Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
TEN DAYS AFTER, PART II
Thirty minutes later we’re standing outside a canary-yellow bungalow in Rosemont.
A yard sign stuck into the lawn reads Helene Flowers, Medium.
At least a handful of wind chimes tinkle softly along the awning of the white porch, on which several cats lounge.
One’s head perks up at the sound of the truck door closing. A shiver rattles down my spine.
“Looks legit,” Rafael says, hands dug into his pockets.
“Do you frequent many mediums?” I feel none of the amusement in his eyes. My gut’s telling me this is a bad idea, one that will only lead to disappointment.
Rafael offers me a one-shoulder shrug. “Here and there, as the ghosts come and go.”
“Ohmygod.” Ignoring his soft chuckle, I march toward the stairs leading up to the veranda, anxiety spiking as I land on the first of the steps.
The cats, at least ten of them, doze, laze, and stretch in nooks of faded patio furniture or beneath it, and their eyes seem to simultaneously settle on me. One’s tongue darts out as if to taunt me.
“Not a fan of cats?” Rafael’s voice startles me.
I shoot him a dark glare Pre-Coma Evie would have been proud of. “I’m not not a fan.”
He has the nerve to smile. “Who hurt you?”
An image of my mother makes me stumble. Bleached-blond hair, over-the-top makeup, and drugstore perfume. Boyfriends, booze, and Benji the cat, who got more attention than either of her daughters ever did. “Not a cat,” I say, not missing the way his features shift with my tone.
Before he can use his compulsion abilities to see through me, I climb the stairs, trying my hardest to avoid every single feline I pass. The stairs creak and groan as Rafael follows. At the top, I step aside, giving him the space to knock.
Three raps break the silence. A cat meows. My unease grows. I know I had the idea, but we’re about to meet with a medium, someone who makes money off people’s grief by pretending to talk to their loved ones. I shouldn’t have suggested this.
Rafael seems unbothered. Even when it takes several more knocks and almost an entire minute for the door to open.
A woman with dark-brown skin scans Rafael from behind oversized glasses. Her permed hair, like spun silver, is pinned in a bun atop her head, and her shoulders, draped in a burnt-orange satin robe, curve inward as she leans heavily on a bejeweled walking stick.
Rafael flashes her a smile like a badge. “Hi! Helene?”
“Yes?” Her mismatched eyes—one sea blue, one forest green—narrow as she peers at him.
“I apologize for dropping by so unexpectedly, but my cousin Lupe sent me your way. Said you could help with a reading.” Even if he’s much taller, broader, and more imposing than Helene, he comes across as sweet and harmless.
“I don’t mean to interrupt your day, and I wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t urgent. ”
I watch Helene, curious if she’s going to allow herself to be Vela’d in her old age. She purses her red lips, and while I should be thrilled that she might say no—so we can skip this whole charade—I also know we need to try it. Desperate times, desperate measures.
“Smile wider,” I instruct.
Rafael eyes me like he’s discovered a new species.
I jerk my head to Helene. “For her.”
His lips tug wider, slow and practiced. The Dimple pops out. Coma Evie feels faint.
Helene hums. “Lupe, you said? You know, I think she texted me.” A southern twang softens her words. “And I have some time before I need to head out, young man. Come in.” She beckons him inside, her bracelets singing alongside the wind chimes.
I feel the absurd urge to do a victory dance, because we’re in. Rafael’s still staring at me as if I’m on the cover of Wildlife Magazine, but I follow Helene into her house. And stumble to a stop.
“Oh, my …” I gasp. Rafael’s shoulder brushes my invisible one, and the sensation—the warmth of him when it happens—doesn’t make me want to pull away.
I ignore my riotous reactions, because Helene’s place is …
distracting. It’s as if every shade of yellow has been splattered on every surface.
The walls. The upholstered furniture. Her wall art and ceramic cats. “I will never unsee this.”
“Plenty for your home decor Pinterest board.” Rafael nods thoughtfully. I snort, then cover my mouth with a hand. He responds with a wink that makes me skip a breath, and I categorize it as a new kind of vampire compulsion.
“Through here!” Helene declares, disappearing around a corner. I shake myself out of whatever he’s done and follow after them to a sunroom at the back of the house, where more of Helene’s interior design has me gawking. So. Much. Yellow.
“Sit, sit,” Helene instructs, waving Rafael to one of two sunshine-yellow armchairs. She shoos an orange cat from a chaise before she settles into it with a sigh. Rafael drops into one of the fabric armchairs, sinking into the cushions.
I inch into the room—until a meow echoes from somewhere unseen. I dig my heels in. I can observe from here. Both Evies agree.
“All right, young man, let’s start with the easy things. What’s your name?” Helene rests her hands in her lap.
