"Nope." Tim's mouth turned up. "No one's going to push Wickham around."
Chapter 5
Thecozyenergyinthe air, which mingled with the scents of lavender and sweet lemon, tempered my frustration in wondering who the killer could be. The storefront enhancement held steady, as usual, beckoning guests and enticing them with baked goods. We set up the Grey Doors album to play as background music until the open mic officially began.
At 8:03 our first guests arrived, a few college-age girls in dark clothing. They were followed by a middle-aged couple in Grey Doors T-shirts. I wasn't sure what I’d hoped for, someone to confess their schemes, or someone to come in with a raging black-and-red aura and give themselves away. But life was more complicated than that.
More people trickled in. My sisters showed up, some with boyfriends, to be supportive, and the performance-list signup eventually filled.
A few people performed their take on the Grey Doors songs, a lot attempted Beatles songs, and an elderly woman recited a poem about fae. She spoke for only five minutes, but it felt like thirty.
Bradley eventually took the stage and played a melancholy ballad. Zoe and Harley followed suit with their own flash-poetry pieces.
Harley mentioned something about how seeking the spotlight is a dangerous game, and Zoe said that art mirrors love and life. To my surprise, Wickham took the mic. I knew he played bass, but I hadn’t realized he dabbled in vocals. He sang my favorite of the Grey Doors love song. His aura turned a romantic deep navy and purple with a pinch of crimson.
Dreams in life only come true
When they are shaped by you.
There’s nothing so tragic
As what might have been,
All the things I wish I knew.
Every moment we’re together
Our souls and hearts renew.
Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. Though we’d had a few dates, he still seemed like an illusion or anout-of-reach dream. A group of teenagers behind me whispered to each other. The words “maybe he did it...” reached my ears. Then, a touch of something new flashed through me. Sadness? No. Anger.
How dare anyone make Wickham and his friends look guilty. I’d find them.
I studied the auras in the room. The audience members' auras were easily flavored by the performances, as if music and poetry were a tangible force tinkering with emotions. When the performer's aura shifted to a specific color, the same color tainted the audience members’ auras.
In the corner, Mathis’s amber aura still shone brightly, but black flecks filtered through like snowflakes. Grief? Bradley’s was a stormy blue with occasional sprays of deep red. Harley's was violet as before, but now waves of gray and gold crashed to the surface. Zoe’s copper and magenta still swirled around her, but the copper had grown. Stress was affecting all of them, I suspected.
Reading auras was so subjective. A gift, yes, but it wasn’t like I could use aura colors to know for sure who the killer was. There was no magical guide to determine which color meant a specific thing, though I usually had a general idea of what someone was feeling.But feelings didn't always guide behavior. For example, a guilty gray aura could mean anything. It could mean that the person forgot to unplug their curling iron, all the while the killer may not feel guilt at all.
Among the crowd, I ruled out anyone with delicate pastel auras. These were rare, and usually connected to children and the elderly. A sweet teen girl, who had obvious autism, glowed white with occasional tints of soft greens, aqua, daffodil, and powdery pink.
I edged my way along the wall toward Harley and Zoe, first reaching Harley at the drink table. "How do you think it's going?" I asked her.
Confusion colored her expression, but she shrugged her shoulders. "It seems good, I suppose. I'm not really sure what our main goal is though."
I smiled with my lips still pressed together. "We're trying to be supportive, mostly. What did you think of Alex?"
"He knew what he was doing. I know he butted heads with Wickham, but I'm going to miss him." Her silvery-purple aura dipped towardnavy blue, and she turned away from me.
Zoe, who stood in my periphery, approached me. "Lydia, thanks again for hosting this. Wickham's lucky to have you."
"It's the least I could do. Can I ask if you where close to Alex?" I asked, realizing how similar she and Harley looked other than their hairstyles.
"Close?" Zoe tightened her mouth and shrugged. "We drafted some lyrics together, and he told me I had a lot of potential. He was flattering, I suppose."
"Not so much toward Wickham though."
She shook her head, reaching for a glass of blackberry lemonade. "No. I felt bad for Wickham. Alex's hostility made little sense to me."
