A Whisker's Breadth, page 2
“Well… yes.”
Vivian got slowly to her feet. “Okay. This has been an… interesting experience.” She dropped a few bills on Reg’s coffee table to pay for the session. “I don’t know… if I’ll be back.”
“I’m sorry. I wish I had a better answer for you.”
“No one can accuse you of giving plain vanilla readings, anyway.”
“Not everyone gets anything quite so… dramatic.”
Vivian zipped up her purse and stepped toward the door. “Thank you anyway…”
“Do you want to get together for dinner or something?” Reg asked.
Vivian stopped, her brows drawing down. “What?”
“You sounded like you didn’t know anyone in town, so I wondered if you wanted to do something later. Go out to dinner, have a drink, whatever you’d be comfortable with. I don’t know.”
Vivian nodded slowly. “You’re very kind to offer. We’ll see.”
Reg nodded jerkily and watched her leave. She reviewed her invitation, shaking her head. “Smooth, Reg. Very smooth. She probably thinks I was coming on to her.”
She had been nervous about extending an invitation, particularly since the last newcomer to Black Sands that she’d socialized with had ended up being… something other than what she had appeared. It was going to be a long time before Reg was going to get over Jacky Lane.
Reg tidied away the tea service and tucked Vivian’s payment into one of the pockets of her skirt, and then headed over to the big house to see Sarah. The rent was due and, although she knew that Sarah wouldn’t harass her about it if she were a few days late in paying, she liked to get it out of the way right away. For once, she wasn’t on the brink of poverty, but the lessons she had learned while she was—like always making sure her shelter was paid for first—stuck with her.
She knocked on the back door and then opened it. Sarah always just knocked and walked into the guest cottage and encouraged Reg to do the same. What was the point in always having to open the door for each other?
Sarah bustled into the kitchen a few minutes later. “Oh, I thought I heard you, Reg. How is your day going?”
“Good.” Reg pulled out her money and counted what she needed for rent. “Are you sure you don’t want to raise my rent, now that I have the means?” she asked. “I know that to begin with, you wanted to make it reasonable for me, so it’s way below market. You should raise it now that I can afford to pay more.”
“Oh, no.” Sarah waved away this silly idea. “You’re doing me a favor by living there. I wouldn’t be comfortable with it being empty. Properties are always much safer if they are occupied.”
“But you could have someone else in there. Someone else who could pay more.”
“No. You’re the one I want there, and I won’t hear anything more about it. Do you want to sit down for a cup?”
“I just had tea with a client, so none for me. I want to be able to shop later without having to search for a restroom every time I walk into a store.”
“Some cookies?” Sarah offered, motioning to a tin on the table.
Reg considered, then sat down and opened the cookie tin. She had a terrible sweet tooth, and she really needed to watch what she ate, or the new clothes she bought wouldn’t fit her for long. It was nice not to be starving all the time, but she also didn’t want to have to worry about diabetes or coronary heart disease.
“Just one. And I probably shouldn’t.”
“Oh, one cookie never hurt anyone.”
Reg smiled. She bit into the soft chocolate chip cookie and let the chocolate chunks melt in her mouth. “You are such a good baker, Sarah. These are amazing.”
“I didn’t make them,” Sarah laughed. “You know I don’t spend a lot of time laboring in the kitchen, unless I’m working on a potion. So many other things that I could be doing. Letticia made these.”
“Letticia?” Reg stopped chewing. She couldn’t imagine the sour old witch cooking up something so sweet. And if she had… were they poisoned? Or enchanted? Surely Letticia wouldn’t make cookies just because she was the leader of Sarah’s coven. Unless maybe it was Sarah’s birthday or the anniversary of her membership in the coven. “Why did Letticia make you cookies?”
She remembered Letticia’s little house in the Everglades, off the grid, completely separated from everything. She had a cast-iron, wood-fired stove. It couldn’t be easy to regulate the temperature as she would need to do to make the cookies. None of them looked underdone or burned.
