The Awakening: A Sisterhood of Spirits Novel (5 page)

She pulled random cards out of the deck and lay them in Celtic cross formation, pausing briefly before turning the first card that represented the significator at this moment, in this case, herself. Expecting to see her usual card, The Empress, she was surprised to see The Fool instead. Number zero in the tarot deck, a major arcana card that in simple terms represented a place between, the pause before a transformation. Interesting, she thought, being that she already sensed impending change. She wasn’t sure if it was good or bad yet.

She turned the next card, representing opposing forces to her question. Death. She felt a tingle of apprehension though she knew it didn’t have to represent danger, but another change, an end of something to make way for something new. Still, it was moving in opposition to her normal life. The third card she turned, representing helpful forces at this time, was The Wheel. Decisions and balance. She continued and turned the fourth card over, representing present events, Eight of Wands—movement and energy. Air represented in the suit of wands as well as her Libra sign. So far, perfect picture of where she was.

Sunny tapped a fingernail on the card before turning the card in the fifth position, representing her subconscious feelings. The Hermit, another major card and pretty self-explanatory; a space of self-imposed solitude. Sunny needed that state often to decompress.

Next, number six, the card of past influences. Three of Wands, an air card meaning planning and partnership. Sunny smiled. The card clearly meant her business with her friends, Sisters of Spirits.

Card number seven, representing a possible immediate future. She paused and felt a small knot form in her stomach. The Tower. Major card of discord and catastrophe. She knew the illustrations on these cards like the back of her hand, yet she stopped to study the details again. She couldn’t remember if she had
ever
pulled this card from the deck for herself. It was a disturbing thought, that everything she’d built could be destroyed, her dreams turned to ashes. Well, she refused to accept that. The card could also be interpreted as out with the old, in with the new, or a shattering of old beliefs. The future wasn’t set in stone; this was only a possible scenario. Still, she shivered before straightening her shoulders. Next, number eight, representing her own fears and attitudes, King of Cups, a masculine influence. Sunny felt her throat close a little; it was usually her father’s card. However, in this reading, and the position it fell in, she knew it represented emotional upheaval.
Great.

Turning the ninth card, the one representing family and friends, she held her breath. The people she was close to mattered more than anything else in the world, and this reading was darker than one she’d ever done for herself. She uncovered the Five of Swords. A fire card that indicated arguments, problems, and failure. Sunny tensed. She was almost sorry she’d started the reading, but she would finish it out.

The tenth card, showing the results of thoughts and actions, was the Ten of Swords, another fire card that promised dark times. No wonder she kept looking over her shoulder. She took small comfort in the old adage that forewarned was forearmed.

Just as she was to turn the final card, Isis yowled and jumped onto the desk scattering the cards to the floor before shooting off in another direction, her fur on end. Startled, Sunny called out to the cat. “What was that about?” Only one card landed face up on the floor. The Hanged Man. Suspended activity and challenges to the way she currently lived.

She fought the chill crawling up her spine and picked up the rest of the cards before carefully putting them away. The reading solidified what she already felt, but it raised more questions than it answered. Thunder rolled in the distance, making good on the sky’s earlier promise of a storm.

Isis and Ash waited patiently for her on the bed, purring and curled like bookends. Sunny climbed under the comforter and waited for them to settle on either side of her. Then she put the anxiety of the reading aside. Whatever was coming would show up whether she worried about it or not. She’d just have to be ready when it did. She fell asleep just as the first flash of lightning lit the sky outside her bedroom.

*

Jordan turned over and tried to stop the dream before it started. But her eyelids felt heavy and wouldn’t open.

The small girl huddled in a corner in an attempt to make herself disappear. Obnoxious, loud laughter from the living room had woken her. It was Mommy’s bad laugh.

She pulled her knees even closer to her chest and closed her eyes tight, clutching her baby koala bear and praying that this time, no one would come into her room to look for her. Oscar’s fake fur was a comforting smell against the odor of cigarettes and woodsy scent of alcohol that came from under the door.

