“A person?” I whisper, and he shakes his head.
“Another spirit.”
His dark eyes meet mine.
“Run.”
He doesn’t have to tell me twice. Without another thought, I grab Corinne and get the hell out of my house.
Ace of Cups
BRILLIANT SUNLIGHT STREAMSin through floor-to-ceiling windows, enveloping me in a warm caress. I snuggle into the cozy terra-cotta sherpa blanket I pulled over top of me last night before dozing off on Lanie’s cream L-shaped couch. The very last thing I want to do is move from this spot.
Despite the craziness that is my life, here in my best friend’s bohemian space, I feel safe.
Lanie’s two-story studio apartment is located in the heart of downtown Knox Harbor, situated directly above her yoga studio, ZenFlow, and the local coffee shop, Java Hut.
The smell of roasted coffee beans wafts up through the vents and weaves its magic, doing its best to convince me it’s time to rise. The aroma of burnt sugar is my own personal siren in the morning, but still, sleep sounds better today.
“Rise and shine, sleepyhead. I come bearing gifts.” Lanie is bent over me, holding a cup of my favorite roast right under my nose.
“You’re evil,” I moan, pushing her hand away while I stretch out my arms. “I don’t wanna get up.”
She clucks her tongue twice, and that noise has never sounded so loud in all my years. Lanie’s industrial open-floor-plan space bounces any sound around the room, intensifying it tenfold. I’m surprised the music from her class this morning didn’t jar me awake. Just goes to show how soundly I slept.
“I should’ve made you come to my first class. You’d feel like a new woman.” She slumps down next to me on the couch, kicking her feet up and into my face.
“Seriously?” I say, pulling the blanket up to my nose, creating a barrier between me and her narrow size nines. “I’d be broken and in pain.”
A slight exaggeration, but the last time I took one of Lanie’s classes, I didn’t walk for two days. I enjoyed the experience and the atmosphere, but the sauna-level temperatures had me swaying on my feet and seeing stars. If the class hadn’t ended when it did, I would’ve ended up face first on the mat.
I sit up, glancing around the brightly lit room, marveling at Lanie’s ability to make the most modern of spaces cozy. Her apartment is one large area with the kitchen opposite the front door. On the same wall as the entrance is an office, positioned directly below a loft that separates her bedroom from everything else. The sitting area rests in the middle, allowing me views of the whole apartment. Exposed brick is painted white, but specks of red peek through, giving it character. Her furniture and accents are all various shades of cream and tan, offset by the greenery of her live plants. They’re scattered throughout her home in pots and hanging baskets of varying sizes. Across from the couch, in a corner next to the kitchen, is a macramé egg chair suspended from the ceiling, a new addition since I was last here.
I close my eyes, sighing in blissful contentment. Lanie has perfected Zen in all aspects of life, and I’m going to bask in it for a little while longer.
“You’ll be broken if you don’t figure out what’s in your house.”
The memory of yesterday and the noise I ran from hits me square in the chest. The air had shifted, growing uncomfortably warm and stale, which can’t be good. Corinne and I bolted, not bothering to shut off lights or lock the door. I’m not sure what I’m more afraid of—the living or the dead busting into my house uninvited.
“We have research to do before my eight o’clock class.”
Lanie pulls a large leather-bound book from her coffee table into her lap. I recognize it immediately. It’s the one Corinne had pulled from the top shelf at her nail spa.
“What is it? And how do you have it?” I never had a chance to ask, or get a good look at it, because fixing my ghost problem was my highest priority at the time.
“The Moradi family grimoire.” Lanie perfects a seasoned narrator voice while delivering the description, and I can’t help but smile despite the array of questions I have.
“Corinne practically clubbed me with the thing last night when she plopped you on my doorstep.” I don’t recall any of this. My adrenaline had been working overtime and I was a sweaty, shaky mess when we arrived. Everything that happened after we left my place is a haze.
“Moradi grimoire?”
Lanie doesn’t look up at me as she flips through the pages. “Moradi is Corinne’s last name. It’s essentially her family’s book of spells.” I never thought the day would come when I wouldn’t react to talk of witches and spells by breaking into a fit of laughter or rolling my eyes. Less than a week ago, I would’ve mocked Lanie.These days, it’s becoming the norm and I’m not sure how I feel about it.
My heart thumps in my chest, telling me precisely how I feel. I’ve gone from finding the subject humorous to finding it downright petrifying.
If ghosts and spells are real, what else is out there?
“Corinne said we needed to read the sections on how to block unwanted spirits.”
