Forecast (2 page)

“You know?
With
Drew,” said Dario.

Jess wanted to be sick. How could he hurt her like this? Obviously this news would get back to her. She thought their relationship had meant something to him. It certainly meant something to her. And while she knew Drew would date other women, this won him the two-minute noodle award for moving on. It had only been three weeks.

“Fine, use Eva.” She’d deal with that little bitch later. “Get back to me as soon as you know more about Drew’s leg. And don’t forget the feed.” Jess turned her phone off and slipped it into her bag. Hopefully she could air the footage of Drew’s fall before he tried to quash it. There’s no way he’d allow his female fans to see him looking anything but controlled and cool.

Falling through a roof wasn’t cool.

Jess moved closer to the crowd and noticed that it wasn’t a dead body, but a gorgeous redhead that was the center of attention. The woman was tiny, but had a commanding presence. She was standing completely still, gazing skyward. The crowd around her was silent, respectful, and obviously in awe.

Suddenly the redhead walked over to a white board and scrawled a weather prediction across it. Not just any weather prediction, but an incorrect one. There was no way it was going to rain today.

Jess pushed her way past the crowd. What a bunch of freaks. She noticed a cab, double parked in front of a police car, and walked over to the driver. “Are you working?”

“I am now. I’ve got my weather report for the day.” The driver waved to two policemen. “See you tomorrow, boys. Don’t get wet.”

Jess slipped into the back seat as the driver started the ignition.

“Where to?” he asked.

“54th and 6th.” Jess stared out the window at the redhead, now handing out umbrellas. “You don’t really believe that woman, do you?”

“Who, Rowie? Sure. I’ve been getting her reports every day for the past three years and she’s never been wrong. Ever.”

“Is that so?” Jess turned and watched Drew’s billboard disappear from view. All thoughts of the redhead slipped her mind, replaced by images of Drew. She couldn’t believe he’d been injured.

Damn him, she thought.

Jess bowed her head and, despite being a self-affirmed atheist, said a little prayer for Drew:
Dear Lord, I don’t ask for much, but if you could, have a look at Drew Henderson … and please make sure he’s in a lot of pain.

Second Site was a jumble of an establishment next door to The Grove. Rowie’s grandparents initially held readings and séances at home, but the business expanded so rapidly that they decided to search for another premise. Around the same time, the house next door became available. Isn’t synchronicity marvelous?

Gwendolyn and Dorian bought the building and christened it their
Second Site
—because that’s what it was—and before long it blossomed into one of Manhattan’s leading centers for metaphysical research and education. The entrance, which was at basement level, was easy to miss. Many people couldn’t find it at all, but that always meant they weren’t ready for spiritual investigation.

The shop was filled with books, crystals, tarot cards and tools of the occult. There were sofas and comfy chairs scattered around so customers could relax and read. The rest of the brownstone was a maze of rooms used for healings, counseling and psychic readings. It was warm and inviting, the kind of place that was difficult to leave, providing a safe haven for people to search for, and often find, answers.

Gwendolyn was greeting a nervous client when Rowie arrived. “Morning, Rowena. That delivery of wands needs to be unpacked.”

“Excellent, another challenging day,” grumbled Rowie as her grandmother disappeared out the back.

Lilia was curled up on a sofa, surrounded by a pile of books.

“Aren’t you meant to be pricing those, Mom?”

“I was … And then this charm of a book sucked me in and I haven’t been able to put it down.
The Truth About Faerie Magic
. An important and timely book.”

Rowie watched as her mother turned a page and resumed reading. There was no point trying to reach her until she put the book down. Rowie learned at a young age that it was best to leave Lilia alone when she had her head in a book.

Lilia was an unusual parent. She loved immensely, but certainly didn’t show it the same way other parents did. She didn’t worry about Rowie; worry is such a useless emotion. She didn’t set rules, enforce discipline or push Rowie. It didn’t occur to her that most parents did. And Rowie didn’t miss having a more involved mother. You can’t miss what you’ve never had. Besides, she always had Gwendolyn to nag her.

“I’ll do the accounts,” said Rowie.

“If you like,” said Lilia, vaguely.