Hard rock music pounded against the walls, and she felt her heartbeat speed up to match the drums and bass.

Unaware of time, she held herself still, knowing that movement called attention to you, and that was the last thing she wanted. She couldn’t hear her mother anymore, and that was sometimes worse than the bad laughter. She had to go potty. Wary, she clutched Oscar and tiptoed to the closed door. She was nearly there when it swung open and a monster stood in the opening framed by the light in the living room. Red eyes glowed at her from the dark, pinning her in place.

“Well,” the voice boomed. “What do we have here?”

She scrunched up her face in fear and felt the pee flow down her legs before the wicked laughter grew in volume as a large hand picked her up by the throat and then tightened.

“No!”

Jordan bolted upright. She fought to get air into her lungs and held her hand over her heart, which was trying to pound its way out of her chest. “Okay, okay. Nightmare. Breathe, Jordan, relax.”

Her pulse gradually slowed down, and the phantom grip on her neck lessened so she could breathe easier.

Impatient with herself, she pushed her hair from her face, becoming aware of the perspiration soaking her face and the T-shirt she was wearing. What was with this place, turning hot and cold as if the apartment had a mind of its own?

She went into the bathroom to splash cold water on her face and fought to bury the memories back where they belonged, behind closed doors in her mind.

Like she always did. It was the only way to move forward without losing her mind.

*

Sunny sat on the porch swing, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face while listening to the joy of the birds singing in the background.

“Changes are coming.”

Sunny turned and looked at her father sitting next to her. She loved these dreams when she could visit with her dad. She was so happy to see him, wearing his familiar Levi’s and denim shirt, smelling of his favorite brand of pipe smoke.

She laid her head on his shoulder the way she so often had when he was alive and rocked with him in the happy sunshine.

“Mmm.” Then his words penetrated the moment.

“What’s coming, Daddy?”

He didn’t answer, and when she opened her eyes to look, he was gone, as silently as he’d appeared.

Loneliness gripped her heart like a vise, squeezing so hard she thought her heart might break all over again. “What’s coming, Daddy?” she asked again.

The lovely dreamscape suddenly turned dark, and Sunny tried to wake up. A black crow landed on the porch railing and cawed loudly, swiveling his neck until his black eye was looking directly into hers. Sunny was swept into a swirling energy where she spun in circles, aware of only the sensation of falling. After what seemed like an eternity, the vortex collapsed in on itself and she landed on her back in a small dim room. She pulled herself into a sitting position and looked around.

The room smelled of old urine and fear, prickling her skin uncomfortably. She turned and saw the tiny dark-haired toddler curled into a ball in the corner, crying pitifully. Sunny started to crawl toward her when the door swung open and a siren sounded, piercing her eardrums.

Sunny forced herself awake, realizing that the siren in her dream was actually her alarm clock. Who was that child? She took a moment to put the fear away because it wasn’t hers; it belonged to the young girl. What did this dream mean?

Sunny became aware of her own pain, remembering her father’s warning. But right this second, that didn’t seem as important as the feeling of her cheek against his shirt.

Sometimes being psychic just created questions. So many things were up to an individual’s interpretation, and waiting for answers could take longer than she liked. She knew from experience she had to trust that more would be revealed as it was needed.

Knowing that the only thing that would pull her mind out of the dream was hard physical exercise, she got up, washed her face, and dressed in yoga gear to go to her basement gym. She grabbed a bottle of water on her way down the stairs and flipped on the radio by the door. Sunny was a firm believer in the whole mind, body, and spirit credo. It was the universal idea that if you took care of all of them and found balance, you would live a fantastic life.

Besides, when she worked out, she didn’t have room for anyone else’s feelings. Sunny finished stretching and set her treadmill on a steep incline, preparing to do battle with no one but her legs and a heavy bass beat.

Chapter Three

Jordan took a step back when her landlady screamed.

“That’s it! I can’t take any more of this.”

