Hansen glanced around and lowered his voice, “Reverence, man.”
“I don’t give a shit. I shouldn’t be here.”
“You aren’t going anywhere with that attitude.”
“Fuck you too.”
“She got to you this time, didn’t she?” Hansen gave him that knowing smile. “You’re starting to care, to fall in love.” Nothing seemed to ruffle the calmness the man radiated. That used to impress him.
Lucky Leroy Morgan came by the nickname “Lucky” naturally. He loved women. Not just one. Many. And caring this much about one woman freaked him out.
“You’re running out of time,” Hansen said. “If you can’t get her to accept you before these strong solar storms are over, you’re stuck here, my friend.”
“Like I don’t know that.” Lucky clawed his fingers through his shaggy, sun-bleached hair. Here wasn’t that bad, for a spirit detention hub so to speak. A lush valley full of sharp-painted wildflowers intermixed with the sweet smelling grass all framed by purple snowcapped mountains jutting into an azure sky. Puffy, porcelain clouds floated by without a care in the Universe. When he’d first arrived, it had been one more adventure. More mountains to climb, a different world to conquer, but the thrill had quickly lost its appeal when he’d realized there was no risk.
He was already dead. What more could happen to him? The worst had already happened. What he needed was to get back to the land of the living.
And Gemma Star was his ticket.
CHAPTER TWO
Gemma flipped the sign to open and unlocked the doors to Chinook Books. Of course, her mother Siri and her Aunt Rosie were the first ones to breeze in.
“Did you see the Aurora last night?” Siri asked after Gemma shut the door behind them.
Siri was garbed in her traditional winter woolen dress pieced together from a variety of rainbow recycled sweaters serged in a haphazard design. Added to the outfit were clashing arm warmers with just her fingers uncovered. Silver rings fitted every finger, and her painted nails shimmered with a glittery crimson today. White bunny boots and a royal purple coat, that was more of a cloak, completed the ensemble. Rosie helped Siri out of her cloak, while Siri stared at Gemma.
Oh Lord, she hoped her mother wasn’t off her meds.
“Mom?” Gemma prompted. “You okay?”
Siri blinked her dark blue eyes rimmed with thick black lashes. Her shocking red hair was long and curly and had yet to fade with age.
Gemma glanced at Rosie who shrugged. Aunt Rosie was the complete opposite of Siri. Her brunette hair had been left to gray naturally, and cut in a no-nonsense bob. She wore jeans, a man’s flannel shirt and a sensible parka that she shrugged off, along with removing her gloves and knit hat. She resembled Gemma’s father who had died when she was eight that it sometimes hurt to look upon her. Gemma took their coats and hung them up behind the counter.
She turned back to find Siri’s eyes burrowing into her, as though trying to see into Gemma’s soul.
“Gemini Star, what have you been up to?”
She hated it when her mother looked at her like that. “What do you mean?” She’d better clarify. She’d learned early not to volunteer information.
“You’ve been touched by a Dreamweaver.” Siri continued her slow sweep, traveling up and down Gemma’s simple brown slacks and cream cable knit sweater. “Tell me you haven’t given yourself to him.”
“What? No. What are you talking about?” A premonition prickled up Gemma’s spine, and she tried to suppress the sudden need to shudder.
“You mustn’t do it. Do not invite him in. Your soul will be compromised.”
“Huh? What? Mom, you’re talking nonsense.” But it didn’t feel like nonsense. Sometimes the things her mother said were downright freaky. Her dream lover was just that, a dream. No more. Unfortunately she knew enough having been raised by her New Age mother not to completely discount the supernatural. There was too much out there left unexplained. But a Dreamweaver? What the hell was that?
“Siri, let’s get you a cup of tea.” Rosie shared a here-we-go-again glance with Gemma.
“Yes, tea. Must have tea, and then we’ll consult the cards,” Siri said.
“Mom—”
“I’m reading your cards today, Gemini. You can’t stop me. I’ll find out what’s going on.”
Oh great.
“Siri, you have a full day of customers scheduled today,” Rosie said. “Let’s concentrate on them first. What do you say?”
