TWO

 

The next morning I woke to find Merle asleep, wrapped around my head. I felt more confident than when I’d gone to bed. Remembering I was a hybrid Earth Angel, part wise one and part star person, and had been lauded by my peers as somewhat of a brain helped calm me. I also had recalled who Natasha and Clarice were, and our good friend Seth.

To my chagrin, memories of what a marvelous and considerate lover Jared had been, and how much we’d loved each other had also flooded back. The one thing I didn’t need was remembering how much I’d loved that scumbag. But, having gone from an inactive eighty-plus year-old to a “wahoo” woman in her prime, I’d naturally dream about a fantasy lover. And with Jared gone forever, that’s what he’d become. Here’s hoping fantasy didn’t become reality, because if he entered my life I’d never complete my assignment. I’d be serving life in a dank Florida prison cell.

I focused on clearing my thoughts through deep breathing, remembering I’d also learned all about Miranda McChesney. My walk-out played memory tapes for me so I’d be caught up to speed with her life.

It isn’t nice to speak or even think ill of a departed soul, but that woman really was a wimp. Not that I would’ve ever told her. But, truth be told, she’d been a whiner of the major ranks.

According to my new memories, Miranda had lost her mother when she was seven and was raised by her Grandma Erin McChesney. Her father was always away on business trips, or so he’d said. But I’d seen glimpses of him in my dreams, which told me he was quite the ladies’ man. Between being loaded and handsome, he was a catch.

In addition to raising her, Gran Erin had taught Miranda everything she knew about finance. Miranda had been raised knowing she was the sole heir to the family fortune controlled by Gran Erin who bypassed Miranda’s father in favor of her granddaughter. Which in the end didn’t matter; when Miranda was eighteen her father was lost at sea while flying to Europe on a private jet.

The family money, while not new, was a couple of generations old. Gran always called it a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. Yeah, one tied to Prohibition.

For all her brainpower and money savvy, Miranda, or Randee as she called herself, wasn’t good at playing house. Then she’d met Bill Bennett, who said he had millions of his own. She’d been fooled once again, and hadn’t guarded her heart.

It’d taken her two years of living with the creep to figure out he was an egotistical, male chauvinist. Finally, she’d announced her independence and kicked the rat out. She’d kicked him out all right, along with the cocktail waitress he’d been screwing in their bedroom on her bed. Eeuwww! I had to make sure the sheets were washed with bleach, a couple of times.

I’d have Miranda’s staff take care of it. If she doesn’t have sufficient staff, well, I’d just have to hire them.

Tugging on a pair of shorts and halter top, I tripped downstairs, winding round its spiral staircase, and walked toward what my dreams last night told me was the kitchen and veranda. Merle followed me and immediately went to her food bowl.

Glass covered the back of the house, and I spotted Uncle Paddy sitting out on the veranda at a table. He was being served by a tall, whipcord thin man. Ah, that must be the prissy, bossy George Hazel mentioned.

I joined Uncle Paddy. “Hello!”

My uncle put down his paper. “Hello, little one. Coffee?”

I nodded. “Love some.”

George frowned. “You gave that up two years ago. The jitters.”

“I miss them,” I said, smiling. “They give me my edge. Black, please.”

“You’ve always taken cream and sugar.” He barely managed a polite smile.

I could tell Miranda hadn’t been formal with her staff. “I don’t miss them.”

He poured the cup, bowed formally, and left.

Paddy flashed me his famous big Irish grin. “You sounded like Erin. She woulda be proud of ya. She worried so when you let others run roughshod over ya. Although, I don’t know if George’ll ever get over it. The prig does like to boss ya around.”

“He’ll be fine.” I forked a slice of melon onto my plate, and poured a glass of juice. Taking a sip, I licked my lips. “I love fresh squeezed.”

“I would hope so. No Floridian would be caught dead with concentrate.”

Okay, get with it, Miranda. Stupid mistake. I prided myself in getting into character early. Not the whiner part, just the Floridian part. “After breakfast, I think I’ll go to the bookstore.” And get some research material on where I’m living. Obviously, my walk-out, Miranda, hadn’t let me in on Floridian idiosyncrasies, plus I need to learn more about the circles she ran in.

* * * *

 

I plundered the section on local history and society of the bookstore then went to the travel section, piling up another large selection of books. If it hadn’t been for a nice clerk, it’d have taken me two trips hauling everything to the counter. I wrinkled my nose and once again wished I had the ability to zap things where I wanted them. Ah, magic’s nice if you can use it.

As I handed over my credit card, I smiled. “It’d sure be nice if the local big box store had grocery carts. Then people like me could buy all the books we wanted and get them to our cars with ease.”

“There aren’t any other people like you,” the clerk said. “But I wish there were. In fact, it’s hard for us to get many people below fifty in here and even then they buy one or at the most two or three books. Except for kids, they frequent the music and gaming sections.”

