Chapter 7
The world wasn’t actually closing in on me, but it may as well have been. My vision tunneled to just a blurry view of the streets around me. I walked, then I ran, until I reached my destination—unsurprised to find I knew the way despite all I’d forgotten about my hometown.
When I reached the graveyard, I leaned against the cool granite of my family mausoleum. My fingers traced my mother’s name while I fought for breath. Someone had been taking care of it. Fresh daisies, my mother’s favorite, grew in lush patches.
I wanted to hold onto sensations as long as possible. The smell of freshly mowed grass. The cool damp of freshly watered soil sinking into my fancy new slacks. The unexpected laughter from a family far in the distance.
I needed something to root me in place. But my stomach jumped and tumbled and flipped all around like the contents of a dryer. My heart pounded so hard I put my hand over it to still the fabric, as if it might beat straight out of my chest. I fought for breath. Tears stung my eyes.
As far as panic attacks went, this one was a doozy.
Anytime I was even the slightest bit upset, the same two damn things always happened.
My throat would close until I could barely swallow.
Then I’d throw up. I dug my fingers into the grass.
Something was rising from deep within me, and it was going to force its way to the top no matter how hard I fought.
Maybe I should have let it surface. Maybe it would have freed me from all this upheaval. But the woman I was at forty-eight didn’t have the common sense that my eighteen-year-old self had. Or the emotional anchor of another person to pull me back from the edge.
When I was young, my mother had been a pro at talking me down from panic attacks.
They’d happened almost daily after she died, and Agatha had taken over for her.
In college, I learned a dozen tools to help my clients when they were lost in emotion.
Still, the basic technique from my childhood was still the most effective.
I reached into the dregs of my memories to find their voices, buried deep.
Something about senses. I squeezed my eyes shut, then opened them wide.
First, name five things I can see. A magic house. A magic town. Fresh daisies. Purple people. A talking cat.
Next, name four things I can touch. A shirt altered to my body. Pants that fit my short legs. The cold stone of my mother’s burial site. The tears on my cheeks.
I couldn’t think straight. Three things I could hear? Wasn’t that next?
The rush of blood in my ears. A whimpering sound that apparently came from me. A bird chirping overhead as if it had any right to be so damn cheerful.
I let out a frustrated grunt, shocking the laughing family. They mumbled something to one another, then walked away, leaving me alone.
Except I wasn’t alone. The hair on the back of my neck stood on end. A wake of chills blanketed my skin. I was being watched.
I hauled myself up, brushing dirt off my pants and peered around the corner of the mausoleum. Squinting, I could just make it out.
A dog. But if it was a dog, it was a massive one. It was like a wolf. A wolf that, even crouching behind a gravestone, could not hide how tall it was. Its eyes bore into me. They were familiar enough that I debated taking a step forward, which was testament to just how far gone I was.
Sure, Simone. Walk toward the not-at-all-native animal that looks like it could eat you with one bite.
“Fancy a pet, CC?” I let out a squeak as Gumbo weaved his lanky frame around my legs. “You still get panic attacks?”
I glanced down at Gumbo, then back to where the wolf stood seconds earlier. There was nothing there.
“I think I’m hallucinating.” I plopped down to the earth. “I think I’m broken, Gumbo.”
“You’re going to be fine. I can help.” Gumbo rubbed his tail against me, his adorable little voice lightening my mood. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the moment while my thoughts ricocheted around my head like a manic ping-pong ball. “Pet the kitty whose fur is softer than silk.”
The cat talked me down. A talking cat talked me down from a panic attack. Sure.
Gradually, while Gumbo reassured me, my emotional tunnel widened, and my chest opened.
His purr was like a vibration that connected me to the universe, giving me a feeling of being rooted in place that I hadn’t realized I longed for.
My stomach settled, though I wished I had a soda or something to absorb the acid.
Something cool and wet cupped my palm. A glass of ginger ale, packed in ice.
“Did you do that?”
“Did I do what?” Gumbo’s bow and nails were now a bright lime green.
“This.” I waved my glass. “What happened to your ear?”
“A battle. Long ago.” Gumbo’s words were a slur. He adjusted again and curled onto my lap, tucking his tail and paws underneath like a talking, furry potato, his eyes on the glass in my hand. “You must have done that. House is too tired.”
I replayed the past few moments in my head. I didn’t remember saying I wanted a soda out loud. Of all the strange things that had happened, though, a mystical soda seemed the least important. “House?”
“It only has so much energy these days, and the board meeting ran long. That’s not completely your fault. The Twins’ shenanigans didn’t help matters.” For a moment, the cute kitten facade faded, and his voice was rough and angry. “I knew they would toy with you. Irksome fools.
