Chapter 9: A Glimpse into the Future

Thelma

I run back toward the diner to check up on Rebekah. She steps outside the door and glances up nervously. The small fire has died down but the sign is charred.

“Is it me, or are you short-circuiting a lot of electrical things lately? Do you remember what happened to the light at the nightclub on your birthday?” Rebekah asks.

I shrug. I don’t think it wise to tell her that electricity is just the tip of the iceberg. How would she react to me telling her that I can fly?

“Are you okay?” I ask, ignoring what she has just said.

“Yeah, I guess. Do you think that you are jinxed or something? Or haunted. Do you think that stupid Ouija board we messed with at that fortune teller’s shop opened some kind of demented gate?” Rebekah asks.

I can’t help but giggle. Trust Rebekah to have a wild imagination. She is the one person who believes in the paranormal and all things mystic. A week ago she had asked me to accompany her to see some psychic. She wanted to know if her crush was going to call her or not. We saw a Ouija board on the counter and moved the planchette without thinking. Now she assumes that had opened some type of gateway…. Well, maybe she was right. That would explain all these weird things that were going on.

But, if that was the case, why does the spirit only attach itself to me? Why hadn’t it followed Rebekah, the one who is actually interested in the supernatural? All I want is my normal life back, not some levitating, pan-flinging, electrical, short-circuiting, ghost around me.

“I have no idea, friend. I just want to go home. The whole Isaac predicament really has my feathers ruffled,” I admit. I should have added the fact that her dad defending him wasn’t making the situation better.

“How about we go see Madam Emma and find out what is going on with you? I mean, if a ghost is beating people with pans, that’s a violent ghost. It could be a vengeful spirit, or maybe even a demon,” she says.

I want to tell her no and just go home, but home doesn’t feel quite like home anymore, so I agree.

Going home means having to see the look of sheer terror on my younger brother’s face when I arrive, and dealing with Ma avoiding the very presence of my shadow.

The walk to the run-down, old building with the fortune teller’s shop is short. As we enter through the door, a bell rings announcing our arrival. A thin cloud of incense smoke lines the air, and a heavy wooden scent tickles my nose.

A shadow appears on the other side of the shiny string curtain in the store. A woman wearing a long lime-colored skirt and a black top appears. Her hair is covered with a golden head cover, but I spy brown curls peeping from underneath the material. Her wrists are adorned with lots of shimmering bangles that jingle as she struts.

“Madam Emma,” Rebekah says as she steps forward to greet the fortuneteller. Emma smiles and they exchange a quick embrace before the other woman turns to look at me. I am not sure if I should offer her a hug as well, so I decide to just nod politely and smile.

“Come,” Emma commands before disappearing behind the curtain again.

Rebekah nods, assuring me it’s okay to follow the woman. I raise a brow wondering why Rebekah is not leading the way, as I assumed we both were here to get a reading done. I have never been to a fortune teller, except for when Rebekah asks me to accompany her. Every time we have visited any one of these psychics, I never go in with her to listen to the prognosis.

“Are you coming with me?” I ask, hoping she says ‘yes.’.

Rebekah walks toward a glass counter in the shop before turning to face me.

“This reading is for you, friend. Go on. I’ll wait here. And don’t worry, I’ve got the fee covered,” she replies. “Just enjoy it.”

I am grateful that she will be paying, but I am equally nervous about being alone with this mysterious woman. Feelings of curiosity begin to build, however, as I prepare to head into the backroom, hoping that the woman can give me some insights on my current situation.

I nod and follow Emma, leaving Rebekah waiting on the other side of the shop floor.

There is a short passage just behind the curtain that leads to a dim, candlelit room. Even though the room is dark, I can see a hazy fog of incense smoke here too. A black owl perched on a branch of a plant in the corner hoots as I enter.

Emma sits down at one end of a round table. As I take a step, she raises a hand motioning me to stop.

“Watch out for the salt circle on the ground; don’t break it or step on it. Just try and jump over it, dear,” Emma instructs me.

I look down and try to adjust my vision to the floor which appears even darker than the rest of the room. I see a white circle surrounding the sitting area. I jump over the white outline and stand next to an empty chair that is across from where Emma is seated.

“Sit,” Emma offers with her hand extended.

I pull the chair and sit down facing her. I peek around the table assuming that I will see a crystal ball of some sort. I have watched lots of movies with fortune tellers and psychics, and most films always showcase a crystal ball with some mysterious mist floating around it. However, on the table, all I see is a teapot and two porcelain cups.

Emma smiles at me as she pours some tea into the cups. She hands one to me, then takes the other cup and sips. Not to be rude, I take my cup and proceed to drink some of the tea as well. The contents taste like an extremely sweet, milky tea that is rather addictive despite its nauseating sweetness.

I guess this isn’t as scary or paranormal as I had anticipated; all we are doing is having an innocent tea party. Suddenly, then sets her cup on a saucer on the table and her ocean blue gaze fixes on me.

“So, do you work with Rebekah?” she asks, the question rather banal.

I nod as I trace my tongue over my lips. “Yes.”

The corners of her lips tilt a little as she watches me finishing up my tea. As I make to place the cup on the table, she stretches her hand toward me.

“Give that to me,” she beckons.

I hand the cup over to her, puzzled. Although the tea was delicious, I don’t think I want another cup. I see her scrutinizing the cup as she chants beneath her breath. She then stares inside the cup and starts nodding her head.

“Thelma,” she says my name aloud.

I don’t remember giving her my name, but I assume that Rebekah told her. How else would she have known it? Unless she is a human DNA reader, and the DNA on my cup had told her that much….At this point, nothing would surprise me.

“Yes,” I respond plainly.

“Ummm. Imperial. That is what you are.” She places the cup down, stands up and does a small curtsey. I look around wondering what that was all about. “I am honored by your presence in my humble store, your grace,” Emma adds elegantly.

I glance around again before working my eyes back to her. Who was she talking to? This has turned from a decent chat over tea to being…whatever this is.

“Lost…I see that you are misplaced. Far away from home, stuck in a world you don’t belong in but you embrace it as if it’s your own. A mortal plane…a place of the lowest classes, yet you are to be saluted and revered,” Emma continues to speak.

Now I am certain she isn’t talking to me. I am not lost; neither am I far from home. I was born here; I grew up here. Home is just about ten minutes away.

Also, I am merely an ordinary girl, with jet-black hair that is way too long to style outside of a ponytail or bun, and a pale complexion that refuses to tan no matter how long I stay in the sun or in a tanning bed.

I don’t even have a college education, as I had started working immediately after high school so that I could help Ma with the bills. It’s comedic to think someone would actually salute me.

I had always heard that these fortune tellers were con artists. So far, the only thing she has gotten correct about me is my name, which I am sure Rebekah gave to her. I lean back in my chair and wait for her to explain herself.

“My words will pull you further into an abyss of confusion. All I can say for now is that you are in danger, Thelma. Danger, death…these are the two words that are resonating louder in my head. Your life, and that of your loved ones are in great danger,” Emma says ominously.

I would have liked to think Emma was still shooting in the dark, but I heard those very words in my head today when I saw that raven. Surely the raven couldn’t have slipped this information to Emma. That would bring a whole new meaning to the term, ‘A little birdy told me.’

“What does this all mean? Am I being haunted? Who is the ghost haunting me and what danger am I exactly in? Please elaborate, Madam Emma,” I plead, my heartbeat picking up a few paces

She looks up at me and a crease forms on her forehead. “What ghost? There is no ghost. Thelma, you are not being haunted, you are being hunted!”