He was correct. Yule was only two days away, and as usual we had invited some non-Pagan friends to our traditional gathering. This was the first year that any had accepted.
The switch in the focus of the conversation was awkward, much like any shift that occurs in a chat such as ours. Even with its abruptness, it gave me something tangible and far more pleasant to grasp. Finally there was something familiar among the discord.
“You’re welcome any time,” I answered. “The official ritual will be around six-thirty or seven. I’ve already spoken to the group, and they are fine with the two of you joining in if you’d like.”
“We don’t hafta do anything weird, do we?”
“You don’t have to do anything at all,” I returned. “But if you do anything weird it’s going to be of your own accord, because we don’t have anything weird planned. Just a simple Yule ritual.”
“Well, you know what I meant.”
“You know, for a Native American you sure have a bizarre view of alternative spirituality.”
“Like I’ve said before, it’s a long story, Kemosabe, and ya’ don’t wanna hear it. Trust me… But hey, at least I’m tryin’,” he replied, then chuckled. “So what happens after the ritual? Do we like commune with ghosts or somethin’?”
“No, wrong Sabbat. That would have been back in October for Samhain.” I referred to the traditional holiday non-Pagans call Halloween. A night when the veil between the worlds is at its thinnest, and we honor those who have passed before us, which made his comment closer to the mark than he realized-especially since he had intended it as a joke. “Actually, after the ritual we have a late dinner and wait for dawn.”
“Why, is she gonna be late?”
I winced as he delivered another joke in an attempt to further lighten the mood. It wasn’t terribly effective in its intent, but I still responded in kind. “Yeah, Ben. She’s probably not going to arrive until morning.”
“So ya’ want us to bring anything?” He returned a serious question, thankfully leaving the pun to die a quick death before the exchange could deteriorate further.
“We’ve pretty much got it covered,” I said. “If there’s something special you want to drink, you might want to bring it along, but other than that, just yourselves.”
“Okay, so what’re we eatin’?”
“Food.”
“Yeah smartass, what kinda food?”
“It’s a surprise, Ben.”
“You’re not gonna try ta’ make me eat nothin’ but vegetables or somethin’, are ya’?”
“No, Ben.” Even with my current mood I had to at least chuckle at the seriousness of his query. “There’ll be meat on the table.”
“Beef? Pork?”
“You’ll find out Friday.”
“It ain’t gonna be somethin’ strange, is it?” he pressed.
“You’ll find out on Friday.”
“Jeez, Kemosabe…” He let out an exaggerated sigh. “Okay, be that way, but don’t be surprised if I bring a sack of Whitey burgers as backup.”
“Felicity will kill you.”
“So I’ll leave ‘em in the van, and sneak out if ya’ try ta’ feed me tofu ala whatever kinda shit.”
“Uh-huh. And, if you stink up the van with a bag of Whitey’s, then Allison will kill you.”
“Yeah, ya’ got a point there… Hmmm… Pizza’d prob’ly be okay.”
“You won’t need it. Trust me.”
“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” he said. “So look, I gotta get back ta’ work. You gonna be okay?”
“Yeah, Ben,” I assured him. “I’ll be fine. Sure, I’m disappointed that I was wrong, but I’ll be just fine.”
“Okay. Tell Helen I said ‘hey’ and that I’ll call ‘er later about Christmas Eve.”
“Will do.”
“Later.”
“Bye.”
When I hung up the phone, the distraction it had provided immediately dissipated, leaving me once again alone in my thoughts. Or, perhaps not so alone if I counted the cheerfully taunting female voice that was echoing deep inside my head as it repeated, “What’s that spell? Dead I Am! LOUDER! DEAD I AM!”
Again I applied the razor I’d used earlier while on the phone. The one that basically says if you are insane, you are unable to recognize your illness and will simply assume that you are fine. Conversely, if you are in fact sane, you should be fully cognizant of the two differing states of mental health and therefore able to question said sanity.
I made it a point to ask myself this question aloud. But even though I was able to do that and not simply assume I was fine, the resulting uncertainty in my answer wasn’t terribly comforting.
The offices of Metro Counseling were located just on the outskirts of downtown Claymont, only a few miles from my home in Briarwood. Still, it took me longer to get there than it really should have due to my two semi-aborted stops to purchase cigarettes. The first time I hadn’t even climbed out of the truck. I’d simply sat there for several minutes, arguing with a sudden attack of will power, before eventually backing out of the parking space and starting once again on my way to the appointment. But on the second stop I had actually gone in to a small convenience store, and purchased a pack from the cashier, then tossed them unopened into the trash outside before heading out again. Earlier in the day, I’d even considered lighting up a cigar from my humidor, but I’d been doing my best to avoid them of late. I knew if I had one in my hand I’d inhale it, and that was the last thing I needed to start doing.
Obviously, this craving had increased disproportionately over the past twenty-four-hour period, and the nicotine gum simply wasn’t doing its job any longer. At the moment, I had two fresh pieces stuffed simultaneously into my cheek and was considering a third, even though I was fairly certain that doing so could make me dangerously ill.
Just as I was about to throw that particular caution into the trash and reach for another dose of the gum, without warning the pains of the urge were temporarily replaced by, of all things, a woman. I had just swung into a parking space and was switching off the engine of my truck when I noticed her. She was petite. Dressed in a long skirt and boots. A leather jacket hugged her torso from the waist up, and her shoulder-length blonde hair was flying on a cold breeze. She had a milky complexion and her face bore a tasteful amount of makeup.
After a moment, I caught myself literally ogling her as she walked across the parking lot from her car and then disappeared through the glass doors at the entrance of the building.
I physically shuddered as I shook off the stare. Two specific thoughts were pin wheeling around inside my head taking turns at the forefront as they bounced.
The first was that I hoped she hadn’t noticed my rude gaze. But even if she had, at worst I would simply be embarrassed.
The second, however, was a bit troubling and, in a sense, even mildly disturbing.
For some reason I seemed to be trying very hard to imagine what she would look like if she had long red hair.
CHAPTER 5
“It is a terrible habit,” Doctor Helen Storm said aloud and then took a drag from a cigarette. “I really should quit, but I enjoy it far too much.”
I had arrived early for the appointment, as was my nature in all things involving a scheduled time. We had actually met at the door as I was on my way in and she was on her way out. She’d been hoping to grab a quick smoke break. To her credit, she had started to put the cigarettes away and take off her coat, but I insisted that she go ahead and indulge the addiction. Instead of having me wait alone, she had invited me to walk outside with her. We were now standing at the railing of an outdoor lounge that occupied an architecturally truncated corner of the seventh floor of the building. The air was chilly but it had calmed, and with the late morning sun to dull the bite, the crispness was for the most part pleasant.
“I know what you mean,” I replied, mentally beating down the desire to bum one from her as I shifted a half step away from the enticing smoke.