“With their mayhem, your questions, and holding two Supremes in one space, the meeting took more power than usual. House doesn’t exactly have it in spades right now.” His innocent kitty voice was back. He stretched his paws, circled again, then settled with his head resting on my knee.
“Two Supremes?”
“I’m sure Ethan will explain it all tomorrow.” Gumbo closed his eyes.
“I’d sure like you to give me some answers today.” I rested my head against the stone. I didn’t want to wait until tomorrow for answers, especially when they would only lead to more questions. “Even a little bit of information will help me sleep tonight.”
“As you wish.” Gumbo leveled a glare at me, hopping off my legs to sit and face me. “Agatha’s spirit fractured when she died. Part of it went with her body, to ensure passage to the beyond. The other part is acting as Ephemeral Supreme, until you embrace your role.”
“What exactly does ephemeral mean?”
“Temporary.” Gumbo let out what I think was a chuckle. “Agatha was ready to pass in the end. She’s annoyed that part of her is still here.” He rolled to one side, exposing his chubby cat belly. “But you weren’t ready.”
“That’s probably my fault.” I risked a belly rub, grateful he didn’t attack my hand. You never know with cats.
“It’s no one’s fault, Simone. Things changed when your mother died, so Agatha gave you space. Perhaps more than she should have. You were supposed to return. Something happened that kept you away.”
“What?” It teased the edges of my memory again. A park bench. Tears of rage and shame. A determination to leave. A pull to stay.
“Wish we knew.” As if that settled everything, he returned to my lap. “We expected you twenty years ago.”
My heart stuttered. Twenty years ago, I was pregnant. I’d considered leaving Jeff. We’d gotten married instead. Treater’s Way had called to me even then, that much I remembered, but something kept it at bay, like a distant memory of a time when I was happier.
The only bright spot for me in the past twenty years had been my son, and in a fit of rage I’d damaged our relationship. Maybe irreparably. Bile burned at my throat.
“Jeff happened. Jeff kept me away.” It wasn’t entirely true, but it was close enough to feed the sick pool of betrayal still floating inside me.
I could have built a life here, raising my son in the town where I grew up.
Instead, I’d devoted myself to taking care of a man who couldn’t even do laundry.
“Wherever you are Jeff, I hope all your clothes stay dirty forever.”
“Be careful, Simone.” Gumbo’s ear rippled. His eyes darted around.
“Why?” I swiveled my head. We were still alone, though it was getting dark. “What happened?”
“Your magic happened.” Gumbo hopped off me with a sigh, giving up on his hope for a nap lap. “You’re a witch, you know. Your words have power.”
“Huh?” My magic? I have magic?” I’d just begun to grasp that magic was real and apparently surrounded me. The idea that I had magic of my own was a step too far.
“Agatha chose you for a reason. A supreme is an extremely powerful witch.” Gumbo lifted one paw to clean between his toe beans. “Given the magic you wield when you speak out of instinct, I’d say you’re a word witch.”
“What’s that? I can say spells or something?”
“Eventually. You have a natural ability to understand different languages, and words probably come easy to you in difficult situations. A word witch usually has a power center in her throat, and it’s connected to her heart. So you recognize emotions, and they rise so you can speak them.”
Well, he was partially right. I did have a gift for other languages, and I definitely could read emotions. Whenever I felt my own, it was like a physical sensation in my heart and throat. But words coming easily in difficult situations?
“That doesn’t sound like me.”
“If you say so.” I hadn’t realized cats could sound so sarcastic. “If I’m right, and I usually am, your words have the power to soothe and the power to command if you let them. It’s a benefit to your patients, I suspect.”
“I definitely haven't been beneficial to my patients. At least not lately. Actually, I’ve barely had any patients. One in the past week. A strange case that led to a headache and heartache.”
“What about before that?” The way Gumbo was watching me, I had the sense that I was missing something obvious. But try as I might, I couldn’t figure out what it was.
Had I ever been a good therapist? I liked to think so. In college, and during my clinicals, I’d exceeded above and beyond my peers. It had even led to a shiny corporate job that paid boatloads of money and slowly sapped the life out of me.
Of course, I’d lost it a few years later when my son was born. But even my private clinic had thrived early on. Hadn’t it? It felt like a million lifetimes ago.
“I don’t know,” I finally answered. I didn’t know, and I was too exhausted and overwhelmed to think about it further. “But we should get back to the house. It’s getting late, and I thought I saw a dog earlier.”
“A dog?” The fur on Gumbo’s rat-like tail fluffed up. I couldn’t help but laugh. This cute little mystical protector was scared of dogs.
“Or a wolf? I can’t be sure. But don’t worry.” I scooped him into my arms, holding him close for a quick cuddle, then carried him all the way home as night settled around us. “I’ll protect you, buddy.”