Chapter 1 #3
They acted as if everything that rolled off her tongue was a revelation. Sure, her cliché phrases were tempting, coming from her low register and clean delivery. But she had said nothing worth more than the passing attention old greeting cards received.
“You can be your own hero. I learned that at a young age.” Rae rested her hand on her chest. “You just have to believe in the power you possess…no pun intended.”
Everyone laughed. I wanted to reevaluate all my life’s choices. Instead, I started back down the hallway.
Rae was a salesperson. The worst kind. The kind who turned tragedy into profit.
But if there was even a slight chance she could give an “all clear” assessment of the ranch so Wilson would stop waxing poetic about her (and finally put that big brain of his into thinking of non-fictional solutions to our very non-fictional problem), I’d swallow my judgement.
And if she could offer a few business tips along the way, then that’d be icing on the cake.
“Can I help you?” a young woman asked as she straightened Rae’s book display.
“Just trying to get in line.” I forced a smile. “I’m nervous I won’t have time to get my book signed.”
She nodded, understanding. “The talk’s supposed to go on for another hour, though.”
“I know, it’s just…” I ruefully finished with a, “I’m a huge fan.”
She smiled, offering me a sticky note to write my name on. “She’s even more incredible up close.”
“I’m sure.” Let’s hope.
Rae was on stage for an hour and forty-five minutes, taking as many questions as time allowed. I’d just given in to crouching when she finally made it into the hall.
The area flooded with conversation and her entourage.
A young, muscular guy with golden-brown skin and dark, thick curls cut just above his ears cleared the way.
The scarring on his upper lip was a soft echo of a cleft lip procedure.
He hesitantly offered a hand when I struggled to stand back up.
I ignored it, putting far too much faith in my wobbly balance.
“Hi, so, I’m sorry,” he said in a gentle tone. “But could you step behind this tape for a second? Just until Rae gets settled in?”
“Of course.” I nodded, stumbling a bit to get behind a marked spot on the floor.
“I appreciate it,” he said before scoping out the rest of the area to ensure his boss had a clear walkway.
Rae’s voice pierced through the hum of the crowd.
She answered quick questions. Her laugh was like her walk, at complete ease.
If the world spun on her axis, we’d have no hope of making our cycle across the sun.
By the time she got to the table, long shadows stretched across the parking lot.
The sky was red, yawning its final goodbye.
“Is there water?” she asked one volunteer in a rushed whisper. “And tea? I mentioned something hot for my throat before going on.”
The volunteer went red and glanced at their equally nervous companion. A Black woman who was a couple of inches shorter than Rae and had a nearly identical wide nose and Cupid’s bow on her lip heaved out a sigh and said, “I’ll get it.”
The volunteers scrambled after the woman, extending apologies and offers to lead the way to a break room.
Rae slipped into the chair behind the table, releasing a deep, dissatisfied sigh as she sat down. She drummed her nails on the table, a flash of frustration dimming the shine of her blinding aura. Smiling at her became harder.
“Could I…?” I looked at the nice guy who’d asked me to back up.
“Rae?” he asked, turning to her for a command. “Are you ready?”
She offered a one-shoulder shrug. “As I’ll ever be.”
I stepped across the tape on the ground. Something crunched under my soles. I frowned, studying a white, grainy substance lined across the floor. Salt.
“Go ahead.” Nice Guy gestured me forward. “She’s really friendly.”
“Right…” I murmured, giving the row of salt one last look over.
Rae didn’t look up at me when I greeted her with a hard, “Hello.”
Instead, she leaned over to listen to another man on her team.
He wore a black tee with sleeves short enough to show off the vibrant tattoo sleeves decorating his warm beige skin.
A pair of red-framed glasses pinned back his thick, wavy black hair.
He whispered into Rae’s ear, and whatever was said made her roll her eyes and laugh without smiling.
The guy shook his head when Rae whispered back. Her nose wrinkled in disapproval.
“Hi, sorry about the wait. How are you?” she asked, finally meeting my gaze. Her eyes were darker up close, the color like a deep lake after a rainstorm. She held her hand out for my book.
I blinked, stunned by how intensely she held my gaze, actually waiting for an answer to her question. Almost demanding it.