“Fine. You’re right of course. But if there’s time....”
Gemma mouthed “thank you” as Rosie turned Siri toward the café. Amie, the barista who had been with Gemma for years, already carried a tray with a brewing teapot, along with matching cups and saucers to Siri’s favorite bistro table right in the middle of the room. No disposable coffee cups for her mother. Tea was a ritual and needed to be respected as such with purified water and a specialized Silver Tip White Tea imported from Sri Lanka.
“This looks charming, Amie, thank you.” Siri adjusted her skirts as she sat. “So, Amie, when are you due?”
Amie looked at Gemma, her eyes wide with panic and then back to Siri. “No, ma’am, I’m not pregnant.” She smoothed down the fabric of her apron as though to show off the flatness of her stomach.
“Hmm, interesting. I see a new baby in your immediate future.” Siri shrugged and helped herself to one of the shortbread cookies also on the tray.
“Amie, I’m going to need a brownie this morning,” Rosie said, attempting to get Amie’s attention off her nonexistent bump.
“Coming right up.” Amie undid the ties to her apron and wrapped them around her front, tying them tighter around her middle as she walked back behind the counter to get Rosie’s brownie.
Gemma hurried across the café and whispered over the dessert case, “You know not to take anything she says to heart, right?”
“Yes, I know that,” Amie said. The mass of bracelets on her thin wrist jangled as she slammed open the bakery case. “But I’m late. Gemma, I can’t be pregnant, I just can’t. Drew hasn’t even asked me to marry him. And I don’t know if I want to marry him. A baby? What am I going to do with a baby? I’m not ready to be a mother.”
“Stop. It’s nothing. Nothing.”
“But you heard her,” Amie’s voice rose in worry.
“Yes, and last Tuesday she told Mrs. Halverson that she’d find cockroaches. This is Fairbanks, Alaska. Have you ever seen a cockroach?”
Amie took a deep breath, closed her eyes and let it out. “Right. Okay, but you know I’ll need to leave early so that I can buy a pregnancy test to put my mind at ease.” Amie put Rosie’s brownie on a plate and took it to her.
Gemma studied Amie’s trim figure. It was just as fit and petite as it was when Gemma had hired her right out of high school. No way could she be over a hundred and ten pounds. She just topped five feet. With her dyed black hair, multiple ear piercings, coupled with her kohl rimmed eyes and dark purple lipstick, Amie fit more into Chinook Books than Gemma did.
The eclectic bookstore used to be hippie central when Siri ran it. Incense had burned at the counter. Brownies could be ordered “organic” instead of the dark chocolate, nut-filled ones Gemma stocked. And customers hung out all day gazing up at the celestial ceiling her father had commissioned for Siri’s birthday. There was still a New Age vibe, and the ceiling still received a lot of oohs and ahhs, but the more years that went by, the more Gemma had lessened the influence. Though she hadn’t been able to get rid of Tarot Tuesday, or what she secretly referred to as Trial Tuesday.
When Gemma’s perky part-timer, Callista, reported to work at noon, Gemma grabbed a book on dreams and hid herself in the back office. She let Callista run the book floor while Amie continued to fret about her possible pregnancy in the café. Siri was too occupied with her Tarot readings to pay attention to what Gemma was up to.
She wished she could just ask her mother what she meant about the Dreamweaver comme
nt, but she’d learned a long time ago not to show too much interest in her mother’s “second sight.” At least medicated, Siri didn’t talk to people who weren’t there and predict the future or the sex of unborn children. Well, as much.
She hoped Amie wasn’t pregnant. Maybe she’d run out and pick up a pregnancy test to put both their minds at ease. Until she could get away, she had some investigating to do. She opened the book she’d swiped on dreams and found the table of contents.
The chapter on “Astral Sex” leapt off the page.
CHAPTER THREE
“Well, you look awful,” Tern Maiski said, entering Gemma’s little back office.
