“Do you ever get tired of change?” I asked Graham the next morning as I leaned against the kitchen counter with my second cup of coffee in my hands. The first had disappeared in a quick series of scalding gulps but still hadn’t chased away the lingering unease my dream had left behind.
“You mean, like there suddenly being such a thing as cursed boxes?”
The jewelry box in question was gone. Yuri had taken it with him when he’d left the night before, promising not to bring it into anyone’s home. He didn’t say what he’d do with it, and I thought that might be for the best.
“It seems like every day since I’ve come to Donn’s Hill, I’ve found out that something I assumed kids made up to scare each other actually exists. But I mean bigger change.” I sighed. “This past year has felt like walking through a minefield. There’s no time to adjust to the status quo before life throws something new at me.”
“Not all new things are bad, though.” He put an arm around me and kissed the top of my forehead. “I’m glad my life changed when you got here.”
I smiled up at him. “I never asked you how the exhibition was.”
“Not bad.”
“Yeah?”
He grinned. “Come see.”
I followed him out to the back where he’d parked his father’s cargo trailer beside the garage. He drummed his fingers on the trailer’s white siding for a few moments while simultaneously making a drumroll sound with his mouth.
“Exciting enough for two drumrolls, huh?” I teased.
“You don’t even know.”
He pulled open the back door to the trailer, revealing an all but empty space. A few scraps of bubble wrap littered the floor, but not a single sculpture remained.
“You sold out?” I stared at the barren trailer. “Really?”
“Really!” He grabbed me and spun us around in a circle for a few dizzying moments. We whooped and cheered in the backyard, and I wished we’d taken the time to create a special high-five in anticipation of this moment. I wished I’d been in the right mindset to celebrate with him the night before instead of letting the supernatural hijack our evening.
I told him as much, adding, “I knew this would happen.”
“You didn’t, but I appreciate your confidence in me.” He closed the door on the empty space and folded his lanky arms behind his head. “And you were right about Raziel. He put some photos of my sculptures online after the cocktail party, and a ton of people already knew who I was before I even got to the exhibition.”
“Holy cow. That’s awesome.”
“Yeah. And yesterday, Amari asked me to sculpt a bust of Raziel for his gravesite in the same style I used for the Donn statue. She said he genuinely loved my work.”
For a moment, I forgot how much Raziel had hated me and every other psychic in town. He could have rubbed my name in mud for ten years, and I would have forgiven him the moment I saw this look in Graham’s eyes. For once, there was no self-doubt clouding the victory. There was no fear that nepotism or cronyism had played too large a role, and no sense of imposter syndrome. There were only pride and joy, and I felt the same emotions threatening to burst out of every pore on my body.
“We have to celebrate,” I said. “Brunch?”
“Deal.” He grabbed my hand, leading me into the kitchen where his car keys hung on a hook above the coffeemaker. “Hey, next time I go to one of these things, I want you and Striker to come with me. It wasn’t the same without my sidekicks.”
“Your sidekicks? I thought you two were my sidekicks.”
“Let’s be honest. We’re Striker’s.” He chuckled. “I realized how much I cater to her when I unpacked my cashbox in Chicago and found a bag of kitty treats under the money tray.”
Hearing the magic “T” word, Striker limped into the kitchen. She favored her left hind leg, barely picking up that foot as she took each step forward at a pitifully slow pace.
I raced forward to scoop her up, but when I touched her back, she growled.
“Whoa, what’s wrong?” I kept my voice low and calm, but inside, I was screaming. Had she fallen off the banister and landed wrong in the foyer? Been too reckless when jumping from my open windows to the trees outside? Hesitantly, I reached out a hand to stroke her back, and she swatted at me with full claws.
I threw a panicked glance at Graham as he raced out of the room. He returned a few minutes later with the hard-sided cat carrier we’d used to take her to the Franklin cabin. He put it in front of Striker, and I dreaded what was sure to happen next. She would refuse to get in, we’d try to lure or force her, and by the end she’d be howling with pain and we’d be covered in scratches.