If you like!
Actually no, Rowie didn’t like. She hated bookkeeping. But seeing as Lilia had to be pulled down by a string, just to talk, there was no way she could do it. Lilia wasn’t capable of running Second Site, so when Gwendolyn died, which she constantly promised was going to happen soon, it would be Rowie’s turn to take over. The thought depressed her.

Lately, each day was an effort. The same conversations, with countless different people, all on a desperate search for happiness. How was she meant to help others find their path when she was having difficulty finding her own? She felt like such a hypocrite, advising people to follow their destiny when she was busy ignoring hers.

All her life she’d been assured that her path was the same as countless Shakespeare women before her. But if that were the case, why did it make her feel so empty? Like she was missing something important? If Lilia would assume more responsibility then Rowie could have some much needed freedom to see what she really wanted from life.

Rowie wanted to march up to her mother and boot her dipsy ass off the couch. But she didn’t, because one look at her lying there and her anger faded. Her mother had a way of commanding protection, without saying a word. Lilia was truly beautiful. It wasn’t just the auburn hair, flawless pale skin or the petite frame. It wasn’t even the clear emerald eyes that possessed answers to questions most people feared. It was something else, something magical.

Lilia looked like one of the faeries she was reading about.

The doorbell jangled and the Shakespeare’s dear friend and most loyal customer, Petey Morris, bounded in carrying a tray of coffees.

“Coffee break!”

Rowie grinned and pulled out a stool for Petey.

“Skim milk latte for Madam Lilia,” he said.

Lilia put her book down and looked surprised at his kindness, even though he’d been bringing her the same coffee every day for a year. “Thank you, Petey. Aren’t you a gem?” she said, peeling herself off the couch to take her coffee.

Petey beamed, as he did every time Lilia noticed him. “What are you reading about today?”

Lilia stared into space for a moment, and then smiled. “I forget.”

There were many regular customers who had become friends over the years, but none quite like Petey. He thought of himself as a Shakespearean disciple. He loved all three women like family, but also treated them with a degree of awe and reverence. His life was one big “if only.”
If only he was psychic.

Goddess knows he tried.

He knew the tarot deck by heart, he could tell you the colors of every chakra, he had studied
The Bible,
Kabbalah,
A Course in Miracles, the Tibetan Book of the Living and Dying
and everything by Deepak Chopra. He meditated, was attuned to Reiki, and practiced yoga. He even knew Shirley Maclaine—well, okay, he saw her at a restaurant once and threw himself at her begging for an autograph—but none of it made him psychic. It only made him confused.

He finally realized he’d never make a living channeling astral masters, and made do with being as useful as possible to the women he adored. He brought them coffee every morning, even though they preferred to make their own. They let him think he was helping because he always made them laugh, and that was priceless.

Petey perched himself on the stool. “Not long until the All-Star Game. Who do you think will win?”

“No idea,” said Rowie, sipping her coffee.

“No point being psychic if you don’t know the important answers in life.”

“Perhaps it’s not the answers that are important, but the questions we ask.” Rowie nudged him, teasing. “So what’s happening today? You’re all dressed up.”

Petey grinned. He was thrilled Rowie had noticed. “I’ve got a date. For lunch.”

“That’s great. Who is she?”

“I met her online. She seems nice. She’s a dental nurse. Likes French films, yoga, reality TV … she’s also Libran.”

“Sounds promising,” said Rowie.

Lilia nodded enthusiastically. “Yes. Pity it won’t work out.”

“Mom,” Rowie chided. “Why do you do that?”

“No point wasting his money on the wrong girl.” Lilia took Petey’s hand. “It’s only because I care about you.”

Petey looked devastated. “Why won’t it work out?”

“She’s very superficial. And you lied when you described yourself.”

Petey went sixteen different shades of red. He
had
lied. But he was scared that if he were honest with dentalnurse69 then she’d never agree to meet him. And surely once they met and talked she’d realize what a nice person he was …

“In future when they ask for a photo, send one,” Lilia chided.

Petey looked horrified at the thought. A photo was out of the question. He’d never even get a first date and his self-esteem would take a battering it didn’t need. It hobbled at the best of times and often no amount of positive thinking or mumbling affirmations was enough to lift his self-image out of the doldrums.