There wasn’t much room for more than a desk in the closet-like space. Gemma had tried to lighten it up from the multi-colored rainbow arching across the walls her mother had painted to a much more soothing sage green. Though the rainbow still bled through in the right light as if refusing to be covered up.
Gemma planted her elbows on the old walnut desk that had been her father’s, and rested her chin in her hands. “I’m having astral sex.”
Tern sank into the chair opposite. “You’re having what?”
“Astral sex.”
“Before I draw any wrong conclusions, explain exactly what astral sex is.” Tern shrugged off her stylish black wool coat that reached to her calves and unwound a hand-painted red silk scarf from around her neck. Tern owned the Arctic Tern Art Gallery just down the street, and they had a standing date to eat lunch together on Trial Tuesdays.
“Here, read this.” Gemma held up the book for Tern, her head still spinning with the otherworldly implications.
Tern took the book and read the passage Gemma indicated. She glanced up. “You’re having sex dreams? What a relief. I thought—never mind what I thought.”
“Geesh, Tern. I’m not even seeing anyone special and you thought I’d—holy balls, just keep reading.”
Tern followed the passage with her finger. “Astral sex—damn but that’s funny to say—is the theosophical belief, belonging to the ethereal region that is believed to exist at a higher level than the material world. Personal auras are said to have non-corporeal sex with astral playmates.” Tern leaned forward, the book cradled to her chest. “So you have a spiritual playmate.”
“Be serious for a minute.”
“I am being serious.” Tern’s Athabascan skin glowed under the harsh fluorescent lights, picking up the auburn strains highlighted in her thick ebony hair. But it was her dark almond eyes looking grave that had Gemma swallowing.
“Don’t tell me you buy into this?”
“Of course I do.”
“Come on, I was counting on you to bring me back to earth.” At Tern’s lift of an eyebrow, Gemma added, “Ground me at least. I need to talk to someone and I can’t tell anyone out there.” Gemma gestured wide with her hand to include all the occupants currently in Chinook Books who believed what the pretty painted cards told them.
“Your mother probably has more information on the subject than this book.” Tern held up the Dreamology Dictionary.
“I’ve been trying my whole life to get away from this kind of stuff. Don’t tell me you believe in it?”
“There is a lot I believe in.” Tern’s tone more than the words had Gemma feeling ashamed as she remembered Tern’s close call with death last summer. “There’s so much we don’t understand,” Tern continued. “It’s arrogant to discount the unexplained.”
Wow, nice way to put her in her place. “Help explain this to me then. I’m so confused.”
“Tell me what’s happening.”
“I’m having the most intense, sexual dreams. It’s like he’s there. I can feel him, smell him, hear him until I open my eyes. Then he’s gone and usually before I ...well, you know.”
Tern’s lips twisted into a smile. “No, I don’t know.”
“Don’t make me say it.”
“Yeah, you’re going to need to say it.”
“Come on, Tern.”
“Well, I guess that’s close enough.”
Gemma felt the blush heat her face.
“How long has he been ‘visiting’?” Tern asked.
“Three weeks as of last night.”
“Every night?” Those brows of hers arrowed in thought. One brow was split at the apex by a scar giving her a somewhat rakish look for a woman. Very becoming on her and said more than words that she held her own.
“Except two days ago,” Gemma admitted, though leaving out how despondent she’d felt when her dream man hadn’t put in an appearance.
“So you have been having astral sex—damn, I love that phrase—for three weeks and you haven’t orgasmed?”
Gemma’s blush flamed, and she couldn’t respond.
“You might have to help yourself out for your own peace of mind.”
“Forget all that. How do I get rid of him?”
“Your astral partner?”
“Will you quit saying that word?”
“Nope.” Tern shook her head and laughed. This time it was full-bodied, and Gemma couldn’t help being pulled into the magic of the melodious sound.
“Oh my hell, what am I going to do?”
“Figure out why he’s sought you out and vice versa.”
“Me? I haven’t sought him out. How would I even go about doing something like that?”
“Your subconscious has. Maybe you need to have a talk with yourself and figure out what is missing in your life that you’re seeking in the astral plane.”
“Well, the obvious. I must be sexually frustrated.”
