Chapter Eight

FOUR OF WANDS

 

When the light is just right, the squared-off red mesas of northern Arizona transform into massive fortresses from some prehistoric civilization of giants.

Sedona is nestled among them, peeking out from under vivid juniper and mesquite trees, all the way to Oak Creek Canyon. The magic of this place hums, and I’m spellbound by the scenery. Star offers to show me the highlights of the town, including the so-called energy vortexes.

Jennie mentioned them three years ago when she came home from the Convergence, but Star lives here. Maybe she can explain it better. The whole concept of some vague, swirly earth energy makes zero sense to me. With visions from an object, the energy is specific and direct.

“What are they supposed to do, anyway?” I ask.

“It’s supposedly a magnetic thing. You’re supposed to feel really peaceful, I guess? Some people notice it right away and swear it changes their lives, but I’ve been around here my whole life and, well, not so much.” Star trails off with a shrug. “But you can see one of them from the deck, down at Boynton Canyon.”

Star directs me down the narrow streets that wind between enormous copper cliffs and boulders to a parking lot near Cathedral Rock. We walk along the short path until it splits off into a true hiking trail. It smells of rich layers of earth and green and sun. Not just here, but in this whole rocky valley.

Squinting up at the imposing megalith, a warm, positive glow spreads through me, but I’m pretty sure it’s not life-altering earth energy, just the unaccustomed sunshine soaking into my pale Seattle bones.

We circle Main Street a few times, looking for the Earth Ecstasy store. Of course it wasn’t in the phone book—or Lily Randall either—but it’s worth looking around, even if we don’t find it. After all, this is my new home.

There are all kinds of cosmic lures here, from herbal supplements and psychic bookstores to Native American art galleries, but no Earth Ecstasy. We’re on the brink of starvation now, so Star points to a jumbled strip of storefronts, and I squeeze into the narrow parking lot.

The tiny pizza place is nestled between a rock shop with geodes and enormous crystals in the front window, and a New Age-type shop like the one where Jennie did her readings.

As we get out of the car an overwhelming thought grips me. What if my mom went in there? What if they knew her? I mean, this was her hometown, and for a little while she was famous.

The faded signs and pictures on the door tell me it isn’t new, and the people who work in these places all know each other. It’s like the psychic underground.

Since I’m trying to discourage any new visions, this is exactly the kind of place I should avoid, but the idea that my mom might have been in this exact store tugs on me like a magnet.

“Hey Star, can you order the pizza? I want to go in here for a minute.”

Star flicks her gaze across the hand painted Wind Dancer sign. “All right, I’ll meet you.”

The heavy door tinkles some wind chimes as I step inside. The smell of patchouli and sandalwood rolls over me as a cheery voice in the far corner calls out, “Welcome to Wind Dancer, I’ll be right with you.”

“Thanks.”

These places are supposedly about finding your true, individual spirit, but every last one of them is the same. Books on astrology, auras and aliens, small crystals, incense burners, tarot cards, posters and a few paintings or photos by local artists.

Sometimes there’s Native jewelry, but always some silver. A rack of Boho clothes that could have come straight out of Jennie’s closet completes the picture. Usually the cookie-cutter irony causes me to roll my eyes so far back I can see my brain, but not today. Today it’s…nice. Familiar.

The last few weeks have been a lonely out-of-body experience, but somehow the scents and sounds here are making me feel like myself again, which is both comforting and extremely annoying.

“Hello! Can I help you find something?” From the long blonde hair to the batik pattern on her peasant blouse and stacked silver mood rings, she fits the part of New Age Customer Service perfectly.

“Hi. I’m looking for another store, actually. It was around here a few years ago, called Earth Ecstasy? I know it was open during the Harmonic Convergence.”

Star bursts through the door, rattling the wind chimes. “Pizza in fifteen minutes. Oh, sorry, hi.” She waves, then makes a beeline to the display of local art.

The woman smiles and says, “Welcome to Wind Dancer.” She turns back to me. “Unfortunately, I do remember Earth Ecstasy all too well.”

“Well, I was hoping to find the owner. Lily Randall. I think she knew my mother.”

“That’s me. I’m Lily.” She tilts her head. “Who are you?

“Hey, Rory, look! This old picture has your house in it.”

Star walks over holding a framed black-and-white photo from the “Historic Sedona” collection. Taken from Boynton Canyon in 1936, says the handwritten caption, looking north from the Secret Mountain Wilderness.

Sure enough, off in the distance to the right there’s the sprawling house at the top of the hill, minus the garage and the guest house.

Lily Randall’s face shifts from help-the-customer interest to true curiosity. “The Winters place? That’s your house?” Her eyes widen as realization dawns. “Your mother’s Jennie Winters?”

“Yes. Well, she was. She, umm, passed away in May.”

The words stick in my throat. You’d think saying my mom is dead on a regular basis means I’d be used to saying it, but you’d be wrong.

