Chapter 16
sixteen
LIZZY
I know I promised Dr. Sutherland I’d stay in, but after three days of moping around the house, your girl is a wilting flower. I woke up with a headache, my shoulders so tight it looks like my arms are growing out of my ears, and my whole body buzzy with some kind of weird adrenaline.
I need air. I need sunlight.
I need more weed, too, but that will have to wait until he’s back. My own attempts at dropping a note into the portal have been epic failures, the evidence littered around the basement floor. The portal didn’t even flicker. Guess I should’ve paid more attention that first night.
With no progress on the portal, I’ve been splitting my energy between the basement cleanup and Tarot practice, working with my new books and my mother’s deck.
Which is a little weird with her ashes sitting in a box on the shelf, but what can you do?
If she doesn’t like her new temporary resting place, she can ghost up and let me know.
I haven’t seen her ghost again, though. Just the visions.
Random, but always similar. She’s in her basement witchy room, seated at the table, working with the grimoire.
Writing new spells, testing things, taking notes.
I can never see the writing, never figure out what the spells are for, but I can feel her intensity.
Whatever she was working on before she died, it was important.
The cards themselves haven’t unlocked any more visions, but they do speak to me, in their way.
Whenever I touch one, the illustration comes to life before my eyes, conveying its meaning.
Yes, even when I’m sober. When I look up the different interpretations presented in the books, they always confirm my intuitive thoughts.
I guess that’s my channel power, coming in hot.
I can’t wait to tell Dr. Sutherland about it.
If he ever comes back. Ugh.
Anyway, my card today was The Fool—a woman in a flowy red dress dancing alongside the edge of a cliff, surrounded by butterflies.
She looks as if she’s about to take a literal flying leap, with no care whatsoever about what awaits her at the bottom.
Time for a grand adventure, the card said, pretty much directly into my mind. That was all the permission I needed.
Surely as a scholar of the occult mysteries, Dr. Sutherland will understand.
And that, your honor, is how I ended up at the bookshop for a little doom-n-gloom tea party with Helena. Only this time, she didn’t even offer the tea. She put me to work unpacking and shelving books. Talk about doom-n-gloom!
“I’m telling you, Helena,” I say around a teetering stack in my arms. I’ve just finished updating her on Killroy’s visit the other day, which is still creeping me out. “The guy is definitely a lawyer. He’s shady as fuck. Where do you want these?”
“This way, dear.”
I follow her to a bookshelf by the entrance that she’s just finished clearing. The cat, Mary Shelley, has taken up residence on the top shelf. Shooing her away, Helena kneels on the floor, gesturing for me to set the books down beside her.
“I knew we couldn’t trust him,” she says, grabbing a book from the stack and sliding it into its place. “From the moment Rachel mentioned him at dinner.”
“Rachel doesn’t seem to have a problem with him, though. That’s the weird thing. Normally my sister is a pretty good judge of character. Well, not with you.”
“We’ve all got our blind spots, I suppose.”
“I keep hoping their magic will kick in. Give them a little more insight into everything. What is taking so long? Dr. Sutherland said that my mother’s binding is broken, and now that we’re all in the house together, our powers should be manifesting more strongly.”
“Your sisters need to open themselves up to it. To make a safe space for it to take root inside them. The more they resist and deny its existence, the harder it will be for them to wield their magic.”
“But I need them, don’t I? I’m fine taking the lead, but eventually… I mean, a demon portal sounds like a lot to manage.”
“All you can do is be patient. Encourage them. Don’t pressure or rush them. That will only—Lizzy. Why are you rubbing your neck?” She narrows her eyes at me, a little judgy about it too. “Don’t tell me you pulled a muscle carrying a few books. I don’t have insurance for that kind of thing!”
“It’s not the books. I’ve just been feeling kind of off today.
” I give her the list of my symptoms: pain, pressure, fatigue.
I don’t give her my self-diagnosis, which is withdrawal from both weed and Dr. Sutherland, because I’m hoping she’ll do the cool auntie thing and tell me I’m coming down with something and offer to make some of that delicious tea.
But all she does is scrunch up her face and say, “You’re not sick, but your body is trying to tell you something. Pay attention. And go get me another stack of books.”
So much for the sympathy vote.
With Mary Shelley close on my heels, I do as she asks, carrying over another load and helping her arrange everything for the display.
