Ever (4 page)

“Okay, Steve…look, just tell me what this stuff is for, can you?” Now, I was squeaking like I was about to cry.

“Whoa, okay, er, calm down miss…let me see the label.” Steve bent to peer at the jar, squinting to read the name.

“Oh,
Artemis Vulgaris.
It’s also known as Mugwort.”

“That’s great, Steve.” I felt like punching the stork-like man. “What does it
do?
”

“Oh, um, according to this chart I have—” he glanced at something next to the register, “—it’s associated with dreaming and psychic abilities or something. We have some books on herbs in the back.”

I followed him as he made his way to the back of the store and stopped in front of a large wooden bookcase. He rifled through several titles before handing me three large volumes.

“Any one of these should answer your question,” he stated, a forced smile on his face.

“Okay, thanks.”

“By the way,” I asked, “is Sylvia here?”

He turned to me abruptly. “Who?” Steve’s eyes widened, and I could almost see his brain whirring in their brown depths.

“Uh, Sylvia. You know, the psychic. She has a little room at the end of that corridor. I just saw her here yesterday.”

“You must be mistaken. No one works here by that name…at least…not right now.” Steve fixed an unsettled stare on me.

Okay, I would have to show him. Leaving the books on the shelf, I made for the necklace display I had wrecked the day before. I was relieved to find that the intricate arrangement had been replaced. Just as I recalled, there was indeed a narrow corridor next to the display, and this time, it was Steve who followed me as we walked to the end of it. At Sylvia’s door, I paused to look at the gangly cashier, who shrugged as I placed my hand on the knob. The door creaked open, and we both peered into the tiny alcove.

The room looked exactly as it had the day before…except that there was no Psychic Readings by Sylvia sign. The cabinet on the wall drew my attention. “She gave me a necklace from this cabinet,” I remarked, and I went to open it. To my surprise, the cabinet was empty. “Well, maybe she took them with her,” I rationalized aloud, more for my benefit than Steve’s.

“Okay, here’s the thing,” Steve said. “There is no Sylvia who works here right
now…
” He paused, as though he meant to say more. I cut him off.

“Hold on! I have the necklace with me!” I dug into my jeans pocket and felt the smooth hard stone press into my hand. I held the crystal up for Steve to see.

“Wow. That’s a beauty, but we don’t sell anything like that here. In fact, I haven’t seen one that nice…maybe ever.” Steve reached for the pendant, and instinctively, I jerked it out of his reach. I had the weirdest feeling that if he touched it, he would spoil it somehow.

“So, you think I’m lying then,” I challenged him. “I can even describe her. She had blue, no grayish eyes. She had a really friendly voice, and her hair was all wound up in a bun. She wore moccasins.”

“Well, that certainly sounds like the woman who used to run some aura reading classes here, but that was a really long time ago. She’s been gone for years.”

“Well, isn’t it possible that she came back for a visit?” The hair on the back of my neck had started to rise. This was all getting really bizarre.

“You don’t understand, miss, there’s no way it could have been Sylvia. She died a few years ago.” Steve sounded totally spooked.

“Wh-what? She’s dead?” It came out as a whisper. Okay, I had to be logical about this. “Well, maybe someone was just using an old sign or something,” I said uncertainly.

There was no way I’d seen a…a ghost right? I mean, I was sixteen years old, not six. I was too old to believe in monsters under the bed, although I had been known to check under there before going to sleep. Plus, what kind of ghost made jewelry?

I let out a nervous little laugh. “I’m sure this is just some sort of misunderstanding,” I told Steve, who at this point seemed afraid of me. “Listen, thanks for your help. I think I’ll just go home and check out
Google
or something.” I backed out of the store, sure that Steve was thrilled to see me go.

When I reached my car, I realized I still had the necklace in my hand.
Proof that I met Sylvia…or someone!
I held it close to my face to examine the stone. It really was beautiful. When I held it in my hand, the quartz felt warm and heavy; it was somehow comforting to feel it against my fingers.

Maybe I was meant to have it.

I arrived home and managed to shower, throw on my sweats and plunk myself in front of my television before my mom got home from work. There was nothing good on, so I grabbed my laptop to look up some stuff about the mugwort or whatever it was. Before I could get into it, Bear interrupted me by nosing through the door and jumping on my bed. I paused when I reached out to pet her, distracted by my glistening palm. At least now I didn’t have to worry about my mom seeing it, since it seemed that the affliction was much more obvious to me.

And…Jaren Wilder.
What does that mean?

My mom banged through the door about an hour later and insisted I eat a bowl of soup when she saw the nurse’s note. After dinner, I feigned several sniffles and a yawn, and told her I was going to bed early. Instead, I was up for hours, engrossed in my online research. What did people do before the Internet anyway? I had no idea that there were so many mystical properties associated with common everyday plants.
Artemis Vulgaris
was supposed to enhance one’s psychic abilities.

Enhance. I guess that meant that you had to already have some sort of sixth sense or something. I wasn’t sure that I had any sort of sense, let alone anything extraordinary. Absently, I crossed my legs and winced. I had developed a large purplish-black bruise where I had hit myself on the car door. If I had any sense at all, why was I such a freaking klutz?

I studied my hand. Thankfully, it seemed like the whitish sheen had dissipated a little. I yawned, exhausted. It had been a long, bizarre day for sure. I headed to my bed, where my jeans lay crumpled on my patterned sheets. I tossed them off and they hit the floor with a soft thud. The pendant fell out of the pocket and the crystal caught the light, sending shards of luminescence into an unexpected rainbow.

