Ancient Forces Collection (24 page)

“Sounds like a good plan,” her mom said. “I don’t plan to go anywhere, so feel free to use the car.”

“Thanks, Mom. That’d be great,” Becka said.

“Boy, I wish I had another one of Z’s pizza coupons,” Scott said, drifting to the table. “That way you could pick up a pizza for me while you’re out.”

“How about I fix you a plate of spaghetti instead?” Mrs. Williams asked.

“Thanks, Mom. Hey, speaking of Z, we just got an email from him.” Scott reached into his pocket. He pulled out and then unfolded a single sheet of paper.

Becka looked up. “What did he say?”

“I don’t know. Haven’t read it yet. I just printed it out.”

She took the page from him and started to read out loud:

Regarding Sarina. Remember, Becka, not everyone will be open to you or to the Gospel. The Bible says some will harden their hearts to the things of God. It’s not up to you whether or not they will receive your message. It’s just up to you to be faithful to share the truth. And, as you’ve discovered, Wiccans like to say they don’t harm anyone, that they’re just trying to elevate the human condition. But to do this, they often engage in spell casting, which, as you know, is essentially calling on demons to do their bidding. That’s all for now. May your fortunes be blessed.

Z

“What about that last line?” Becka said, dropping the note on the table. “I’ve never heard Z talk like that.”

Mrs. Williams brought Scott his lunch. “Maybe this will help,” she said, handing Becka a letter. “It’s from Z. It came in today’s mail.”

“I don’t suppose there’s a return address?” Scott said with his mouth full.

“No,” Becka said, already tearing into the letter. “Look, it’s some tickets.”

“Airline tickets?” Scott said, his eyes as wide as meatballs. “Where are we going? The Bahamas?”

Becka held up the tickets. “In your dreams, buster. Try Madame Theo’s Fortune-Telling Palace.”

Mrs. Williams reached for the tickets. “Isn’t that that dumpy fortune-telling place downtown?”

Becka nodded. “Yeah. These tickets are for a free tarot-card reading. They look like something clipped out of a newspaper ad.”

“Uh-oh,” Scott said. “Why would Z send us there?”

“Wait,” Becka said, spying a yellow sticky note inside the envelope. “I don’t think he’s sending
us
for a reading. This just says we’re supposed to look for a friend there. Z says this person is in danger and desperately needs our help.”

“A friend?” Scott said, puzzled. “I don’t know anyone who hangs around that joint. Unless . . .” He paused. His face became ghostly pale.

“Unless what?” Becka said.

“Unless . . . it’s Sarina Fox hoping to see what the future holds for an ex-Wiccan actress,”
Scott said, breaking into a cheesy grin.

Becka slugged him on the arm.

The Cards

Then we will no longer be infants, tossed back and forth by the
waves, and blown here and there by every wind of teaching
and by the cunning and craftiness of men in their deceitful
scheming. Instead, speaking the truth in love, we will in all
things grow up into him who is the Head, that is, Christ.

EPHESIANS 4:14
–
15

1

P
hilip reached between the folds of his mattress and retrieved the knife. He pulled it from its sheath and stared at its nine inches of cold, hardened steel. A thread of the November moonlight danced along the edge of the blade as if fearful of being slashed. Philip clutched the handle. The sweat in the palm of his hand almost caused him to lose his grip.

His tired eyes scanned the darkness around him and settled on the digital clock. With a squint, he noticed it was 2:27 a.m. Sleep had escaped him all night. He figured his bed must look as if it had been dumped into a blender. Hours of tossing and turning had created a jumbled maze of sheets and blankets.

Philip slumped to the floor and leaned back against his bed, careful not to accidentally slice himself.

At least not yet.

The knife had been a gift from his dad several months after his mother split and took his two sisters. Dad had promised they’d go hunting. Although that was years ago, at times the memories were still as fresh as the tears on his face.

Of course, they never went hunting.
Big surprise there,
Philip thought, placing the knife on the carpet next to him. He drew his legs up to his chest. His dad made lots of promises he never seemed to keep. Philip figured the knife and the promised hunting trip was just his dad’s way of trying to smooth things over — or was it to buy his loyalty?

According to the judge during the divorce proceedings, once Philip turned eighteen, which he did next month, he could choose to live with either parent. Some choice. An oppressive dad or a mother who walked out on them in the middle of the night.

Philip missed his mom, no question. But he hated her for leaving — not that he completely blamed her. All his parents ever did was fight. If it wasn’t one thing, it was another. When his dad got drunk, yelled, and threw things, that was the last straw. Mom was gone before the sun rose the next morning.

Even now, the memories flooded his mind with a fresh dose of pain. Why did life have to be so hard? The darkness of his room seemed to close in on him. He reached around and squeezed the base of his neck, which ached as if jammed into a vise. If only he could silence the voices in his head. Then maybe, just maybe, he’d find the peace that eluded him.

Sitting in the dark, tears staining his face, he wondered what the kids at school would think about Mr. Self-Confidence now. After all, most of his friends thought he had it all together. He had a cool car. His dad made tons of cash. They lived in a big house. And, when it came to clothes, he could buy whatever he wanted. No wonder his friends always came to him with
their
problems.

But where could he go with his?

If only his friends knew how close to the edge he had drifted. Sure, part of him wanted to show everyone he had it all together. He wasn’t looking to blame someone else for the fact that he wore a mask. Like his dad, he didn’t let anyone get too close. How many times had he heard his dad say, “Don’t show them you’ve got issues, buddy boy. It’s a sign of weakness.”

But the game of being perfect was getting old.

He was tired of the charade.

He was tired of squirreling away his problems.