“Oh, wow. I’m so sorry. Now I remember. There was a piece in the newspaper about how she helped the police find that poor woman. I never met her personally, but I’ve heard she was remarkable. Is your family moving back here now?”

“Seems like it.” Even though my family is me, myself and a brand new aunt, that’s enough of an answer. I’m sure the psychic underground will be fully informed before sundown.

“How did you know about Earth Ecstasy?” Lily asks.

“I found a flier in my mom’s stuff, from the Convergence.”

She winces and gives an apologetic laugh. “That was the worst. Do you still have it? The bright yellow one with the non-smoking vegetarians and the full moon? I haven’t seen one since that summer.”

“Sorry, I had it but I couldn’t find it this morning. If I find it, I’ll bring it in for sure.” My stomach grumbles, reminding me we have pizza to pick up. “Well, it was nice to meet you. Thank you for your help.”

“Rory, you have to buy this picture,” Star insists. “There’s another one over there, but it’s not framed.”

Lily shakes her head, “Oh, no. Please, I want you to have it. A welcome home present.”

It is pretty cool. But now I can’t leave without buying something, so I pluck a random book from the shelf and a bar of honey-almond soap.

“That’s a great book,” she says, dropping it into a bag. “Nice to see you’re following in your mother’s footsteps. Please, Rory, come back if you need anything else. If I don’t have it, I can get it. And welcome back to Sedona.”

“Thanks.”

I don’t bother telling her I’ve never been here before and my mom’s footsteps are number one on the don’t-go-there list.

We cruise out of town with two pizzas on the back seat, guzzling giant sodas and breathing veggie and pepperoni fumes. I’m so hungry I’m not sure the pizzas will make it home. Star gives directions, glancing over at me every few seconds.

“Why are you looking at me? You’re making me nervous.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“What was your mom like? I mean, if you don’t want to talk about her it’s cool. I’m just wondering what it’s like to have a mom who can do what she did. Could she, like, read your mind? Or predict what you were going to do in the future?”

I laugh. “No. She couldn’t read minds. She was good with tarot cards, but the thing she had is called psychometry. She could hold an object in her hand and tell you about the owner, sometimes things from its past. The good, the bad, and sometimes the worst.”

Star narrows her eyes. “That would be scary. You’d never know what might happen whenever you touch something.”

My heart does an uneasy sidestep. The watch—did she notice?

“What she saw was hard to live with sometimes.”

Until she couldn’t. Until her grip started slipping and she couldn’t block the visions anymore without bourbon and pills.

Star flushes. “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay. Everyone knows how she died, it’s no big secret.”

“I know, but still.” She hesitates. “Can you do it?”

Heat creeps up into my face. “Can I do what?”

“Are you like her? Do objects… tell you things? Because that watch today, you had a weird look on your face.”

Yikes, time for evasive action. The only person who knew about my “gift” was the one who gave it to me, and the last thing I need right now is for Star and her dad—or Aunt Joanna—to start asking questions right when I’m trying to put all of that behind me. I choose my next words carefully, tiptoeing through the psychic minefield.

“It’s just kind of confusing, having my family’s whole past in a giant, random pile. Trying to fit all these pieces together is kind of stressful.” It’s not a lie, and my voice sounds normal.

“It would be,” she agrees. “My family’s been in Flagstaff for, like, ever, so we all know everything about everybody. My dad’s the family tree expert—hey, turn right at the next stop. I wonder what that’s like. To just know stuff? Or at least to lay down cards and get a hint?”

“I have no idea. I’m going to be an archaeologist, not a psychic,” I explain.

“Yeah, but you can read the cards.” She laughs at my startled face. “Don’t act all surprised, Rory. I have eyes.” Star taps the paper bag from Wind Dancer. “That book you got. Advanced Tarot?”

“Oh, that. First of all, I just grabbed it without looking. No, really, it’s true,” I protest over her scornful snort. “But yeah, my mom taught me when I was a kid.”

I don’t tell her when I was twelve and started feeling the icy static sting my palms, and the shadows tumbling just out of sight, I put the cards away forever, so I’d be safe. Even then, I knew they were the portal, the gateway to Jennie’s downward spiral into addiction.

“Well at least you have that,” Star says softly. “Something you shared.”

“I don’t do it anymore.” Tears fill my eyes and I almost miss the driveway.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I thought you got that book because you’re studying them. Well if you ever feel like it, you can practice on me. I’ve never had my cards read.”

“It’s fine. Maybe I will, one of these days. And I’ll be way out of practice, so everything I’d read for you would probably be the opposite.” I laugh, even though I’m positive there’s no way I’ll ever read her cards.

“Well, now you’ve seen the town, you found someone who at least heard of your mom, and we made it home in one piece.”

Home. The old house rises into view as we cruise up the driveway.

First it was Jennie’s, and now it’s mine. Even though we aren’t together, and I have no intention of ever reading cards again, it’s something else we share, and every day I’m here, it feels more like a gift I actually want.

~ * ~

An hour later we’re still out on the deck, and all that’s left of our pizza feast are the crusty skeletal remains. The sun has burnished the mountains with molten copper.