I rubbed my thumb against the pendant’s smooth surface. A warm, comforting hum rippled through my finger as I touched it, the urge to throw the chain over my neck becoming more like an undeniable compulsion. I fiddled with the clasp, recalling that it had seemed to be broken when it fell into my hands. The clasp worked fine, now. Maybe I would put it on. What was the worst that could happen?
Will
Sylvia appear to haunt me?
I giggled because the notion was just so ridiculous.

I hooked the pendant around my neck and took a breath. At first, it seemed that the night had gone silent. I waited expectantly, vaguely aware that I was holding my breath. Then outside, I heard the faint sound of the old tomcat next door caterwauling. I shrugged at myself in the mirror. For a moment, I had actually believed that something crazy would happen if I put the necklace on. I watched my mouth open in another huge yawn in the mirror. It was past four in the morning. I crawled into my bed, snuggled under the covers and fell into a dreamless sleep.

CHAPTER FIVE

Energy Smoke

W
hen I woke up, just a few hours later, I felt energized, as though I had slept for days. I noticed that again, I had awakened exactly three minutes before my alarm was set to go off. What was it about 6:47 a.m. anyway? I took a good look at the palm of my hand and was relieved to see that the shimmery glow was nearly gone. I was relieved. Maybe I had flipped out for no reason.

I went through the usual motions of getting ready for school. As I pulled on my leggings, I took special care to avoid brushing against the bruise on my knee. Here again, was something strange. I could have sworn I had a huge bruise on my knee after banging it on my car door yesterday afternoon. But now, as I inspected both of my legs, there was no trace of an injury.

For a moment, I was reminded of a story I read. The main character experienced blocks of missing time and confusion when things did not appear to be as she had remembered. It turned out that she had multiple personality disorder. Great. It would totally make sense that I was developing some kind of psychological disorder. How else could I explain all the weird things that were happening? I had conveniently blocked out my math test and maybe I was hallucinating or something.

I guess it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if I was going crazy. Being psycho would catapult me into automatic popularity among a large faction of the student body—the Goths. They were a few steps ahead of the Outcasts, even though they idolized suicide and carried around copies of
Final Exit
and lethal doses of their antidepressants in their backpacks. But…if I didn’t have a mental illness, what else could account for the unexplainable things that had been happening to me lately?

That morning, as I drove down the hill to school, the thought of smoking my morning cigarette made me ill again. I rolled down the window and noticed the hint of pine and ocean salt in the air. When I got to school, I discovered that changing my morning routine wasn’t the only thing that was different this morning—I walked into class without a trace of anxiety.

MacFarlane liked to hand back our graded exams the very next day. He organized the stack of exams by score, highest first. This way, everyone in the class knew who scored the highest…and the lowest. The practice was humiliating for those of us who struggled with math.

I was usually riddled with nerves the day after one of MacFarlane’s tests. Today, while I did feel a strange undercurrent of energy humming through me, I couldn’t really label it as anxiety. In fact, I couldn’t really label it at all, but it wasn’t unpleasant. Perhaps it was because I knew my score—I had failed right? I still had no recollection of finishing the test. All I had to do was wait for the humiliation that was sure to come.

Mr. MacFarlane strode to the center of the room, brandishing the stack of tests like a weapon. “Let me start by saying that I am extremely disappointed in the midterm scores,” he droned. His eyes lingered on me as he scanned the sea of worried faces. I knew my name wouldn’t be called until the end.

Probably last.

I leaned down to rummage in my backpack while Mr. MacFarlane cleared his throat. Yep, distracting myself was a fabulous idea at this point. I reached for my special pen, a rollerball ink pen in medium. I had one of these in every color. Today, I felt like purple was a good choice. I loved purple. The image of a tall, stately tree with a huge branch popped into my mind. That would be a fun doodle. Trees had such different personalities.

As I shuffled around, my body draped to the side across my desk, I became aware that the obnoxious Cheerleader across from me was glaring at me.

“Psst!” she said.

I looked back at her, taking in her perfectly applied makeup. The bizarre image of that tree stood firmly in my mind, even as I struggled to shake it. “What?”

“Stand up!” she hissed. Alarmed, I sat up and realized that the entire class was staring at me.

“What?” I repeated to Obnoxious.

“It’s your turn!”

Now I was really confused. MacFarlane had just started handing back the tests. Great, maybe he had decided to change his protocol and hand back the worst grades first. Slowly, I made my way to the front of the class. I took the packet and made my way back to my desk without even looking at the large red number circled at the top of the page.

I was aware that a low hum of whispers emanated from the rest of the class as I sat down, my seat managing to pinch me right inside my thigh. The sensation jarred me out of my thoughts and my attention went to the packet that I had placed face down on the desk. I turned it over to face the music. I sighed, resigned to the fact that I would be taking summer school or worse, repeating the class next year.

I actually had to rub my eyes as I read the number at the top of the page. Next, I checked the name on test to make sure I hadn’t received the wrong packet. The score just could not be right. I looked around the room uncertainly, half-expecting a television crew to jump out from somewhere and punk me. The writing on the test appeared to be my own, although it was neater than usual. Mr. MacFarlane’s voice carried on in the background as I wracked my brain, trying to think of an explanation for my score.

I had received the highest grade in the class, setting the curve. I left one question unanswered, but I had correctly solved each of the forty-nine other equations. I was so confused I completely tuned out the rest of the class. Instead, I stared at that test packet, and the red slash through my one blank question. I had skipped question forty-seven.
What made it so different from the rest?
I had no recollection of completing any of the work at all. I studied the equation, and to my surprise, I was able to solve it right away.