As soon as reality sets in, confirming it was indeed a dream, the ice-pick headache hits me all at once. My necklace activates with a radiant shade of blue spreading across my neck, so bright that my whole bedroom is bathed in it.
Chapter nine
Happy Hour for Three
Ionly really needed one thing: a screwdriver. The chanting. The fall. Even the dreams were enough for anyone to want a stiff drink.
After tireless searching on different internet forums about everything and anything paranormal, I’ve come to the following conclusion: Ghosts are real. They aren’t always the friendliest. Some may say they are snarky and irritating.
After this new chant that has been edging in my ear for the last few hours, it’s all I can focus on.
A luz sabe—the light knows. Duas almas incompletas—two incomplete souls.
The chants repeat in my head, hissing at me in both languages. My mouth goes dry. Every single explanation in my head onlyleads to a dead end. Settling in the chair the hostess just sat me at, I don’t waste any time.
“Excuse me!” I yell a little too loudly. The waitress and everyone else in the room are now looking at me. She is visibly rolling her eyes as she makes her way over to my table.
“How can I help you?” she asks, gritting her teeth.
“Screwdriver on the rocks, please.”
“Just you?” she questions.
“Yes, it’s just me,” I bite back. The waitress gives a sly smirk before walking away. I exhale, forcing myself to steady my breaths. I need to speak to someone.
Someone that is logical, pragmatic and visible to other human beings.
I scroll through my contacts on my phone, drumming my nails against the wooden table. My index finger stopping at Lena’s name, hovering over the call button for a few moments before I actually click on it.
After a few rings, I get her automated message.
The person you’re trying to reach is not available. Please leave a message after the tone.
“Hi, girl, I am at Tipsy Boulevard, drinking my day away. Join me. I could really use—”
My sentence trails off, trying to find the words. The truth is, if I finished the sentence, I would say I could really use someone to talk to because I’m lonely and on the verge of losing it. But that’s too much to leave over voicemail so I hang up.
“Here you go,” the waitress cuts in and a drink slides over to me in a trendy, hipster glass. Without trying, my drink is finished within minutes.
With no vodka left and a quarter of the loaf of bread gone, the onlookers at every other table are harder to ignore.
“I should’ve just sat at the bar,” I mumble under my breath, desperation hitting me all at once.
Forget logical. I need to talk to anyone.
Pulling my purse back onto my lap I rummage through my bag, sorting through loose bobby pins and pieces of gum to find my Bluetooth headphones stuck at the bottom.
Acting on a hunch I’ve been desperate to confirm since I left Holden’s house, I rub my thumb over the pendant. The chant picks up on cue.
This time, I only hear part of it— “a luz sabe” in a set of three. A gust of wind shifts the energy in the room as her entrance isalmost immediate, raising the hair on the nape of my neck when I hear her voice follow the phrase.
“I was this close to kissing him!” I loudly whisper.
She doesn’t respond to this, only mentioning, “Did you like what I did with the lights back at his house?” she says. A cold chill rushes past my shoulders again.
“I am not sure what you are trying to do with your little tricks.”
“Hey, all I did was control the lights. You are in charge of what you say and do.”