Sarah sat down with her freshly-made cup of tea. “No occasion,” she said with a shrug. “She just brought them over. Wasn’t that a nice thing for her to do?”
Reg looked at the rest of the cookie in her hand. She couldn’t very well put it back with the other cookies, or hide the fact that she hadn’t eaten the whole thing. She had just said how good they were, so she couldn’t say that she didn’t like it or that it was too sweet or she had an allergy. She was going to have to finish it.
“You don’t need to look like that,” Sarah said. “It isn’t going to hurt you. Do you think she put a spell on them?”
“She could have. I wouldn’t know the difference.”
“Maybe it’s time for you to start learning.”
Reg blinked and frowned at this. “Start learning what?”
“How to tell the difference.” Sarah nodded to the remainder of the cookie in Reg’s hand. “Use your gifts to examine the cookie. Tell me what you can see or feel.”
Reg looked down at it. She felt a little silly trying to do what Sarah had said, but there was no one else to watch and, if it were a prank, Sarah was the only one who would get any amusement out of it. Reg stared at the cookie for a few minutes, looking for an aura. For any emotion or magic bleeding off of it, like she had seen when she examined Calliopia’s dagger. After being told that the dagger was evil, she had been able to see the dark magic that was influencing it and protecting it. She didn’t see anything like that around the cookie. Nothing dark and, similarly, nothing light—no special halo to tell her that it was good for her.
She closed her eyes and tried to extend all of her other senses into the cookie. She could smell it, still taste the bite she had taken, and feel it in her hand. But beyond that, she could feel the place it held in the universe, the materials it was formed from, its purpose and place in time. It was, as far as Reg could tell, just a cookie. There were no intentions attached to it, other than that it was to be eaten. She broke off a small piece with a chocolate chip in it, and put it slowly into her mouth, letting it melt on her tongue.
“I… don’t see anything special. Just… a cookie.”
Sarah nodded. “And if there was more to it, you would be able to see that. You have strong gifts, Reg, and if you exercise them, you will get better at being able to spot spells and enchantments.”
Reg nodded. “So… it’s safe. It’s just a cookie.”
“It’s just a cookie. It might be dangerous if you are diabetic or deathly allergic to chocolate, but since you aren’t…”
Reg took another bite, being sure to enjoy it this time. The cookie wasn’t a science experiment. It wasn’t a potion. Its purpose was to be enjoyed, and she would do that.
“You can help me to see spells on other things? I should probably practice that.”
“Certainly.” Sarah selected a cookie for herself and took a couple of big bites. She sat there, chewing the mouthful and looking as contented as a cat with cream. After she swallowed, she washed the cookie down with a bit of tea and spoke again. “If you look around you, you will see many things in my home that are wards or have other enchantments on them. It’s one of the ways I keep a happy, peaceful home. One doesn’t have such a place by accident.”
Reg looked around her. She had been in Sarah’s kitchen and other rooms of the house many times, but she had never looked at it in that light before. She knew that Sarah had protective wards there, as she did in Reg’s guest cottage. But she hadn’t realized that she could see them if she wanted to. So much of life in Black Sands was a surprise to her.
She saw a garland of dried flowers over Sarah’s back door and reached out to it with her psychic senses. It felt warm and welcoming. Not just something pretty and fragrant placed there to tie the decor of the room together. It was functional, helping to keep the room safe and secure. Much better than a video cam to record the entrance of intruders.
“The dried flowers?”
Sarah nodded her agreement. Reg looked around again. There was more. Sarah had said that she had many wards and spells.
She could see a sort of a glow over the oven. She had thought it was just the reflection of the overhead light in the chrome but, as she closed her eyes, she could still see it with her other senses.
“I guess… the stove. Is that… to make it so that you can prepare potions that work…?”
