Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 159500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 798(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 532(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 798(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 532(@300wpm)
“I’m okay.”
Prophet pats my back. “Road’s got some questions we think only the cards can answer.”
I don’t know if that’s how I’d put it, but fuck it. At this point, I’ll take any help I can get.
“Is everything okay?” A soft voice asks, and I peek over the edge of the bucket to glimpse Luna, who stepped inside behind us. She’s petite, and likely barefoot, so no wonder I didn’t hear her approach.
“Just…”
“Girl trouble,” Prophet tells her for me, and I hide in the bucket again. I don’t like this dark house that smells of herbs, sage smoke, and incense. Unless I’m getting a tattoo done, my presence here always involves Brigid asking me questions that push my thoughts to places I’d rather they don’t go. For a moment, I consider wiggling out of whatever’s coming my way by discussing a new design I want somewhere on my body, but what do I know? Maybe Brigid does have insight into my current problem?
I rise to my feet and place the bucket by the wall before padding to the little table in the corner with my head held low. The bunches of herbs and flowers drying under the ceiling were my first experience of the community that over time became my real family. It’s been fifteen years, but I still remember the moment I woke up on Brigid’s couch, with heat radiating from the fireplace. With heavy eyeliner and dark, stormy locks, she scared me, but that first meal she served me was better than anything I’d received from my parents. I still don’t believe in all the spiritual stuff she’s into, but I trust her. And right now, I am ready to try any approach that might offer me a chance to get Clyde back.
“Do your worst.”
Brigid gives me a long look, and one gesture of her slender, black-nailed hand sends Prophet outside. “Luna, make Road a coffee. Decaf.” She strokes my head in passing, and the gesture is so motherly I feel like crying.
I’ve shot someone’s foot off, but all these feelings I can’t deal with are pulling me apart.
Brigid sits down opposite me. “I know you don’t trust the cards, so maybe… we’ll try something different today. More grounded.” She pulls close a large wooden box, and reveals that it’s filled with skulls and bones of animals. I hear Luna switching on the gas in the kitchen and focus on its whisper as I stare at the collection of remains. Brigid asks me to blindly select three, and I close my eyes, reaching into the container.
Old bones don’t feel like you’d expect. They’re not cold, nor damp, and when I skim my fingers over something that feels like a spine, I marvel at how smooth and pleasant it is. Almost like a lighter kind of wood.
I pick what she asked for and glance at my collection. One skull, the small bone with a ridge, and an elongated piece that might have been part of an animal’s leg once.
“What now?”
Luna puts a cup in front of me, then leaves without a word. Did I really spend so much time choosing the right bones? What would they be ‘right’ for anyway? I don’t know, but it felt that my relationship with Clyde hinges on them, so I couldn’t risk picking the wrong ones.
Brigid hums and inspects each of my choices. “This is a bobcat’s skull. Interesting. You might think, because of those fangs, that they are vicious, but they’re in fact shy and secretive creatures, rarely seen in daylight. Would you say this describes the person you came to ask about?”
It’s generic and could have described about half of the population, but I decided to give this a chance, so I nod and rub my face, thinking back to the way Clyde’s face blooms pink whenever I’d say something dirty. But he loves it, I know he does.
“I think so. Moves like a wildcat too, with this… grace most people don’t have,” I tell her, sinking deeper into the chair. Once again, I’m back at the motel, deep inside him, with his legs around my hips, and he’s watching me with this intense want. I couldn’t look away.
I never knew sex could bring me so close to someone. Not just physically, but on a whole other level of trust, and desire, and being seen.
Brigid’s focus is on the small bone as she turns it in her fingers with a frown. “Did she get cold feet, or do you think there was something more to the problem? This is part of a mole’s leg. It suggests to me that the problem you are facing is buried deep. Or that one of you was blind to it.”
The hairs at the back of my neck bristle, and I squeeze my wrist with the other hand as I chew through the accuracy of that comment. How would she know that?