She waves me off. “Nah. It’ll be fine.”
She walks us across the street and down a short alley, unlocking a door that opens to a steep set of stairs.
“Welcome to my home,” she announces, raising a host of questions.
I find myself silently wondering how she can afford such prime real estate in the heart of New Orleans.
Bee turns to me with a knowing smile. “My family had money,” she explains casually, as though it were the most natural thing in the world. “It was passed down through generations, allowing us to maintain this place.”
I feel a flush of embarrassment rise to my cheeks at being caught in my silent inquiry. It’s a reminder that around people like Bee, mythoughts are not my own. I tuck that away, a reminder to be careful not to allow my mind to wander to places I shouldn’t among such company.
Bee’s residence is a chaotic labyrinth of curiosities, each item telling a story of its own. Piles of ancient tomes teeter precariously on overflowing bookshelves, their weathered pages whispering secrets from centuries past. Dusty artifacts and mystical trinkets adorn every available surface, their origins shrouded in mystery. The air is heavy with the scent of dried herbs and incense, mingling with the musty smell of old parchment.
“Take a seat,” she says, motioning toward a wingback chair sitting across from a cluttered desk.
I motion for Nina to sit.
“I’ll be fine standing,” I say, wanting to feel like I have the upper hand, standing taller than the small-statured woman who’s now hunched over the desk.
Bee purses her lips at me but doesn’t insist that I sit.
“Why have you come to me?”
I recount my experiences communicating with ghosts and the recent emergence of prophetic dreams. Bee stares off into space for several quiet minutes, and I wonder what she’s thinking.
“It appears you are a medium with enhanced psychic abilities.” She taps the desk with her fingers. “Mediums can communicate with spirits who choose to communicate with them. You’ll receive only the information they choose to share.”
I huff. “That’s not helpful. Why not share everything so I can get them sent on their way?”
She bites her tongue. “Spirits are stuck between worlds. Their memories oscillate between what they remember from earth and what they know from before. They’re confused. That’s why they’re coming to you. They’re hoping you’ll straighten things out.”
Nina and I share a look.
“What about the dreams?” I ask, trying to keep us moving along.
“The precognitive dreams are part of your abilities. They’re typically a more advanced skill that comes once a person has mastered the art of communicating with the spirit world. Think of them as a link between you and the divine.”
“I’m not following.”
She purses her lips. “The universe is sending you messages of things to come so that you can stop them or intervene. Pay close attention to the details and write them down immediately.” She leans forward, eyes boring into me. “You have the ability to call upon dreams.”
I squint, nose scrunched, but I don’t get a chance to ask for clarification as Bee marches on.
“Before you lay your head on your pillow, ask the universe to send you a sign. Be very specific about what you want. If there’s a message meant for you, it’ll come.”
“And you?” she says, turning toward Nina. “What are your gifts?”
Nina shares her journey of touching people and uncovering their secrets, which has evolved into the ability to read minds. Bee listens raptly.
“This is interesting indeed,” she clucks. “Clairvoyance and psychometry. Very cool.”
Nina’s nose wrinkles. “What does that mean? How do I shut it off?”
Bee huffs. “You don’t shut it off, ding-dong. You embrace it. Use it to help your—others,” she amends, deciding not to out herself as selfish.
She’s clearly looking out for number one, utilizing the things she learns to better her circumstances. I don’t need to be psychic to see that.
“Your gift requires focus. If you want to know something about someone or any object, you simply have to touch it to gain answers.”