I pondered his words and felt a sudden sadness. Books were like old friends. You could caress the pages, savor the words and then store them, only to open them up again over time, reliving memories. And unlike memories that over time could become better than they were or simply disappear, books stayed true, never changing.

I silently chuckled, feeling like a wise philosopher, until I looked at my booty. Just how was I going to cart it all out to the car? Alone. The clerk may have bemoaned the lack of purchasers, but if one such as me couldn’t get help, why bother?

Trudging out to the parking lot with my plunder piled high in front of me, I never saw the man I ran into. And I do mean ran into. I fell to the ground, books flying everywhere, a flip-flop ending up beneath the scattered books. I scrambled to my feet, wincing at the bite of sand and grit ground into my knees. Trying to regain my composure, I dusted myself off, and glanced at the man, who, like me, was also getting up from the pavement.

He towered over me by at least four to five inches. His sleeveless tank flaunted his broad shoulders. Skimpy running shorts and his long legs were enough to make a girl cry with longing. And his tan was so picture perfect, I wondered if it came out of a bottle. After all, why risk perfection to skin cancer.

After slowly resurveying him, starting at the feet, and taking a momentary pause at his, um, shorts, I worked my way up to his face. A surge of heat blistered my cheeks. My palms dripped water. Humidity, Miranda. It’s the humidity.

He had sandy colored hair and green eyes. I loved green eyes. A twinge at the back of my brain registered a flashing red warning light. Okay, Jared also had green eyes. But chances of this man being him were slim to non-existent. But, ooh, I was willing to try for slim. Come-on, cut me some slack, do you have any idea what it’s like to go from bedridden to rearin’?

“I am so sorry.” He leaned forward, picking up my books. As he handed me my stack, he glanced at my face and momentarily paused as a shocked expression flashed across his expressive face. Eyes widened, lips tightened, and oh, yummm. “I hope you don’t mind if I tell you that you have beautiful eyes.” He stopped and looked embarrassed. “That’s not a come-on, honestly.”

I laughed. “I’ll take it as a compliment. Thanks for picking up the books.”

“It was my pleasure. Well, see you!”

“See you too,” I yelled. Damn! He didn’t even invite me back inside for a cup of coffee. Oh, well, I’d just have to bait a better hook next time.

* * * *

 

That night, I eased into a big chair in the library—yes the house has its own library—and studied the books I’d bought. By the time I’d finished, I felt ready to converse in Northern Floridian and mingle with the high and mighty of society.

As I entered the family room, I was trying to decide what to do next, visit Hazel for a scotch, dream about old green eyes, or watch a movie. Then Uncle Paddy turned to me. “What’s your lecture about on Monday?”

Well, hello, world, and when’s the next stop off? “What lecture?”

“The one at your college. You know that metaphysical college ya always talk about.” Great balls of angel dust! I taught? Not for money, that much I knew. So why was I not only teaching but involved in metaphysical crap?

“I lecture?”

“Yup. I think it’s Metaphysics 101.”

“Right. We’re covering angels Monday.” I hope. Ms. C please let the subject be on something I know about. I yawned. “I think it’s time for me to turn in.”

He looked at me curiously. “It’s only eight o’clock. You’re normally awake till midnight.”

I stopped, deliberating on what to say. “Hard day, lots of sun. Gotta go.” I looked down at the cat, licking her paws. “Come on, Merle.”

She looked at me, puzzled, and let out a low, “Meooow.”

It had taken me a full day to decipher her accent. I’m fluent in Persian and Tabby, but not as good at the Eastern languages with an overlay of Southern. But, it didn’t take a genius to know she’d cussed me out. Her language shocked me beyond words. She’d used expressive words I didn’t even say, and I’m known for my colorful turn of phrase.

I turned a gimlet glare on her. Time to show Ms. Merle who’s the boss. “Fine, stay down here. Guess you don’t want to sleep on the bed tonight. Oh, and for the record, keep up the bad language and you can sleep outside.”

Paddy hooted. “As if that cat’s ever come near you. In fact, I’m surprised she’s in the same room as us.”

“Merle and I’ve come to an understanding of sorts. We’re just still working on who’s the boss.” Pivoting, I strode toward the stairs, Merle trailing behind me. I looked back to see my uncle staring after us, his mouth gaping open, and I winked.

Safely locked in my room, I searched for a briefcase or satchel, something lesson plans might be in. Finding nothing, I started on the small desk in the corner of the room and opened the lower right drawer. There you go. Filed by date of lecture were all of Miranda’s materials. She may’ve been a whiner, but she was an organized one.

It seemed the second Monday after Labor Day was my first session. That meant an introduction to the course, expectations, structure, etc. I also saw Miranda was prepared to talk about transmigration and reincarnation. No problem! Those subjects were ones with which I was intimately familiar.

