Jonah’s confession left me in a raw state. The sheer weight of what he had to carry around with him overwhelmed even me. Yet, he managed to whittle down all that horror into a single word to constantly remind him of what he’d done and what he should never do again.
Patience.
I could not imagine what he went through upon learning the mission he was sent on was a lie. A carefully laid plan by a corrupt Sherriff—all because his wife did not want the members of her church to keep leaving. For that, they were willing to kill.
I wondered if my sordid past could be shoved into a simple phrase. I mean what would it be? “Never again,” came to mind. “Don’t do it,” also made sense. But I knew dealing with my demons would take much more than a single word etched into my skin.
Besides, if I did manage to find one, I’d most likely have to carve it into my forehead to remember.
I spent a great deal of time in the shower scrubbing my skin raw. Thoughts of Gavina’s mental attack had resurfaced, and I couldn’t shake the feeling of my body being covered with her evil influence; how the unspoken pleasure of her intrusion left me feeling vulnerable and confused. Unsure as to why I had responded to her in such a way.
My protective mark had done its job, but it did not stop the licentious sensations she’d elicited. It did not stop the deep-down yearning I felt when she’d touched my soul. Because that is what she did—pushed her way inside and violated the place in me no one should have access to unless I gave them permission.
I didn’t want to classify it. Did not want to say out loud what it was. Then I’d have to deal with it. And I was not ready for that.
So, instead, I focused on the many ways I could hurt her. Focused on images of me ripping her soul from her body. Holding it in my hands. And watching her take her last breath. I hated the dark place I had gone to. But I hated the violation even more.
I would make her pay.
While I got dressed, I thought about Lemuel Oren. It wasn’t a common name. So, the connection should have been obvious. Hell, it practically had a neon sign over it. So why hadn’t I thought of it? Probably because my apartment’s nefarious history wouldn’t have been of any interest to anyone but those who liked to study the creepy pasts of old buildings. But then again, maybe it did take looking into Gavina’s past to bring the link into clarity.
Could it be the same man who was running The Oren Group? I did a quick calculation in my head. The hospital shut down in the early seventies. Lemuel Oren had been a former patient. Best guess, he would have been in his early to late twenties at the time he started the cult. Any younger, and I doubted he would have been able to ensnare a bunch of gullible, confused women into following him. So, if he was still alive, he would have to be in his late seventies by now.
I made a mental note to ask Rachel if she found anything, grabbed my purse and keys, and headed out the door.
I pulled into the parking lot of the convenience store around the corner from my house and almost screamed aloud. Every spot close to the building had a car crammed into it.
Marta’s kids wanted cookies for dinner. After a heated debate, she’d agreed to let them have some and I said I’d bring them. I should have gotten them earlier…before the stores had become too crowded.
After finding a spot at the edge of the lot, I climbed out of the car and headed toward the store. By the time I reached the front door, my body was covered in sweat—rendering my shower useless. Today was truly not my day.
The bell jingled as I pushed my way inside the cool space. The smell of bread smacked me in the face while I made my way around a crowd of people. Their conversations sounded like white noise. Just constant murmurs filling up the room. My eye twitched when I said, “Excuse me,” for a fifth time. If these people didn’t move out of my way, I was bound to have a meltdown before I even reached the sweets section. Another customer stepped in my way, I turned and ran smack into a short woman with long, dark hair, wearing a tight white sundress and flip-flops. She stood in the middle of the aisle, telling a tall, brown-skinned man about the benefits of avocados on salad.
He stared down at her out of eyes filled with tolerance while holding a bag of chips in his hands. As I tried to move past them, they both turned and looked at me. She smiled and he dipped his head in greeting. I furrowed my brow when an overwhelming sense of Déjà vu overcame me. I studied the man for a minute. Medium brown skin, long hair queued in the back, and a slender build. He seemed familiar, but not as familiar as the woman. She beamed at me and stepped forward as if she were going to hug me.
I stepped back quickly, confused. Before she could touch me, I mumbled, “Excuse me,” and weaved my way around them and continued toward the cookie section.
Before I reached it, I glanced back and found them staring at me. I would have said something, most likely filled with expletives, but the look on their faces rendered me speechless. They gazed at me as if they knew me. I stopped for a second. The woman moved forward again like she wanted to meet me halfway.
A jolt inside my head startled me. The woman started toward me. I stepped back, alarmed. What the hell? The man took the woman’s arm and she turned to him, giving me the chance to make my escape.
That was beyond odd.
I stopped at the row of cookies and scanned the many overpriced packages while I tried to figure out why the two strangers seemed so familiar to me. Unfortunately, I kept coming up blank. And the longer I stood there, the more frustrated I became. So, I snatched up a bag of seven-dollar chocolate chip cookies and walked quickly toward the front—only to run into the same woman again.
She turned when I walked up and looked at my cookies. If she opened her mouth to tell me about avocados on salad, I was going scream. She shifted toward me, her bright green eyes dancing with joy. The familiar scent of jasmine wafted off her.
I turned and grabbed the first magazine I saw off the magazine rack. Great. Another self-help one.
“You know, those have the best quizzes in them!” she exclaimed in a thick accent.
Shit.
“I got that issue yesterday. “How to Rate your Personality” is in the back. You should take it. It might make you smile.”
I had walked into my worst nightmare. I hated dealing with crowds of any kind. I always managed to attract the strange ones who wanted to talk or get my opinion or invade my space. Familiar or not, I really wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone right now.
