“A trick? I don’t deal in cheap parlor tricks, dear. Now let’s see if you are the one.”
A pop sounded in Helen’s ears. She blinked a few times as a dazed, sleepy sensation disoriented her. Lost to pleasurable mugginess and an odd feeling of time slowing to a crawl, she didn’t snap back to lucidity until she noticed the cauldron painting again.
The painting was upside down. No. Correction. She was upside down, hanging in midair.
Blood roared in Helen’s ears while she scrabbled unsuccessfully to reclaim control of her faculties. A scream tore its way up her throat but somehow died before erupting. Electric with panic, she flailed, spinning in a dizzy circle. A few chaotic seconds later, she recovered some semblance of her bearings and managed to stay still despite waves of queasiness.
The room returned to focus as blurs of color reformed into bookshelves, furniture, and other familiar shapes. Almost familiar. Her perception was weird.
Helen gaped when she figured out was was wrong with her surroundings. The furnishings and Nerissa were below her. She was stuck to the damn ceiling. To make matters weirder, another woman now stood in the spot she’d occupied, someone in jeans identical to Helen’s.
Shock slammed into her as a realization dawned. She wasn’t looking at a third person. She looked down at herself, her own body, while her consciousness floated above. Brunette waves streaked with blonde highlights tumbled over her shoulders. At least she was having a good hair day, because the out-of-body experience blew her mind. Separation from her physical form had been the last thing she’d been expecting during the visit.
A coil of phosphorescent light spiraled upward from the middle of the open book while the witch chanted, “Coven daughter, come to me. Show us truth and clarity.”
Discombobulated, Helen squinted against a glare. The beam bent and twisted into a hoop. The space in the middle of the illuminated circle glimmered. Images appeared. A highlight reel of her life played while she gawked.
Nerissa pulled from Helen’s memories and projected them at her. Now her mind was blown. What else could this be besides hardcore magic?
“I can help you, Helen, but you need to listen. Can you?”
She ought to get in line and embrace the insanity, or she’d soon be begging Dreamgirls to let her hump their germ-infested pole again. Hard pass on the humping. “Yes.”
Helen crashed back into her physical form with a boom, knees weak and mind spinning. Reeling from the loss of control, she plopped her butt on the couch and shook herself out of a daze.
“Did your mother and grandmother have the gift?” The witch’s eyes returned to normal.
Mother. The sound of the word was profane, like the filthiest curses flung at her.
What should have carried a connotation of loving nurturance dredged up a memory of the time the mother in question shrieked about original sin while she forced Helen to eat the pages of her diary. Recollections of the incident still scraped her raw with phantom pain. She should have learned to stop talking about her visions after that day. Or after the next morning, spent whimpering on the toilet.
“I didn’t know my grandmother. My mother had major issues.”
“You never had a mother figure who embraced your gift. Tragic.” A soft tremble rounded the edges of Nerissa’s words. “The visions began at the onset of your menses and lasted for years, didn’t they? Trances? Seizures? Mine showed up at menarche and didn’t leave until I mastered my craft.”
Wow. One other person on the planet could relate to her secret.
“One foster family returned me because my episodes scared their pet rats. Yep. I ranked below rats.” She spoke the words in a jesting tone, but the long ago rejection still made Helen’s chest ache with old hurt.
“Rats are inherently nervous creatures. Let your pain go and describe the episodes.”
“Speaking in tongues, chattering teeth, muscle spasms. Visions of spinning out of my body and flying through the air, seeing women burning at the stake. Wild times. Of course none of my temp families believed me.” Helen shrugged, over-affecting nonchalance as the uncomfortable topic poked at her insecurities. Too weird and too spacey. Dissociative. Broken. Bad girl, crazy bitch.
“Flying through the air. Oh, yes. You are spirit born.”
For the first time, Helen settled back in her seat, her muscles loosening, curious to know more. “Okay, so I’m spirit born. What should I do to save my studio?”
“You must choose a path to proceed on your actualization.”
“Excuse me?”
“To actualize means to coax your abilities to the surface, where you may direct and control them. The power you possess is dormant and churning in your subconscious, so you endured episodes. When witches repress what we do best, we suffer.”
Helen put her hands up, palms facing out. She could accept the idea of having some psychic abilities, but being a witch…the notion stretched the limits of plausibility. “Hold up. I don’t think I’m a witch.”
A shadow passed across Nerissa’s eyes. She leaned forward in her chair, close enough for Helen to smell her rosy perfume. “Are you calling me a liar?”
“No. It’s difficult to take in, though.”
“Why? You came to me for help, and I’m showing you how to get what you want. But if you’ve changed your mind about needing money, this can end right here.” Nerissa closed the book with a definitive snap.
“I’m not quite convinced is all. What’s in this for you?”
“When witches practice, our powers enhance each other. Mine will grow in relation to yours. So while I wish to help you because I care about the spiritual health of my coven daughter and want to see the sisterhood come to fruition, I’m also being a teeny bit selfish.”
Outlandish, but what if Nerissa was right? God, the possibilities for turning her life around. She hadn’t taken a chance coming to the witch’s home only to run out when things got strange. No more quitting, no more failure. Time to nut up or shut up.
“Fine. I’m all