“Rafael Diego Vela,” he says, his fingers drumming against the armrest.
“Lovely name,” Helene says with a warm smile. “Now, tell me—what brings you here today? Is there a loved one who has passed?”
Even if I’m not one hundred percent on board with this idea, I feel a twinge of disappointment. I’m not a loved one, and I haven’t passed. And if those are the conditions for Helene being able to help us—me—then we’re not off to a great start.
“She hasn’t passed,” Rafael says.
Helene’s forehead crinkles into a hundred creases. “Hmmm. I’m not sure I understand, Rafael.”
“She’s actually in a coma, but”—he rolls his shoulders, clears his throat—“I sense her … spirit. Can talk to her.”
“Hmm … hmmm,” Helene is not at all surprised by his confession. “And is she here now?”
“Yes.” Rafael casts a quick glance my way. I try to mask my doubts about Helene’s abilities, but shouldn’t she know this? Feel my presence or aura?
“Hmmm.” Helene hums as she closes her eyes.
A white kitten (more fluff than kitten) meows from beneath Rafael’s armchair.
I eye it warily. Rafael grins and reaches over, smoothly scooping her up and bringing her up to his face.
He nuzzles her for a second, then three, before settling her onto his lap, where she stretches once and settles down for a nap.
Rafael digs his fingers into her coat, tan fingers against white fur, and begins to massage her. The kitten mews. Helene hums.
And I want to slap myself for having been hypnotized by it all.
The kittens are a distraction, I realize with no small amount of horror.
“I’ve seen enough. This was a bad idea,” I admit, irritated with myself and the obviously pretend medium humming to herself. Rafael looks at me like I’ve suggested we shave the kitten.
“Can you tell me more about her?” Helene draws his attention back to her.
“Seriously, let’s go.” I attempt to steal it back.
“She’s demanding, ambitious, stubborn,” he says.
“Murderous,” I add, glaring at him.
Helene makes a noise. Then her face sobers, her entire body tensing. “Oh, I’m getting something.”
“It’s a whiff of bullshit.” I roll my eyes, retreating to the door. “You can’t be buying this,” I hiss, furious that he’s not seeing the truth. He simply shrugs, and—oh Mamma Mia—I think he’s being Helene’d. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Helene taps her chest. “I’m getting an eee sound. Would this young lady’s name start with an eee? Or is there an eee in her name?”
Rafael’s brows shoot up in surprise. I roll my eyes because—lucky guess. “Yes,” he responds.
She nods, encouraged. “Well, I’m also getting the sense that she’s quiet and shy, but happy. Real bright smile she has.”
I’m actually scowling like a ghoul. Rafael knows this. “Convinced now? It’s complete bullshit. Let’s go,” I command, jerking my head toward the door.
But Rafael continues to sit there, because he’s definitely been Helene’d. And he doesn’t want to help you, Pre-Coma Evie taunts.
“Wait—there’s more …” she says. Rafael leans in.
“I’m going to leave. Now.” I have one foot out the door.
“She’s younger. Maybe a teenager. She’s gesturing to her heart and clasping her hands. The symbol for sister.”
Rafael shakes his head. “Um. No. Not my sister. She’s—”
“Oh!” Helene exclaims, her eyes popping open. I turn to leave. “Daisies! Do daisies mean something to you?”
Her words have a paralyzing effect. I stumble to a stop, my breath hitching and limbs going numb. Helene’s staring at Rafael and I’m staring at her, feeling like she’s knocked the breath out of me.
“Annie,” I whisper.
“Annie?” Rafael’s gaze shifts to mine.
My throat closes. I nod. “She’s—was—my sister.”
A beat of silence.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.” Rafael’s voice softens in a way that makes my breath catch. Like he sees a fracture in me that no one—not even Gemma—has fully seen.
Of course he doesn’t know. I don’t talk about her. Annie is sacred.
“Ask her—ask her about Annie,” I say—beg. I know it’s stupid to believe anything Helene says, but if there’s a chance it’s Annie …
Rafael turns to Helene. “What else is she saying?”
“She’s not saying anything, darlin’. She’s smiling and spinning around, showing me her daisy dress.”
“She’s here?” I can’t conceal the hope in my voice. I whip around—desperate to see Annie, more than I want anything else. But there’s no flash of her bright-green eyes. No faded daisy dress. Not even a hint of her summer-and-sunshine scent.
Nothing.
Disappointment punches into my chest.
Helene continues, “It seems like dancing is important to her or to her loved ones. Nothing is ever really clear with these things.”
Tears sting my eyes. Annie and I loved dancing. We found old records and made up our own dances. We watched Mamma Mia! so many times we ruined the DVD. We once even used one of our mother’s boyfriend’s cameras to film our own musical.