Oddly, as soon as he opened the little metal door, she limped inside and settled down.
I stared at Graham. “Did she go that easily when you loaded her up for the cabin?”
“Nope. But that should tell us how much pain she’s in. Come on, let’s get her to the vet.”
Striker howled in the car all the way up Main Street. The sound twisted the muscles in my back, and I hugged the carrier to my chest. When we pulled up to the Donn’s Hill Animal Hospital, a red CLOSED sign hung in the window.
I swore. “Of course. It’s Sunday.”
“What do we do?” Graham asked.
I racked my mind for a solution. There might have been an emergency vet in Moyard, but that was an hour away. In desperation, I pulled out my cell phone and dialed a former housemate.
“Mackenzie!” Phillip Lee’s familiar, dramatic voice poured out of the phone at top volume. “What a pleasure to hear from you!”
“Hey, Phillip. How’s New York?”
“Delightful. The energy here cannot be beat, and I’ve been spoiling myself with tickets to all the best shows. Come visit! You’ll love it, and you can stay in my guest room.”
I rolled my eyes at Graham, who smothered a laugh with his sleeve. He’d been sad when Phillip had left Primrose House to join a prestigious financial firm in Manhattan, but I hadn’t missed the constant invitations to brunch or late-hour cocktails in the butler’s pantry, always accompanied by hyperactive eyebrow raises.
“Thanks for the invitation, Phillip. I have a question for you—does your sister do emergency appointments on Sundays?”
Phillip’s sister, Dr. Lee, was Striker’s veterinarian. The two of them shared the same upbeat energy, but she’d funneled her outgoing nature into a thriving animal practice instead of generalized lechery.
“No, on Sundays she does her on-site visits to farms with her equine partner. Why, what’s the matter?”
I filled him in on Striker’s behavior, and he clucked into the phone.
“Poor little minx,” he said. “I do miss her knocking bits of garbage under my apartment door. I’m sure the good doctor would see her first thing tomorrow morning. In the meantime, you might try my friend Elizabeth Monk.”
“Is she another vet?”
“No, but she’s the closest thing you’ll find in Donn’s Hill on short notice. She does furrapy out of her shop in The Enclave.”
“She does what?”
“Furrapy. Pet massage. She works with animals all the time and might be able to tell you if this is urgent enough to warrant a trip to Moyard.”
Striker’s yowl from the carrier in my lap convinced me anything was worth a shot. I checked my watch; it was after eleven, so the shops in the little occult district would be open. Graham drove us there and parked the Geo in the same spot I’d used when taking Stephen home the week before, and we carried a howling tortoiseshell cat through the cobblestoned neighborhood, looking for Elizabeth Monk’s shop.
Halfway down the block, a wooden sign hanging from the eaves of a building advertised reiki, massage, and furrapy. I remembered seeing the strange word the last time I’d been in The Enclave and hurried toward the building’s door, holding it open for Graham and Striker.
We passed the darkened door of Daphne’s tarot shop as we headed up the narrow stairs to the second floor. At the top, a glass door greeted us. The design etched onto the clear surface featured animals and humans in various postures, all of them active: running, jumping, doing a cartwheel, and in the case of a large dog, chasing its own tail.
An electric doorbell sounded when we entered, and a tall, broad-shouldered woman emerged from behind a curtain made from strings of wooden beads. A network of fine lines crisscrossed her tanned skin, and deep crows' feet ringed her heavily shadowed eyes. Her snowy hair was pulled back from her face in a long, loose braid that cascaded over her left shoulder. Dozens of short, black crystals hung from silver bracelets around each of her wrists, jangling pleasantly.
“Can I help you?” The question was polite, but her voice was deep and gruff, and when she finished speaking, her mouth settled into a deep frown.
“Phillip Lee referred us here—” I began.
“Phillip?” She grunted. “That old scoundrel. Haven’t seen him in months.”