“Are you?”
“I didn’t think I was until he started visiting me every night.”
“Wait, you said he didn’t visit two days ago. That was Sunday. So why not Sunday? What was happening that was different that night?”
“Nothing really. The bookstore was closed, so I took care of errands and cleaned the house. I did meet up with Cub and had dinner.”
“Oooh, how did that go?”
“Eh. He’s good looking, that’s for sure.” Jacob “Cub” Iverson resembled a Norse god. Cool blond looks with ice blue eyes and muscles that bore witness to his ancestors throwing tree trunks. She should be climbing all over him from the moment he’d moved to town six months ago. “But there wasn’t any spark.”
“No, spark with Cub Iverson? My goldfish lights up when he’s in the room. The man was made for worshiping.”
“Don’t let Gage hear you talk like that.”
“Just because I’m married doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate art when I see it. So why no spark? Did he kiss you?”
“Yeah.” Gemma sighed. “It was nice but not as nice as my Dreamweaver’s.”
Tern’s smile fell, and she became very still. “What did you just call him?”
“Dreamweaver.” A shiver skittered across her skin. “Why?”
“Pull up the weather report for the last three weeks.” Tern pointed to Gemma’s laptop. “Come on. Do it.”
Gemma did as Tern instructed while Tern came around the desk to see the results. They quickly scanned through the past weather reports for the last month. Fairbanks had actually fared well for March. Other than the snow storm Sunday night, they’d had cold but clear weather and amazing Aurora Borealis displays due to the record solar flares.
“I don’t want you to freak out with what I’m about to say,” Tern said, slowly retaking her seat.
“You’re already freaking me out.”
“Well, hold onto something then. Your Dreamweaver is using the Northern Lights as a conduit to travel between the astral planes. If you aren’t careful, he’ll snatch your spirit and take you back with him. You need protection.”
“Really? You’d think having astral sex would be the ultimate solution for having unprotected sex. You can’t get pregnant or catch anything.”
“Don’t joke about this. There is so much you can lose.” Tern tightened her lips. “What’s the forecast for the Aurora tonight?”
“Don’t go to sleep. Promise me.” Tern waited until Gemma promised. “Okay, you wire yourself with caffeine. I’ll talk to Gage.”
“Gage? Tern, no.” Gemma rose out of her chair as Tern stood and hurriedly slid her coat back on. “I don’t want anyone else knowing about this.”
“We’re going to need his help. He works for the Geophysical Institute, remember. He’s an Aurora genius. We need to know what we’re up against if this ‘thing’ is using the Northern Lights as a stream into our world.”
“This sounds like Star Trek,” Gemma muttered rushing to catch up with Tern as she exited the office onto the book floor.
“Until I get back with you, it wouldn’t hurt to find out what Siri knows. She might have some other ways of protecting you.”
“I can’t talk to my mother about this.” She’d wished now she hadn’t talked to Tern.
Tern stopped and faced her. “Your soul is at risk. Talk to her. And no sleep.” She held up her finger when Gemma went to interrupt. “No naps either.”
“You’ve got to be kidding?”
“The Aurora is out there even during the day. We humans can only see them at night.” Tern took Gemma by the arm and steered her toward the café. A few tables were taken by regulars who liked to hear Siri’s readings. Siri was currently deep in the middle of another reading for Mrs. Halverson who never missed a week.
“Amie, large coffee with a double shot of espresso for Gemma,” Tern ordered. “I want you to make sure she drinks enough of those to make her twitchy.”
Amie, paler than when Gemma had left her, pointed at Mrs. Halverson. “Did you see Mrs. Halverson’s cockroach?”
Gemma followed Amie’s shaky finger. There on Mrs. Halverson’s pink lapel jacket was pinned a huge emerald cockroach.
Siri stood, holding the moon card in her hand for Gemma to see. “Dreamweaver,” she whispered.
A PREVIEW OF UNDER THE GUN
Book 1 of the Russian Roulette Novels
Tiffinie Helmer
Coming 2014
Death Cache Page 28