Sarah chuckled. “The hearth is a strong symbol of home, safety, and security. In ancient times, it was the fireplace, which is where families cooked, warmed their homes, and brewed their potions. Now… it’s the stove. Though it may also a fireplace or furnace if you have them.”
“The hearth,” Reg repeated. It was a word that brought feelings of warmth and safety. She had heard the expression ‘home and hearth’ before, but hadn’t known what it meant.
Reg finished eating her cookie, looking around Sarah’s kitchen thoughtfully. There were many items that seemed to have a bit of a glow. She had thought that they were just well-polished, but there was more to it than that. Magic. Spells and wards. She would be able to recognize them better elsewhere. When she went back to the cottage, she could look for them there too.
Chapter Four
Reg had stayed for longer than she had intended to at Sarah’s house and, as a result, was running late for her meeting with Francesca. It seemed like however much she planned ahead, she was almost always late when she had something to do with Francesca.
She’d had lots of teachers, tutors, and therapists lecture her about her propensity for being late. They would have said that she was avoiding meeting with Francesca due to feelings of inadequacy. Maybe jealousy, seeing Francesca as more successful and better looking than Reg. But that wasn’t why.
It was true that Francesca was better-looking, with flawless white skin and big blond spiraling curls that would have put Marilyn Monroe to shame. There was no contest. Reg had always had a striking or interesting face. Dramatic, but never described as beautiful. As far as feeling inadequate in comparison to Francesca… well, that was probably true too. Francesca was so many of the things that Reg herself was not. Organized, well-read, efficient in everything she set about to do. She was Haitian and had come to Black Sands to avoid the Witch Doctor. Maybe there were other bokors she was trying to get away from as well, but she had been avoiding the immortal in particular, and he had ended up establishing himself in Black Sands as well. Reg didn’t think it had anything to do with Francesca being there, that was just a coincidence. He had been there to look for Weston, another immortal, and to build up his own power smuggling magical artifacts.
But the Witch Doctor was history. Mostly. He had sent his life force out into nine draugrs, animated corpses, which Francesca had charmed into their kattakyn forms, performing a binding spell so that the Witch Doctor couldn’t re-form. At least, not for another thousand years or so, at which time Reg expected to be long gone. Francesca and Reg were trying to place those nine black cats in magical homes around the world, as far away from each other as possible. Then even when the binding spell wore off, they would be too far away from each other for the Witch Doctor to re-form for many more years. Not until all of the kattakyns could reunite in one place.
Reg didn’t think there was any significance to the fact that she was frequently late getting to her appointments with Francesca. In fact, she was late to most appointments, other than those where clients actually came to her house. Even then, sometimes she wasn’t quite dressed and ready by the time they got there.
It was disrespectful. She’d been told that by many parents and therapists. If she had respect for other people, she would be sure to get there on time. But it had nothing to do with respect or with being jealous of Francesca. It had everything to do with being ADHD, bouncing from one task to another and getting distracted from the things she needed to do to get ready on time and be where she intended to be. That wasn’t her fault. Not an excuse, she’d been told. It just meant she had to work that much harder to get her stuff together and be on time.
Reg rolled her eyes at all of the voices in her head, criticizing her and reminding her what a failure she was. Some of the voices were memories of those many lectures and therapy sessions. But many of them were the voices of spirits that had attached themselves to Reg. They always seemed to have something to say to her on every topic.
Maybe she didn’t have ADHD at all, just too many voices telling her what she should do. It wasn’t easy to tune them out and stay focused. Davyn was trying to help her with meditation as part of her training as a firecaster. He didn’t criticize her like the parents and doctors of the past, but she saw that same frustration in his face when he had to tell her—for the fifth time—to focus. He was as patient as could be expected, but Reg knew it was a struggle. She got impatient with herself too.
“I’m here,” Reg announced, when Francesca opened the door. “I’m sorry, I know I’m late, I thought I’d given myself enough time, but when I got in the car I realized that—” Reg cut herself off and dropped her eyes at Francesca’s expression. Francesca had heard enough excuses.