“He moved to New York,” Graham put in.
“Well, that’d explain it, wouldn’t it? You’d better not be after the kinds of things he’d ask me for.”
I snorted. “I doubt we are.”
Graham lifted the carrier to the countertop, and Striker mewed pitifully. “Our cat is limping. The vet’s closed, and we’re hoping your—uh—furrapy can help?”
Elizabeth scowled. “Depends what’s wrong. Come on back. Let’s have a look.”
She led us behind the curtain and down a short hallway. A small room at the end held a large, cushioned table covered with a vinyl sheet and a wooden bench that looked like it’d be more at home in a mausoleum than a massage parlor. Soft, new-age music tinkled out of speakers mounted in the ceiling corners, and hand-painted wooden signs advised the benefits of deep tissue massage, aromatherapy, and reiki. As we settled ourselves on the bench, she misted the room with a floral scent.
“What is that?” Graham asked.
“Lavender and Frankincense, my own blend,” she explained. “Helps cats relax.”
He raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Makes sense. Could we use it at home?”
“Surely can,” she said. “Cats are anxious little critters. Let her out of that contraption. Best if she runs around here a bit, gets used to the room.”
Elizabeth left the three of us alone, and I released the latch on Striker’s carrier. The cat poked her nose out, sniffed the air, and promptly yanked her head back into the darkness.
“Should I pull her out?” I didn’t want to risk hurting her leg, but this was all uncharted territory. I’d only just gotten used to taking an animal to a veterinarian where everything was fast and clinical. This place, with its relaxing yoga-studio vibe, somehow put me on edge.
“Let her chill out in there for now,” Graham said. “She’ll come out when she’s ready.”
We sat on the bench in silence. Guilt gnawed at me. Striker had been fine the morning before. Only one thing had changed in the last twenty-four hours: we’d brought that blasted jewelry box home. Now, just as Amari warned, misfortune had followed.
I stared glumly at the floor, mentally kicking myself. If Striker had some incurable disease…. I couldn’t even think about it.
A tear rolled down my cheek, and Striker emerged from the safety of her plastic cocoon with a soft meow. She stared at me from the floor for a few moments, measuring the distance between us with her bright yellow eyes. When she jumped, her back legs failed slightly, and she nearly fell short, landing on the bench in an awkward huddle. After a quick shake, she stumbled onto my lap and rubbed her face against my chin.
Alarmed, I gathered her up into my arms and cradled her against my chest. “Easy, kiddo. Don’t push yourself.”
Never one to listen to reason, she squirmed out of my grasp and slid down my jeans to the floor. There, she stalked around the room, still babying her left hind leg as she sniffed the table’s legs, rubbed her chin on every surface, and finally settled down on the floor between Graham’s feet.
Elizabeth came back a few minutes later. I expected Striker to bolt back into her carrier at the sight of an unfamiliar person. But she stayed put, purring loudly and staring at the masseuse with wide, yellow eyes.
“There’s a nervous purr if I ever heard one.” Elizabeth’s voice was softer than it’d been at the counter. She cooed to Striker and held out a hand for inspection. When Striker didn’t flee or scratch, Elizabeth picked her up and placed her gently on the table.
Elizabeth’s hands were large and strong, and she swiftly examined Striker’s legs, gently pulling them outward and testing the muscles with practiced fingers. Striker endured the indignity with more grace than I’d expected, purring throatily all the while.
Elizabeth frowned. “When’d the limp start?”
“We just noticed it this morning,” Graham said.
“Ever done it before?”
I shook my head. “Not while I’ve known her.”
“Could be arthritis.” Elizabeth scratched Striker under the chin. “How old is she?”
“Dr. Lee thinks she’s about ten. Isn’t that young for something like arthritis?”
