Helen concentrated on the orange crystal on her floor until a tangerine orb appeared between her brows, figuring that her best bet was to move up the chakra chain to the next highest level. She drew upon the power of the sacral chakra, site of fluidity, creativity, and flow.
The mineral glowed like a crackling fireplace, moving down and taking a seat right below her navel. She pictured the graphs in the book, those sketches of bodies with lines overlaying them, doing her best to remember relevant text.
Psyche splitting, psyche splitting, psyche splitting. She repeated the mantra until coherent words blurred into meaningless sounds, the chant dropping her mind into a strange frequency where fur covered her thoughts. Ripples undulated across the mirror, wobbling from center to end in concentric circles as they invited Helen to infer what to do next.
She stuck her hand through the pliant glass, her fingers making quicksilver flutters as they sank into liquid. Flesh met flesh when a warm, strong hand gripped Helen’s. The mirror yielded, a quivering hole gaping in the middle. The clone stepped out, the look on her face unsettlingly smug.
“Are we done?” Helen asked.
The clone smirked and blinked into nothing.
Well, great. In trying to solve her problems, she may have created a new one. Helen concentrated on the mundane details of her living room until she woke up in the fetal position. She snatched her phone, gritting her teeth when she brought up three missed calls from Nerissa. The witch couldn’t have reached out a wee bit sooner?
An orange digit indicated a single text. From an unfamiliar number: I found what you’re looking for.
Helen Googled the area code. Los Angeles. Brian.
She texted: Good. I’ll come to where you are. Until then, stay away from Joe. Rule number one: don’t let him lead you anywhere. I’ll explain in person ASAP.
Eight
On the hotel telly, a brunette reporter spoke with grave certainty, “Something in your kitchen wants to kill your children. Details at ten.”
The ad for the evening news cut to a different commercial, some inane animated gimmick to sell potato chips.
Alone on a plush bed shrouded in pristine sheets the color of snow, Brian yanked one of the pillows out from behind his head and pressed cloth against his face, growling his frustrations into marshmallow softness. Speaking of reporters, he could be getting his cock sucked by one right about now. But alas, his pesky conscience and aversion to using women for sex got in the way of quick release, like always.
So instead of exploiting Christine like the chauvinistic sociopath he wasn’t, he hung around a generic, posh hotel room somewhere in Wyoming with bugger all to do while he waited for his dodgy manager to take him to a party where he’d mingle with a bunch of aging men in ties.
Ah, to live the crazy, hedonistic life of rock star Brian Shepherd. Born to be mild.
He threw the pillow across the room and grabbed the remote, shutting up some onscreen clown with the push of a button. On the night stand, his mobile beeped. Brian scooted to the end of the bed and checked the latest notification. At the sight of Helen’s name, a blend of giddiness and dismay battled for control of his emotions.
Recalling the havoc in the dressing room reminded him that he couldn’t let his guard down and trust the witch who’d given him the stones. Not yet.
Brian typed. Hi. Thanks for thinking of me, but it was all a misunderstanding. Turns out I put it somewhere and forgot about it. Can u send me your address so I can mail it?
So what, she was an attractive, interesting, alluring woman. Didn’t mean anything, except perhaps that his libido wanted attention. But not from her. She was too eccentric, and in all likelihood disingenuous. Hiding things, withholding. Nope. He could not give in, no matter how deep she’d burrowed into his marrow.
Helen: Can u text me a pic first?
Sliding off the bed, he crouched and unzipped the inner pocket of his suitcase. The original stone from the fair rested against the second one, twins reunited. Brian caressed the first stone, the little piece of Helen he’d stuck in his luggage in some forgotten moment.
Warm pulses radiated from the rock and into his fingertips, and for a fleeting instant he imagined the nub he massaged between his thumb and forefinger was the sensitive pleasure center situated an inch above the entrance to her body.
What types of strokes did she prefer? Hard and fast, or soft and slow?
His cock swelled, balls tensing. Pressure gathered in his lower abdomen as the fantasy took over. In his mind, he rubbed her and rubbed her, making her moan and spread her legs wide.
He bet she was flexible, able to make those long legs span the width of a king-sized bed. His eager dick ached, begging for a kiss or caress.
Brian dragged himself out of the lust haze. Doing his best to ignore the tightening of his trousers, he balanced the crystal on his thigh and positioned his phone camera. He maneuvered his leg, angling it so that his raging erection didn’t sneak into the frame. Even if he never saw Helen again, he’d hate to offend her by sending a dick pic on accident.
After a few tries, he got a focused shot of the stone and texted it to her.
Helen: It’s a fake. Someone wants to lull you into a false sense of security. Do you have the second one still?
Brian: Yes.
Helen: Let’s see it. Please.
He repeated the photographing process with the second stone, taking a picture of the two side by side for good measure.
Helen: They’re both different than the ones I gave you. Bogus. So someone stole both clear crystals and replaced them with these duds.
Brian: None of this makes a shred of sense.
Well, that wasn’t entirely true. An expansive cast of staff including Joe and the security guards he liked to