“You see,” she said, oblivious to my unease, “it said I was a giver.” The line inched forward, and she moved with it. “I love sharing knowledge with people.” She sighed. “People are so lost and it’s my job”—she smiled and gave me a wink—“according to the quiz, to give people what they need.”
Please shut up.
I turned, hoping the gesture would clue her in to the fact that I was not listening and did not want to engage in a conversation. The guy she was talking to earlier stood at the back of the line watching us. He smiled and I turned away. I didn’t need him joining the already awkward conversation.
“Now, about your smile.”
“What about it?” I asked through clenched teeth.
“Don’t you hate that? When people tell you to smile?” Her voice grew somber giving way to a sense of familiarity.
I narrowed my eyes and stared at her. How do I know her?
“Oh, most definitely,” I said eventually. The line moved up again. “So, why are you insisting that I do?”
She winked. “I had to get your attention somehow. Right?”
What the hell was wrong with this woman? “Well, now you have it.”
She looked off, her mouth turning down into a frown. “I’m not good at this stuff. My brother is better. Brooding as he is. He can get to the point. Not me.” She shook her head, driving her point home. “Nope.”
“Next!” the cashier yelled out.
“Oh, that’s me.” She rushed forward and slammed her bottle of water on the counter. “It’s not as hot as the desert, but it is hot.” She yanked at her dress as if she were going to snatch it off. “It would be easier if I didn’t have to wear these clothes.”
“Yes, ma’am,” the cashier said, his eyes going wide, holding her bottle in his hand. Finally, when he must have realized she was not going to strip down in the store, he asked, “Will that be all?”
Her mouth stretched into a painful-looking grin. “Yes!”
She set ten dollars on the counter, grabbed her bottle, and ran out of the store. Maybe I should be concerned, I thought. Or I could just mind my own business and be thankful I did not have to talk with her anymore.
After paying a small ransom for twelve cookies and, yes, the magazine, I stepped outside into the heat, only to stop dead in my tracks as I was pulling down my shades. “Oh, this really is not my…”
“Hi again!”
“Look, ma’am, I don’t mean to be rude, but I have somewhere I have to be. Thank you for the advice.” I started to step around her but hesitated. I was being rude and this stranger, one who I might know and needed some help, didn’t deserve it. I turned and looked at her. “Are you all right?” I asked, softening my tone. “Do you need me to call someone?”
“You don’t remember me?” Her tone had changed again. Like she was settling into another persona. Or, the real one. Her mouth curved up into a genuine smile that reached her eyes. A breeze ruffled her hair, carrying that jasmine scent again. She turned into it, inhaling as if she could smell the wind. “I miss the desert.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t remember you,” I said, although it wasn’t entirely true. Something about her was familiar. But what?
She reached out and put her soft, warm hand on my arm. “Even if you don’t take the quiz, you have to find your purpose. Promise me you will.”
“What?”
She backed up. “Have to go. Much more exploring to do.” She held up her bottle, her face turning down into a frown. “Maybe I should have bought more water. It takes a great deal of energy and heat to restore power.” She turned, and I don’t want to say danced away, although it did look like that, but she did move with a sort of rhythmic sway. How she managed that with flip-flops was nothing short of a miracle.
The man she was talking with earlier exited the store and gave her brief glance before making his way down the street.
I made a mental note to avoid the convenience store in the future and climbed into my car. Once the air had kicked in, I merged into traffic and headed east toward Marta’s house—my encounter with the woman playing on repeat in my head.
The woman thought we knew each other. I combed through my memories, trying to place her face or voice, but came up empty. She had a bit of an accent. I was able to detect it when she was not inflicting cheer into her words. Her dark features told me she might be from the Middle East. Why was I wasting time thinking about it? My mind was full enough. I didn’t need to add a bizarre encounter with some random stranger to the mix.
Halfway to Marta’s house, I slammed on my brakes, stopping in the middle of the road. My recollection of the woman in the store finally took root.
My last encounter with her was four weeks ago when I was lying in a field, rain pelting down on me as her brother, Set, tore into my body, looking for my magick as if it had been woven into my internal organs. She had worn no clothing, looking feral as her skin blazed gold. Ezra stood next to her, looking like an Egyptian warrior. Turns out, he had been one.
She had healed me on that night. And when I was six years old, blocked my memories and my magick.
Hathor.
A car horn blared, pulling me out of my thoughts. I eased to the curb and parked. Cool air buffeted my face while I sat there, trying to wrap my mind around the strange conversation I’d had with her. Everything in me was screaming to turn around and go find her, despite the obvious lunacy of it. After all, I had no idea where she could have danced off to.
And what about the man she was talking to? I got the impression he knew her. Was he an Old One as well? Ezra’s warning to me weeks ago popped into my head. Both Hathor and Ezra had marked me for protection. Even Set had. So, if the man I just ran into was an Old One, that meant I’d just had another brush with death.
I glanced over at the magazine sitting on the seat. Why the hell did I even buy it? Impulse? Or was it more of me hoping I could find an easy way to self-healing and the utterings of what I believed was a random stranger, had wiggled their way inside my head and pushed me toward the purchase? Damn. I was trying to rationalize buying a magazine advertising it had the secrets to a man’s heart. If it hadn’t cost so much, I would have chucked it out the window.
“Fuck,” I said, looking at my watch. If I didn’t get going now, I’d be late.
I pulled away from the curb. I wasn’t going to solve this right now. I would tell the others. And maybe I’d go see Ezra. Maybe he would know who the man was. And if anything, Hathor had to be staying with him.