“Age don’t matter. Had a kitten once, jumped out of the hayloft in the barn, landed right on her feet the way cats do. Impact jarred her bones somethin’ awful. She was just a year old. Had arthritis after that, but you’d never know it the way she carried on.” She ran a hand down Striker’s back as she spoke. “Could be that. Or, could be tender from jumpin’ off somethin’ she shouldn’t have. Let’s do a bit of massage today, tide her over ’til you can get her into the vet.”
I agreed, and Elizabeth got to work. For the most part, it looked like she was just petting Striker with short, fluid motions. Her bracelets tinkled as she worked, the black crystals clanking against each other with each stroke. Striker rolled her head backwards to squint happily at me.
“How long have you been doing this?” I asked Elizabeth.
The older woman shrugged and kept massaging. “For people, goin’ on thirty years. For animals, ‘bout five.”
“Which one do you enjoy better?”
For the first time, a smile appeared on her lined face. “You know the answer, sure as I do. Animals can’t tell me where they hurt, but they make their appreciation known more than most.”
I nodded toward the hand-painted sign on the wall. “And reiki?”
“Been doin’ that before I even knew what it was. My gran taught me energy work when I was a little girl.” She continued the repetitive strokes, moving down Striker’s back. “Things were different then. People ‘round here were proud to call themselves hedge witches, and they charged fair prices for fair work. We didn’t have all these new folk comin’ here and stirrin’ up trouble.”
Intrigued by the matter-of-fact way she discussed the town’s psychic community, I leaned forward, resting my forearms on my knees. “What kind of trouble?”
“All these outsiders, movin’ here from big cities and settin’ up their shops. Half of ‘em don’t practice the arts the way they should. They’re after money, and when they don’t find it, they go lookin’ for other things.” She scowled again. “This way don’t lead to riches, but it’ll lead you right, if you let it. These new folk… they’re more interested in climbin’ into each other’s beds than helpin’ the people who come to ‘em.”
She continued complaining about the way of the today’s world, lecturing us about the wickedness of dishonesty and infidelity as she massaged Striker into a state of total bliss and relaxation.
I envied the cat; I couldn’t remember ever feeling so stressed in my life. The faint buzzing in the back of my mind had started up again halfway through the treatment, and by the time my feet hit the little square entryway separating Daphne’s shop from Elizabeth’s stairs, it had matured into a full-grown tension headache.
Striker, meanwhile, was limp as a noodle in the carrier in Graham’s arms. I poked a finger through the slats to stroke her forehead and she purred quietly.
“You’ll be fine,” I told her, more for my benefit than hers. My voice hitched in my throat and I willed the tears to stay away, hating how easily I cried these days.
Graham was staring at me with more concern in his eyes than I felt I deserved just then. He rested a hand on my arm. “What’s wrong?”
I shook my head. “I feel awful about all this. She was fine yesterday, and then I brought back that box…”
“Hey.” He pulled me into a one-armed hug. “This has nothing to do with that. Elizabeth didn’t seem concerned, and Striker already seems better. Let’s pick up some lavender oil on the way home, like the stuff Elizabeth had. We can spray it around your apartment and help Striker relax.”
“Yeah.” I sniffed. “That’s a good idea.”
He pulled open the heavy door to the street and stepped outside, but my feet stayed rooted where they were. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was following me like a dark cloud. Paranoia tickled the back of my mind, and I remembered the way the van had crashed itself into a tree. Was it even safe for me to ride in a car with other people? Just how contagious was this curse?
“Go on without me,” I told him. “I have to… um…” I looked around the small space and glimpsed Daphne sitting inside her empty shop. “I need to talk to Daphne.”
He looked doubtful but nodded. “Do what you need to do. I’ll take Striker home. We can get the oil later. You sure you’re okay to walk?”
“I’m sure, thanks.”
He left me alone after a quick kiss, but I didn’t reach for Daphne’s doorknob. Instead, I hid my face in the corner of the entryway, pretending to read the instructions on the fire alarm that hung there. I could feel someone’s eyes on my back, but I didn’t care. If I couldn’t see them, they couldn’t see the tears rolling down my face.