as you believe.”
I wondered if this was some sort of test. A…test of my soul, or something like that. Would Alice test me? Did she mean I could have anyone I wanted? I wondered if she’d given Carrie a vial of her own potion…maybe she could find her one true love, and…
Alice gave me a knowing, motherly smile. “Remember, no more than one drop each…unless you want to die.”
Chapter 17
ALICE LED ME to her parlor, where a silver tray of juice and cookies waited on an ancient coffee table set between an elegant sofa and a divan. A grand piano nestled in the corner of the room. Pete sat on the couch munching on one of Alice’s cookies. His eyes were glossy, like he’d been drinking or smoking something, and the look on his face was one of pure ecstasy.
I sat on the divan across from him.
“How was it?” he asked.
I nodded, not sure how much to tell him. “Interesting…. You?”
“Weird,” he said with a grin stretched to the edge of his cheeks. “Pretty cool, though.” He nodded. “She said I was easy. It was just a matter of knowing what I wanted.”
I felt a vibration in my pocket and fished out my phone. I gasped.
“What?” Pete asked, but I was already answering.
“Hello?” I said, as if I had no idea who was calling, as if I didn’t already have his number programmed in my phone. His rich voice charmed me and before I knew it, I was agreeing to another ride. He lived nearby.
“Go on, I’ll let Carrie and Oliver know,” Pete said, still grinning glossy-eyed, when I told him the news.
Ten minutes later, I heard Angel’s pipes flaring up Alice’s long drive. I watched from the front porch, wondering if he could be the one. He could be, I thought, clutching the vial in my pocket. He had the elements of my ideal prince. He was independent, driven, a perfect gentleman. He loved to read. The connection…could be there. If we each took just one drop.
Angel pulled up to the steps and stopped, still straddling the rumbling red bike. He was decked in leather from boots to jacket, a bandana holding his raven hair in place, obsidian glasses giving his look an edge darker than I remember. My chest fluttered and I couldn’t help but grin at the sight before me. It wasn’t that he was good-looking—though don’t get me wrong, he certainly had that going for him—It was something else…his confidence, maybe? The way he carried himself, like he could face fear itself and come out without a scratch on his soul.
He handed me the same leather jacket I’d worn on our first ride, and I shrugged into it. Then I straddled the bike behind him and wrapped my arms around his thick torso, inhaling the scent of leather. His pipes thundered and cracked and vibrated my seat, and we were off, leaving a trail of dust in Alice’s front drive.
We trailed the open road until dark blanketed the sky. The ride back was slower. Angel pulled into my drive and killed the engine. Then he helped me off the bike, though he didn’t need to. Without thinking, I invited him in.
“I’d better not,” he said.
I frowned. He placed his palm on my cheek. “You’re…getting over someone, aren’t you?”
I felt my jaw drop. “Um….” What could I say to that? It wouldn’t be fair to lie to him. It wouldn’t be fair to him to go on like this without getting over Robbie, for that matter.
“Hey,” he said. “It’s okay. I’ve been there.”
My heart melted. “What if I never come around?”
He shrugged, as if he was okay with it. “You can’t control the heart.”
But I could…just one drop, and I could be over Robbie and head-over-heels in love with Angel. It would be perfect.
“Let me take you out tomorrow,” he said. “You ever go shooting? It’s a great way to release energy.”
I shook my head.
“Perfect. You’re gonna love it. I’ll pick you up after work.”
After he left, I made myself a kale and romaine salad and picked at it. I reached for the ominous white envelope on the counter that was staring at me. The same envelope I’ve been avoiding since it arrived. So much had happened since I had read the denial inside it. There were other kombucha brewing companies all over the country, as I’d found during my research. That meant there was a way. This stupid decision of the department of Ag wouldn’t be the end of the road for mine. It couldn’t. I wished Alice had a magic potion for this. Then I wouldn’t even have to think about it. How could I get my kombucha company up and running legally? There had to be a way…a way to just make it happen.
The thought reminded me of something. Then I remembered the book Alice gave me. I found my purse on the counter, fished out the tiny, ancient bound pages, and opened to the first chapter.