“Did you tell Rachel about your interactions with him?” she asks.
“She thinks I’m overreacting. I mean, she did tell him to meet her there, and they were planning to tour the house so he could assess everything, so in her mind it was just a communication issue. But… I don’t know, Helena. He gave me the ick.”
“Has he bothered you since?”
“I haven’t seen him. I think Rachel met with him again yesterday about the auction thing.
Apparently he’s got some rich friends who love old houses, and antiques, and he hosts a gala every year where I guess he just…
sells other people’s shit? I don’t know.
He’s already salivating over some of the crap in my mother’s house. ”
“Don’t remind me.” Helena sighs, her knees popping when she stands up. “It’s not my place to tell you girls what to do with your mother’s belongings. But I encourage you not to make any rash decisions or allow yourselves to be pressured.”
“I get that, but at the same time, we do want to get a good offer on the house. And liquidate everything. The sooner the better.” I scoop up Mary Shelley, nuzzling her silky black fur.
She indulges me all of three seconds before leaping out of my arms like the Tarot Fool, landing on her feet and shooting off into the abyss.
“I can’t stand the guy, but if he can actually help us wrap this all up?
I suppose I can tolerate a little sliminess. I’m no stranger to dickheads.”
I laugh, but Helena doesn’t look amused. She looks sad.
“With time often comes the gifts of hindsight and clarity,” she says. “You may not think so now, but there may come a day when you wish you’d held on to some of the family heirlooms.”
Her eyes shine with emotion, and again, that stupid lump lodges itself in my throat.
“But that’s just it, Helena,” I say softly, not trusting my voice to hold steady. “In the end, my mother wasn’t family. Not to us.”
She sighs and runs a warm hand over my head. “Just be careful, dear. Especially around Mr. Killroy. He’s promising riches, and I understand that temptation. But some things just can’t be replaced.”
Yeah, and love is the real magic!
Pretty sure I’ve had enough Instagram-quote philosophy for this lifetime, thanks.
I finish helping her unpack and shelve all the books, and finally she busts out the tea and cookies.
Maple creams this time—top tier. But my head is absolutely pounding now, the pressure behind my eyes nearly unbearable.
Showing me a last kindness, she bags up my cookies to go and we make plans to meet again soon, after I’ve had some time to catch up with Dr. Sutherland.
Talking about my professor puts a little more razzle in my dazzle, but the moment I step out of the bookshop, it fades again.
It’s like the air is literally trying to squeeze my bones into mush.
Not even the thought of Dr. Sutherland’s glasses and rolled-up sleeves and pin-me-down forearms can cure my funk, which is how I know it’s serious.
I think about heading across the street to petal & vine to check on Kate, but that would likely result in me being put to work again, and clearly that’s not a good strategy. I’d rather just go back to the house and crawl under the blankets with my maple creams and forget about life for awhile.
As I exit the town proper, a sharp pain sizzles through my skull, followed by a wave of dizziness that nearly takes me down. I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for it to pass. When I feel steady enough again to open my eyes, I find I’m no longer alone.
A butterfly perches on my shoulder.
The Fool’s butterflies. I read about them in the book. The Fool’s animal companions—traditionally a little white dog, but in the case of my mother’s deck, the butterflies—typically represent the subconscious trying to warn the Fool she’s about to fall off that cliff.
The message from today’s draw no longer feels like a call to a grand adventure. It feels like a warning. One that’s come too late.
Because now I know, with utter certainty, what I’m feeling.
Someone is following me.
Shit. Shit! Why did I ignore Dr. Sutherland’s advice? Why didn’t I remember my phone? Why am I too fucking stupid to live?
I quicken my stride, but the feeling only intensifies. I scan my surroundings. No one is around—not even a passing car—but still. I can feel eyes on me. Feel the vibration of the footsteps at my back, despite not being able to see anyone.
Taking a non-direct route, I zig-zag down another street, doubling back, hoping to lose my tail. No fucking dice—the feeling only gets worse. But I can’t stop now. I need to get to the house. The magic inside will protect me. I know it.
It feels like miles before I finally hit the driveway. I run all the way up. When the house comes into view, I sprint the last few dozen yards, not stopping until I’m on the porch, totally winded.
The front door opens for me. The butterfly takes off, and I sigh in relief, ready to collapse.