Any more of what? Jordan thought. She’d simply told Agnes that her thermostat wasn’t working properly; she hadn’t even told her yet about the god-awful groaning noises the plumbing made in the middle of the night, or the weird knocking at her door. She reevaluated the woman in front of her. Apparently, she’d just woken up, as she was dressed in a thin, old-fashioned housecoat, the kind that snapped up the front. Her Lucille Ball–red hair was in curlers, something Jordan didn’t realize women still did in the age of curling irons. Sweat socks much too large for her feet pooled around her ankles. All she needed was a cigarette dangling from her mouth dropping ashes as she spoke to complete the picture of one of Jordan’s early foster mothers. She hadn’t thought of that woman in years. Well, not until the nightmares came back, anyway.

She was dimly aware of Agnes speaking. “I’m sorry. What did you say?”

Agnes’s bony hand patted her arm. “Are you all right, dear? You look a little peaked.”

Okay, thought Jordan, she was nothing like the old foster mother. She was certain those words had never fallen out of that woman’s mouth, or that she showed one iota of any concern for her. “Um…”
What did I come here for?
“Right. I just wanted to give you this.” She handed Agnes a shiny silver key. “I had to change the locks.”

Agnes’s lower lip trembled, and she looked to be on the verge of tears. “Why?”

Before she could answer, Jordan watched her eyes roll back in her head, and Agnes fainted dead away. She barely caught her before she hit the floor.

Footsteps pounded on the entry stairs and Steve looked down at Agnes. “Now you’ve done it. I told you not to tell her anything.” He helped Jordan, and together, they managed to get Agnes to her couch. The apartment was tidy but smelled of old cigarettes.

“Get her some water.” Jordan patted the old woman’s face. “Agnes? Wake up now.”

Watery blue eyes stared back at her. “What happened?”

“You fainted.”

“Here, Grandma,” Steve said, handing the water glass to her. “There you go, darling. Drink up.”

“Why isn’t there whiskey in this glass, boy? I fainted.”

Grandma? Whiskey?
Jordan was confused.

“Crap. I knew I shouldn’t have rented her that apartment. Oh, sit down,” she snapped at Jordan. “I hate when people hover.”

“Why not rent me the apartment?”

“Because it’s haunted.”

Not this again. Part of Jordan wanted to humor the old lady, but a larger portion didn’t want to encourage her delusions, so she said nothing.

Agnes slapped Steve on the hand. “You knew she had problems here?”

He rubbed the spot. “Ow, Grandma. Yes, but I didn’t want you to be upset.”

Jordan thought of making a quick run for it. This conversation was insane. There was no such thing as ghosts, and that was that. Suddenly, it made sense that her weird neighbor and quirky landlord were related. She slapped her palms on her thighs before standing. “Well, gotta go. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“But…”

Jordan backed to the door. “I work swing tonight. Lots to do. See you later.” She quickly crossed the courtyard to her own apartment wing. Ghosts? Some people would believe just about anything. There had to be some other explanations for the things keeping her on edge in this new place. She just had to figure out what they were.

*

“Fucking tweakers.”

Jordan looked over at her new partner. Vince looked friendly enough with his boyish good looks and easy manner. He had been very helpful over the last week, making the new partnership and transfer relatively painless. She raised her eyebrows at the venom in his tone.

“Look at him, ass and feet up in the air, digging through that Dumpster.” He pulled the cruiser in behind the old station wagon half hidden in the back alley of the department store, blocking it in. They walked silently up to the large green bin until they were close enough to hear mumbling over the rustle of paper and trash from the interior. Vince tapped his flashlight on the metal, and the noise stopped abruptly.

“Police. Come out of there right now with your hands where I can see them.”

The feet disappeared into the dark interior before pale hands and a white face appeared.

“What, Officer? I wasn’t doing anything.”

“Get out.”

The man climbed out slowly. His eyes seemed to be bugging out of his skeletal face. He was emaciated, and his clothes hung from his skinny frame.

Jordan could almost see him think of one excuse after another, looking for a way out of his predicament.