THE ALL is MIND; The Universe is Mental, it read. But what did that mean? … [a human] CREATES MENTALLY! And in so doing he uses no outside materials, nor does he reproduce himself, and yet his Spirit pervades the Mental Creation.
This was mental, I thought, but I couldn’t put it down. I took the ancient wisdom to the couch, where I read until my lids were too heavy to hold up.
I woke the next morning to the realization that my car was still at work. I’d left it there when we all went to Alice’s house in Oliver’s car. Thankfully, Carrie answered her phone this morning, not the norm for her. On the ride in, she told me about her reading. Her issue was a cycle she’d created. I didn’t ask about the potion, just in case she hadn’t gotten one. She parked next to my car.
“Must’ve moved on,” Carrie said when we saw the Philips usual corner was empty. Then we turned our heads and found them on the other side of the street. “Oh, no, just moved station. Somebody should picket their house…or better, their family funerals. Has anyone done that?”
“I don’t even see them anymore,” Oliver said, falling into line with us. There was a skip in his step, and I wondered how his healing had gone. I figured if he wanted to share, he would. Plus, I didn’t exactly want to publicize all the dark shadows that had been lurking in me. “Hurting people hurt people,” Oliver said.
Carrie laughed. “What, you’re a philosopher now?”
I laughed too.
“Alice said it,” he said, defensively. “I was talking about the Philips. Why else would they want to hurt people? It’s not about you or me.” He smiled, as if that was all he needed to know in the world.
Carrie and I nodded. It made sense.
After work, I did my usual to avoid Robbie and jetted out the back elevator. I was headed to my car when I heard the familiar thundering and crackling blowing down the street. I looked up to see the Harley’s cherry-red fender and wide, vibrating exhaust. A grinning Angel put his thick leather boots on the pavement and beckoned me over with the casual cock of his head. His eyes were shaded by obsidian glass, his hair sleeked by the bandana again. My heart quickened. The sight was hot enough to make me melt.
When he’d said he’d pick me up after work, I hadn’t thought he meant at work. I would have missed him if he’d been any later. Still, I gave him a smile, looped my purse diagonally over my shoulder, and swung my leg over the seat. The engine roared, its exhaust crackling through the muffler, loud and demanding, and the bike accelerated immediately.
We were halfway to the intersection when I saw Robbie on the curb staring at us, his jaw unhinged. It gutted me. Suddenly this ride felt so wrong.
Angel drove the country road to his daylight rambler.
I accepted his hand and he led me around back, where bales of hay were stacked, holding up…well, I guessed they were rifles.
“This is an AK-47,” Angel said, tapping the one on the right. “And,” indicating the other gun, “this is an AR-15.” He curled his lips deviously. “You ever shoot?”
I shook my head.
“I have a feeling you need to release some energy.” He grinned. “You’re gonna like this.” He slugged out of his jacket and draped it across the hay right next to a few boxes of ammunition and a couple of round metal…things. I didn’t ask what they were.
Angel’s black t-shirt outlined his chiseled features and I realized for the first time that he must work out. It made me feel positively lazy. I held in my stomach. He attached one of the round metal things to the AK.
“Stand over here.” He guided me to his designated spot, then turned around, stealing one more devious glance at me and tossing me a wink. Then he lifted the AK-47, nudged its butt into his broad shoulder, and lowered his head. His finger hit the trigger.
I couldn’t tell if his finger was moving. All I could see was a chain of smoke, sparks, and what I guessed were shells falling, suspended in the air, as if discarded in slow motion. And all I could hear was the continuous, automated firing. It was sonorous and echoing, and I could see Angel pressing into it. I couldn’t deny that the sight was breathtaking. Carrie would be drooling right now and shoving me out of her way. But I couldn’t say I felt compelled to try it. Until it was my turn.
When Angel was done, his grin stretched from ear to ear, his face lit up like a child that had snuck into Santa’s goodie bag. He set the gun down and studied me.
“You don’t have to try it if you don’t want to. I—”
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