Far to the south, dark thunderheads stack up on the horizon, bruising the sky as they gather like battleships in the distance. A cool breeze rolls across the desert, carrying the smell of soaked earth and something dark and sharp that reminds me of tar.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Cam and a can of paint are perched on the steps going down to the lower level. He dips his brush into the paint and lays it down with long, silky brushstrokes.

“What’s that tar smell?”

“That’s creosote. It’s a bush with oily wood. You can always smell it when rain’s coming.” The storm mushrooms closer and cannons of thunder rumble in the distance.

“I’ve never seen rain move in like this. Usually in Seattle, the sky goes from white to gray to almost black, and rain can happen whenever. Umm, aren’t you worried about that paint?”

“Nope. Storm’s moving east,” he says, waving his paintbrush away from us. “Maybe in a few days, if we’re lucky.”

“Lucky? Half the time the power goes out. Here, Shiloh.” Star dangles a crust under the lounge chair she’s lying on. The wolf takes it carefully between her teeth before sinking down to chew on it.

The wind shifts slightly and the thick, tangy smell of roses surrounds us.

“Oh.” I breathe deeply. “That’s wonderful. I didn’t know there were roses.” I lean over the deck rail, filling my lungs, searching the patio below for the bushes. There has to be a lot of them to smell this strong. Maybe I could cut a few to put in the house.

“Roses? There’s no roses down there.” Star slurps the last gurgle of soda through her straw.

“So then, where are they?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what you smell, but there aren’t any roses here. Are there, Dad?”

Cam stops his brushwork with a strange look on his face. “You smell roses?”

The heady aroma surrounds me, rich and sweet.

“You guys can’t smell that?”

Joanna steps through the kitchen door, carrying a tray with glasses of iced tea. “Smell what? What are we smelling?”

“Roses,” Star explains. “Invisible ones.”

Joanna sniffs the air. “Hmm. Maybe a little? I do smell creosote, though. Must be from the rain.”

“There used to be roses here,” Cam says. He still has that weird look on his face. “Yellow ones. But they’ve been gone for years.”

“Oooh, ghost roses,” Star waggles her fingers in the air. A dart of irritation pricks the back of my neck. Does she have to comment about everything?

“Star,” Cam warns, and as she drops both her hands, I wonder if he’s enforcing the same ban on death-talk as Mike and Heather. Like I’ll somehow forget my mom is dead, and mentioning ghosts will make me suddenly remember and be sad?

“Rory, you want to see the downstairs rooms?” Cam stands up and stretches. The smell of roses is gone. The dark band of rain has moved farther away, and purple shadows emerge between the fiery cliffs.

“Definitely.”

“Don’t forget your tea,” Joanna urges, handing me a glass as I head for the steps, “It’s like an oven down there.”

Star yawns and leans back. “Enjoy the tour. I’m gonna chill here.”

Shiloh shimmies out from under Star’s chair and follows us down to the lower level, where the rooms for the ranch hands and their gear still look like the 1950s—the last time, Cam explains, that there were any updates to the electrical wiring. The first four rooms are like time capsules, with benches and bed frames preserved by decades of dust.

A calendar from October 1957 is tacked up in one of the rooms, and naked light bulbs hang from the ceilings. The ancient plaster has been removed from most of the walls. Even with the doors open, the heat is stifling, and I’m glad I brought a drink with me.

Shiloh sniffs the perimeter of each room as we go, pausing to sneeze after each one.

The fifth room is practically empty. A wooden workbench sits below battered shelves crammed with crumbling books. Cam’s rolling toolbox and a stepladder stand open in the center.

“That’s the first thing,” Cam says, pointing to the dangling spidery wires above, bundled together with modern zip ties. “I ran a phone line down here last week, but all of this old wiring needs to be replaced.”

As I look up, a wave of dizziness breaks over me. I set my tea on the floor and sit on the stepladder.

“Hey, Cam?” I’m tired all over, like last night. I swallow a huge gulp of tea, hoping for a zip of caffeine. “What you said before, about the roses?”

“What about them?” He’s got that look on his face again. “Hey! Shiloh, no!” He shoos the wolf away from my glass, but she’s already slurped some condensation from the side.

“You said there used to be roses here. Did you just take them out recently? How come I can still smell them and no one else can?”

“No, they’ve been gone for years. I’m not sure why you smelled them. Sometimes I smell them too, but I always thought it was just my imagination. She loved them, but they got some kind of blight and we had to dig them all out. It sure was a lot harder getting them out than putting them in.”

“She?” The tool room wavers in the heat. “You mean my great-grandmother?”

Cam’s lined face softens. “Not your great-grandmother. Your mother. Those were Jennie’s roses.”

“M-my mom?”

Shiloh tilts her furry head and whimpers at me. I open my mouth and try to stand but the air thickens and turns me to lead.

Cam’s face twists in alarm. “Rory?”

The walls turn sideways and my legs crumble beneath me as the dark wave knocks me to the floor.