To make things worse, he couldn’t take another day of fighting with his dad about where to go to college next year. Philip’s dad wanted him to go to the same university that he had attended. Like father, like son. When the letters of acceptance from several big colleges came in yesterday morning, his dad had thundered, “Son, if you’re smart, you’ll go where I went.”

Philip peered at the knife and his heart started to race.

Was this the way out? Would this silence the pain?

Why not put it all behind him right here, right now?

What if he did? Would he be missed? Would anybody really care? Sure, his girlfriend Krissi would be a basket case for a week. But she’d get over it once she found another popular senior to hang out with, right? Philip caught himself.
Why am I being so
cynical about her?
Krissi, he knew, cared for him deeply. They had been together for years. She was the best friend he ever had. Why, then, did he write her off so quickly? Maybe he
was
losing his mind.

So why not end it all?

He reached for the knife and balanced it in his right hand. His lungs tightened as he considered the finality of this action. Maybe if the future was bright, maybe if he knew for certain it would be worth living, maybe then he’d reconsider. But, as far as he could see, nothing added up. His thoughts turned to Krissi. Even if things worked out between them and they got married someday, would she, like his mom, leave him at the first sign of trouble? Probably. So what was the point of pressing on?

He swallowed hard.

A new, more disturbing thought jolted him like a bolt of lightning. What if Scott and Becka were right about God? What if, as they claimed, there really was a God, a heaven, and a hell? What if those who didn’t believe in him would spend forever burning in hell? Worse, what if Scott and Becka were right and there wasn’t any way to change his mind?

He lowered the blade. Philip knew he wasn’t ready for that final encounter with God —
if
there was a God.

Exhausted, he reached for the remote and flicked on the television. Maybe the drone from the box would help him numb the pain — or at least help him sleep. The TV, another gift from his dad, was complete with cable and sat on the hamper that he never used. The TV jumped to life with such brilliance, he had to slam his eyes shut until they could adjust to the light.

As his eyes blinked into focus, a woman, wearing a turban and sitting at a table, filled the screen.

Philip inched up the volume.

“ . . . we all possess this inner wisdom. The cards are just the gateway to the supernatural. They allow us to tap into our inner selves and can give us answers to life’s most troubling questions.”

Philip leaned forward. At the bottom of the screen he saw her name listed as Madame Theo, Psychic, Advisor, and Spiritual Counselor.

“Tonight, whether you’re young or old, I know you have questions. I know you have problems. Don’t be afraid to connect with the cosmic reality to find your personal answers.”

Philip suppressed a laugh.
What a joke,
he thought.
As if
Madame Theo knows squat.

“Give the tarot a chance,” she said. Her voice was as smooth as silk and as warm as the afternoon sun. The camera zoomed into her wrinkled face. “Yes, I have been used to help police solve crimes . . . loved ones to find each other . . . young people to find the right college — ”

That got Philip’s attention.

“And tonight,” Madame Theo said as the camera zoomed in for a tighter shot, “I promise I can help you discover your destiny.”

Philip tilted his head to the side. Several thoughts nagged at him. What if she’s right? He had read somewhere about people who were missing who were found because of someone like Madame Theo. If she can help the police, maybe she’s on to something, right? What harm could there be to check it out? On the other hand, he vaguely recalled a special on TV exposing psychic fraud. Maybe this lady was different.

“I’m so convinced that the tarot is a gift to us from the other side,
I’ll personally give you a free reading. Just call the toll-free number on the bottom of your screen . . .”

Before he knew what he was doing, Philip reached over to his nightstand, tore a scrap of paper from a textbook, and jotted down the number and address of Madame Theo’s Palace. He snapped off the TV and, in the darkness, decided to return the knife to its hiding place.

For now.

“That’s a wrap,” a voice announced through the overhead monitor.

Madame Theo lingered at the desk where she had just finished another live, thirty-minute local broadcast. Her eyes, black as raisins, scanned the tiny setup. It wasn’t much, just a desk, a chair, a dozen candles and, behind her, a backdrop of the city of Crescent Bay, California. But it was a start. After a month of broadcasting three nights a week, she noticed a significant jump in business.

She gathered her tarot cards, tucked them into an oversize handbag, and then eased out of her chair. At sixty-seven, she projected the air of a trustworthy grandmother, at least that’s what Fred Stoner, her producer and chief financial backer, had said. She suppressed a sly smile at that memory. She circled around to the front of the desk and walked past two cameras mounted on tripods, careful not to trip on the thick cables that covered the floor like snakes. She headed for the exit.

Fred Stoner bounded through the door, almost bowling her over. “Big news!”

Madame Theo steadied herself and met his eyes, expectant.

Fred tucked a clipboard under his arm. “Listen, the station loves what you’re doing.”

She smiled faintly. “I’m gratified to hear that, Fred.”

“You should be,” he said, picking a piece of lint off the lapel of his navy blue suit coat. A patch of black hair poked out the front of his white shirt, unbuttoned at the collar. “You’ve made a huge sacrifice doing the graveyard shift.”

She nodded. “It’s been hard. You know I’m not a night owl.”

He took her by the arm and led her to the hallway. “Here’s the deal. They want to move your program to the 10 p.m. slot.”

“Really?”

“I knew you’d be happy about that,” Fred said. He smiled wide, revealing his perfectly straight, pearly white teeth. “There’s more.”

She raised an eyebrow. It almost collided with her turban.

“We’re talking syndication, Madame Theo.”

“Oh, my,” she said, pretending to be surprised. She adjusted the handbag strap on her shoulder. “The cards said this would happen.” That was an understatement and she knew it. Indeed, just the day before, while seeking wisdom from the cards, she experienced one of the more dramatic encounters with the spirit world. She’d keep that bit of information to herself. After all, Fred, she knew, wasn’t a true believer in the divine forces at work. He was Mr. Businessman. Which was okay. One day he might come around to her way of thinking.