Francesca motioned impatiently for Reg to enter. “I am just glad you were able to take time out of your busy schedule to help me with this,” she said crisply. It sounded nice in her soft Creole accent, but Reg still felt the censure behind it.
She nodded, eyes still down. “Sorry,” she repeated.
Francesca led her to the dining room table, their usual meeting place. Francesca had more biographical profiles of practitioners from all over the world that Reg was supposed to help her to match with the remaining three kattakyns who didn’t yet have homes. They were on the home stretch. Reg being able to find a place for the wild Nico—more by accident than on purpose—had been a major accomplishment.
“Here are the new profiles,” Francesca offered, pushing a stack toward Reg. “Maybe this will be our last session. If we can find matches for the last three kittens…”
Reg nodded. She squared the stack of papers in front of her. She hadn’t yet revealed to Francesca how poor her reading skills were and the fact that she hadn’t actually read a single profile. She glanced at them, looked at the pictures, and asked Francesca leading questions while she pretended to peruse them, eventually suggesting which practitioners might be good matches for which kattakyns.
Reg pretended to sort through them, restacking them in a different order to show Francesca that she had prioritized them.
“This one was interesting,” Francesca said, tapping the top one with a long, shiny red fingernail. “What do you think?”
Reg gazed at the picture of a wizardy-looking man in a shiny purple robe. “He seems a little flamboyant. Like he wants everyone to know how magical he is.”
Francesca nodded. “I am concerned that his bio may be… inflated. It can be so hard to confirm magical references. Especially with witches and warlocks who are off the grid. It can be months before you find out that someone has… led you down the garden path.”
Reg nodded. She slid the profile away from her to start a ‘no’ pile and looked at the next.
They had been working their way through the pile for what felt like hours. Francesca’s black cat, Nicole (pronounced NEE-cole in Francesca’s Creole accent), was sunning herself in the window, batting away the three remaining kattakyns when they approached to play with her tail or climb on top of her for attention. She had taken it upon herself to mother the nine kattakyns, but the chore had taken its toll, and she was clearly ready for the remaining kittens to find their new homes so that she could get the rest she needed. She at least didn’t have Nico to contend with anymore; he had been the kitten who refused to listen to her, didn’t sleep when she tried to put them all down, and was forever climbing the curtains or starting fights with the others. He was faring well with the dwarfs, who were delighted with the privilege of training a warrior cat.
Reg rubbed her eyes. Even though she was only reading the occasional name or headline in the profiles, her eyes were getting sore and itchy and her body wanted to be up and doing things. She’d never been one to sit for long periods of time. School had been torture. She could totally understand how Nico had felt with everyone trying to press him into the mold of a nice, cuddly kitten when it was his nature to be a warrior.
Not that Reg was a warrior. But she wasn’t made for sitting.
There was a rumbling in the distance. Thunder? It hadn’t looked like it was going to rain. Florida did have some nasty storms. But the sunlight was still streaming in the window where Nicole was sitting.
“What is that?” Francesca murmured, looking up.
Reg started to her feet. She knew what it was, but her body was too slow to get her out of the chair and to the door in time to prevent what she knew was going to happen.
There was a boom like a bomb exploding.
Reg was to the door first, but Francesca was close behind her, gasping Creole profanities under her breath.
Reg stepped out the door and looked around.
She hadn’t recognized Francesca’s street in the vision. The perspective had been wrong. She hadn’t been looking toward Francesca’s house and she didn’t know the other houses on the block.
The truck she had seen in her vision had hit a huge cypress tree. She wasn’t sure whether the truck or the tree had won. The truck was twisted around the trunk, glass and bits of metal scattered around it, still moving with the momentum of the crash. The tree was splintered, broken at the base and leaning over, but not sheared off. Leaves fluttered down on the scene like snow.