“Alright, I suppose.” My fingers stiffened, nerves like barbed wire coiling around my bones. I blanked, too confused to offer anything of substance.
Her smile was insidious sabotage. It was as if she were playing dirty, but I couldn’t prove how. Couldn’t prove why.
“Octavia,” Rae read off the sticky note and smiled to herself as if she were remembering a joke. “Almost fitting.”
“Sorry?”
“Almost as pretty as you.” She shrugged and uncapped a pricey-looking tortoise fountain pen.
“I…thanks.” I stuffed my hands into my pockets. “You’re Rae.”
My cheeks caught fire. She smiled, gracious enough not to comment on the obvious.
“Rae Jones.” She signed my book; her handwriting was large, loopy, and elegant. It took up most of the cover page, slashing through the title’s font without consideration of aesthetics. “It was nice of you to come out and see me.”
Come out and see me. The tone she used was one I’d assume would come from someone who was receiving support for the first time and grateful for the change of pace. Honored to be given a chance.
Rae said nothing else, pausing as if to offer me a second to gather my nerves and take part in the conversation. She stared up at me. My mouth went dry.
“I hope you believe in your power and never let fear win.” She wrote those exact words above her signature. Every letter took up as much space as possible, edges shoved into one another like sardines in a can.
“I think that nine times out of ten, belief calms fear that ought to be experienced,” I said.
Rae raised a brow. “Did my talk sway you any?”
She offered the book back.
“Not in the slightest, unfortunately.” I didn’t accept the book.
It hung between us as I continued, “You did an incredible job, don’t get me wrong.
Your gimmick’s sound. Brilliant, even. Encouraging people to believe in themselves and experience some hope.
Because every person who thinks they need help can’t possibly hire you.
But you can sell thousands of people overpriced ‘cleansing kits’ and books filled with spells—”
“Rituals and wards,” she corrected with an easy smile. Rae placed the book down, resting her hands on the cover. “I’ve never had the privilege of calling myself a witch and thus cannot cast spells.”
“Rituals and wards,” I amended. My armpits burned with sweat.
I should shut up or say something nice. Something fluffy.
But I couldn’t stop without finishing my train of thought.
It was a compulsively uncharming habit. “With your family’s reputation as leaders in your field, paired with your ability to speak, it’s a brilliant and lucrative career move. ”
Rae’s smile changed; one side curved higher than the other. “You think what I do is a gimmick?”
My stomach twisted. I could practically hear my brother now, Shut up and tell the woman she is the greatest to ever do it.
She rested her chin in her hand, gazing up at me.
“Yeah.” I shifted my weight. “It’s a wonderful one. Your business savvy is admirable. I really mean that.”
“How kind,” she said, but she didn’t touch her hand to her chest like she’d done on stage.
“It sets you apart,” I continued, because I seemed dead set on digging my grave and climbing into it in the next ten minutes.
“Truly. Your brand clings to the traditional idea of hunters and slayers and whatever you people like to call it. Yet it gives them some power, too. Let’s let them in on the bit.
But what I can’t figure out is whether you really believe it.
If you actually subscribe to the theater of it all.
Since you’re so good at selling it, I think maybe a small part of you has to believe.
Or, maybe it’s your family that keeps you in the vortex?
Plenty of us stick to the religion we grew up in because of familiarity. ”
Rae’s eyes were wide open now. More alert. I hadn’t realized before, but on stage, her eyelids were heavy. She’d even closed them after questions, as if needing darkness to think. As if needing to make mini escapes into her inner world.
But now she was wholly here with me. Truly looking at me.
She hadn’t really been looking at any of us before.
Maybe she couldn’t afford it energy-wise.
Or maybe she just didn’t care to. Whatever the reason, I had little time to speculate.
The tattooed guy who’d whispered in her ear before leaned back in, and I caught the ending part of his sentence: “…get the line moving.”
“Have you read it?” Rae gestured to the book.
“Sorry,” the tattooed guy said at the same time. “We’ve got to wrap this up.”
Rae ignored him, gaze on me. “Have you?”
I blinked, confused and conflicted. Tattoo Guy shot daggers, but Rae leaned forward, elbows on the table as she waited for my response.
I nodded. “Sure.”
She smiled as if she knew a secret about me that I hadn’t even realized. “Like, truly read it?”