Petey knew he wasn’t Brad Pitt—although he felt they had been brothers in a past life—and there was nothing he could do to change that. He was tall, skinny and slouched, with a long hooked nose and lank brown hair. His body was like a textbook description for the horrors of tapeworm and he had seen better heads on a beer. He wasn’t exactly a blank canvas that could be improved upon. But during those moments when he actually liked himself, usually after listening to his Louise L. Hay tapes, he realized that while not handsome, he was interesting. He was a walking caricature, which was better than being bland, forgettable. Anything but that.

Petey knew he lived in a superficial age, but he also believed in the power of love. He knew that when he met his soulmate, his looks wouldn’t matter. So he kept putting himself out there, steeling himself for rejection, while praying that the next woman would be the one to welcome him home.

Rowie patted Petey’s arm. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I guess ‘tall, dark and handsome’ was a bit of a stretch.”

“I disagree,” Lilia purred. “I think you’re just lovely, and so will the gorgeous brunette you eventually fall for.”

Petey’s eyes lit up. “Really. You can see someone for me?”

“Of course,” Rowie assured him. “There’s someone for everyone. You just have to be patient, that’s all.” She certainly was.

Lilia gave Petey a sly smile. “She’s not far off.”

Petey jumped off the stool and gave Lilia a hug. “I’d better ring the dental nurse and cancel. Then I’m off for a haircut. Don’t want to look scruffy for the brunette.” With a wave and his usual hopeful optimism, Petey rushed out the door. Each day alone was one day closer to his soulmate.

“Stop interfering, Mom.”

“No. The dental nurse is a cruel little vixen and I don’t want Petey to get hurt.”

“Fair enough,” Rowie sighed as she turned back to the accounts. Something was off. “Did you already pay for the delivery of moonstones, Mom?"

“Yes. I gave them cash,” said Lilia. “And a free aura reading.”

“You have to tell me, okay. No wonder the accounts are out.”

“Sorry … I didn’t think it was that important.”

Rowie shook her head in frustration. Lilia thought Faerie Magic was important, but money could be ignored. She recently admitted she thought the stock exchange was a place to swap cattle.

Gwendolyn entered with her beaming client. “Are you sure you don’t want to finish the whole hour?”

The woman handed Gwendolyn some money. “No, I got the information I came for. As long as that bastard isn’t getting custody of the kids, then I’m happy.” She smiled at the three women. “A good lawyer and a good psychic … it’s what every divorcee needs.”

“Don’t forget that younger man, with the surname starting with R. He’ll be giving you what you need too, my dear.”

“Bring it on. After twelve years with a sexually challenged caveman, I’m ready.” The woman snapped her purse shut. “Thanks again. I’ll definitely be back.” She exited with a confidence not present when she entered.

Gwendolyn grabbed a handful of her ever-present Post-it notes. “I did the Wedgwood this morning. There’ll be no squabbling over that when I’m gone.”

“That’s good to know,” Rowie humored.

“The last thing you need when you’re grieving for me are arguments about who gets what.”

“Too true,” Rowie agreed. “And I’d fight a duel to the death for the Wedgwood.”

“You’ll be surprised what holds sentimental value when I’m dead,” sniffed Gwendolyn.

Gwendolyn was a walking obituary. Despite perfect health and a history of family longevity, she was constantly preparing for death. Being in regular touch with the Spirit world meant she had no fear of it. Having loved and lost a lot of people over the years meant in some ways she was looking forward to it. It would be quite a reunion.

But mostly, she used her pending death to manipulate her daughter and granddaughter. Constantly reminding them of her fragile mortality meant they wouldn’t stray too far away from the fold. Death didn’t frighten her, but being alone did. So Gwendolyn’s days were filled with notes and instructions and preparations for her passing. When it arrived, she would be ready. Really ready: she had been preparing for it for years.

With a dramatic flourish she stuck a Post-it on the cuckoo clock. “I think I’ll leave this for Nathan the Florist. So, Rowie … How’s Brad?”

“Fine.”