Still, my knowledge and the information humans used were bound to be different. That being the case, I decided to read up on what humans believed was true versus what I knew to be true.

An hour later, a pile of laughter induced tear-soaked tissues littered my floor. Merle lay stretched out on my bed on her back, smiling in amusement, with her legs up to have her belly scratched. Even she knew the first part of Miranda’s lecture was fantasy.

According to my walk-out, who’d just gotten her Masters in Metaphysics, transmigration referred to the evolution of the soul though various life forms, from single cell organisms to insects, to animals, to mammals, to humans, and each stage could take more than one life. In her lecture she stated, once evolved to human status, the soul could be demoted to animal life form again if it screwed up. The last were my words. Seems Randee had been a lady at all times, even when Bill screwed her over.

I grinned at Merle. “Everyone knows the soul chooses its own form. I bet you’ve been a cat for as long as I’ve been in human form.”

Merle let out a loud cackle. Okay, it was a “Meooow,” but she’d cracked a joke.

“According to Miranda, humans are being punished coming back as a cat. I ask you, who has the cushier life?”

She rolled back on her stomach, and I swear it looked like she was beating my bed with her paws, she was laughing so hard.

“Well, I’m changing that part.” I drew a line through it. “I’ll tell the students that there are multiple theories, but my research suggests the soul travels from its chosen life form through lives based on the lessons it must learn over time. Upon learning the lesson, the soul graduates and can rest in heaven.”

I scratched under Merle’s chin. “Of course, even that’s a joke. It’s twenty-four seven, five days a week on and two days on standby. And if, the graduated soul wishes to volunteer to be a warrior for mankind, he can serve incarnate again as an Earth Angel from birth or as a walk-in.” I winked at Merle. “Like me. Although, I think I’d better leave out that part.”

She purred, got up, and wrapped herself around my ankles.

I finished my new notes, making similar remarks under reincarnation and entity attachment aka drop-in. “Well, that should do it, Merle.” I put the papers back in the file. “Guess we really can go to bed early. How about lying up on my pillow while I sleep?”

I picked her up and stroked her ears. She turned on her “purr control,” sounding like a well-tuned engine.

“Since we both know you have psychic abilities, maybe while I’m dreaming you can help me find my friends. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a white witch. Some of my best friends have been white witches. But it isn’t me, in spite of what they said in Salem. Still, I see no reason you can’t be my familiar.”

I put her on my pillow and slid under the covers. The last thing I remember is her curling up in a ball in the crook of my body.

* * * *

 

Men dragged me screaming across the field, my arms bound. It was but the middle of the night. The holy man had invaded my home under pretense of being Jared. I’d fallen for it. His voice had sounded identical. Now, I knew I’d been tricked by the Raksasha.

“If you renounce the light, you’ll not burn,” Keara said. “Let me hear the words from your mouth, Miranda. Let me hear you, Ms. C’s precious angel embrace our mission.” Her blood-curdling shriek filled the night air, yet no one other than we two heard it. All they saw was a witch, rightfully bound and heading for her inescapable end.

“Jared!” I screamed. “Jared, save me. Jared! You said you would come. Jared! Where are you?” The last words came out in a whimper as Keara, in the form of a preacher, strode forward dragging me behind him.

“Your lover can’t hear you. He’s too busy in the arms of his newest lover. He refuses to leave her kisses to save you from burning.” She glanced over her shoulder at me. “What made you think he’d be loyal?”

As we approached the execution spot, I watched them drag a shackled and trussed Olivia to a pyre, and secure her to the post. “Witches are hung!” I screamed. “Not burned. Not in Salem. What’s happening?”

Laughing, Keara tied me to a second pyre, backing onto Olivia’s. “Oh, but this is so much more fitting, and no one will ever know. No one will even care.” She laughed as she lit the fire at my feet. I heard Olivia scream and smelled her burning flesh. Or maybe it was me I heard and smelled. I wasn’t sure.

One last time I screamed his name. “Jareeeedddd!”

“Don’t worry, Miranda!” Olivia screamed, her voice, ragged. “It’s just a dream. It’s just a mystic dream!”

Mystic dream or not, I lost consciousness from the pain.

* * * *

 

Waking, cold sweat coated my body while Merle licked my face and hissed. I sighed. It was only a dream, nothing more. I reached up and scratched behind Merle’s ears. She’d helped. If not for her, I’d still be trapped, reliving the burning. However, one good thing did come from the nightmare. Olivia had given me a clue, I thought, remembering the man from the beach.

“That’s where Olivia is, at Mystic Dream.” I stroked Merle’s fur.

Rising from the bed I looked at her still stretched out on my pillow. “You and I are going to get along fine together. In case I didn’t tell you, thanks for waking me.” I threw on some clothes, slipped my feet into sandals and headed for the door. “I’ll fill you in when I get home.”