think I believe him. I remember being at a party at that mansion,” I say. “Sometime like a hundred years ago. Back when they had horses and carriages.”
“Wow,” Rayne says. She shakes her head in a sort of grudging admiration. “For years I’ve heard you laugh at all of my ‘stupid hippie’ ideas. Who’s laughing now?”
It’s a relief to share even a little part of the burden I’ve been carrying around for weeks. Even if I don’t tell her about Griffon and the Akhet, it’s almost like I’m not alone anymore.
“What time is it?” Rayne asks suddenly.
I check my cell. “About three forty-five. Why?”
“Great. She’s probably still there.” Rayne grabs my hand and heads for the bus stop. “Come on.”
“Who? Where are we going?” I yell as we run to catch the bus that’s just about to pull away from the curb.
“You’ll see,” Rayne says as we find places in the bus’s crowded aisle. “It’s a surprise.”
“I hate surprises.”
“You’ll like this one.”
“Doubtful.” I duck down to watch Market Street go by out the window. A few minutes after we turn onto Mission, Rayne presses the stop button.
“This is us,” she says, and pushes her way toward the back door.
We land in the middle of the Mission District. I look around at the deserted bars and cheap furniture stores. “And?” I ask.
“This way. It’s just down here.” Rayne heads off quickly, so I have no choice but to follow her. She stops in front of a pawn broker and rings the bell in a doorway to the right.
“Okay, now I’m totally confused,” I say.
“Shhh!” she says as the speaker on the wall crackles. “Hi, Whitney! It’s Rayne,” she shouts into the metal box.
I hear a muffled reply and the door buzzes open. Rayne holds the door for me, and then leads me up the steep staircase that’s just inside the hall. There’s soft music playing in the building that sounds like chanting and bells. Hippie stuff. The smell of incense strikes me as we’re halfway up the stairs, and I sneeze.
“Bless you.” A small woman with curly blond hair and insanely high fuschia heels stands at the top of the stairs in front of what looks like a small apartment. Beside her sits a medium-size black dog.
“Thanks,” I say, sniffing slightly. This place is allergy central.
Rayne reaches over to hug her, and then pulls back to introduce me. “Whitney, this is Cole, a former skeptic who is now in total need of your services.”
“Services? What services?” I ask, still clueless about why we’re here.
Whitney gives a little nod in my direction and smiles. “Former skeptic,” she says. “That sounds like an interesting story. Come on into my office.” The dog follows quietly as she and Rayne disappear into the next room. Not wanting to be left alone in a strange apartment, I follow.
The small room is bare except for some floor pillows and a low table. A fountain in the corner adds the sound of falling water to the music, and the windows are covered with a sheer, gauzy material. The whole effect makes me want to take a nap. And pee.
“Please. Sit.” Whitney indicates one of the cushions.
As we settle onto the floor, I turn to Rayne. “Will you finally tell me what we’re doing here?”
“We’re going to find out what’s really going on,” Rayne says.
Whitney looks at me and then Rayne as she absently strokes the dog’s head. “So, Cole doesn’t even know why she’s here?”
Rayne shrugs. “It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. But the minute I thought of you, I knew it was the right thing to do.” She turns to me. “Whitney’s a psychic. My mom’s been coming here for years. I thought she could help you out.”
I shake my head. I should have known this would be Rayne’s idea of a solution. “A psychic? Seriously?”
“You stand there in the middle of the sidewalk telling me you’re remembering things from past lives and
I suppose she has a point. I think I’m a little higher up on the unbelievability scale at the moment.
Whitney’s impeccable eyebrows shoot up, and she gives me a slightly more engaging smile. Apparently I’ve sparked a little bit of interest somewhere. “Hmm. Past lives? Intriguing. But you have to let down your barriers in order for me to assist you. That is, if you want to stay at all.”
I glance around the room, which looks a lot more like a spa than a psychic’s lair. I wouldn’t be surprised if she offers bikini waxes along with crystal ball readings. Either one sounds excruciating. “Aren’t you supposed to have scary animal heads all over the walls and heavy velvet curtains?”
“And maybe a big turban and a sputtering neon sign in the window?” Whitney adds. She waves her hand. “Strictly tourist trade.”
“Don’t judge,” Rayne says. “The least you can do is give it a try.” She nods to Whitney. “Put it on Mom’s bill. She won’t mind.”
“So, what are we going to do?” I ask. “Auras? Tarot cards? Tea leaves?”
Whitney’s expression doesn’t change. “May I see your hand?”
“Palm reading!” I say. “Perfect.” I hold my hand out to her just as Rayne punches me in the arm. The two of them are so serious it makes me want to laugh.
Whitney places her hand under mine, but immediately I can feel her stiffen. I watch as her eyes fly open wide and she gasps, pulling her hand away. “Rayne,” she says, “do you mind if I do Cole’s reading in private?”
Rayne looks at the two of us, but shrugs it off. “No, that’s cool.”
“There’s some tea in the kitchen. Why don’t you start a pot for all of us?”
“Fine. Put me to work and don’t share,” she says, but she’s smiling as she closes the door behind her.
Whitney turns the full intensity of her blue eyes on me. “How long have you known?”
I decide to let her take the lead. “Known what?”
She places her folded hands on the table. “If you’re going to mess with me, you might as well go. I can sense that you’re aware of what you are, although you seem undeveloped. You’re someone who can remember who they’ve been through the millennia. Someone who has the potential to transcend ordinary human limitations. You’re young, but still undeniably Akhet.”
I flinch when she says the word out loud. It seems to hang in the air like an accusation.
“What did you just say? What did you just call me?”
“Akhet,” she says, her gaze direct.
It feels like all of the air has been sucked out of the room. “So it’s true? Griffon wasn’t lying?”
“Who?”
“I met a guy, and he’s been … helping me.” At least, he
Whitney searches my eyes intently. “So this boy is Sekhem?” She seems to calm some, and her face grows concerned.
I nod.
“Are you … Akhet too?” I didn’t sense the same vibrations when she touched me, but she could just be really good at hiding it.
“No,” she says. “But I’ve met several Akhet in my lifetime. Befriended a few. It’s a very special calling, and an important responsibility.”
There’s that word again. Responsibility. I feel a pang of apprehension. “I didn’t ask for this. I’m not sure that I even want it.”
“It would be nice if you could just hand it all back and say ‘no thanks.’ But it doesn’t work that way. You don’t get to choose. You just need to accept what is and try to fulfill your destiny.”
Destiny. Responsibility. First I’m destined to be a cellist, now I’m destined to be Akhet. “And how do I do that? How do I even know what it is?”
She smiles. “You have time to find your place in the world. You’re still young in this life.” Whitney pauses and takes my hand back in hers. She’s silent, but her body isn’t quiet—it feels like some unseen movement is
