I didn’t normally respond to demands, especially demands by purple-wearing, soothsaying, weirdly-named psychics.
But at this point, I was more worried than peeved by Aurora’s “request” to visit her immediately. On my cell phone just minutes earlier, an on-line newspaper bleeped a headline: “Man found dead on quest to find Hal the Huntsman treasure.” (See last week’s From Dawn to Dusk.)
Was Todd the man found dead? Perhaps Aurora/Dawn truly could “see” the answer. Continue reading
Dawn turned to Dusk.
Dusk turned to Dawn. Six times.
And then I could wait no longer.
So I ignored psychic Aurora’s “suggestion” to go on as if nothing had happened. Too much was at stake. (See last week’s Fear of Dawn.)
I blamed Todd, of course. His pursuit of me had seemed so genuine until I realized that his professed love was actually “gem”uine. Continue reading
“Yes, I can help you,” she answered, “but my magic has a price. Although under the circumstances, perhaps you will be eager to pay it.”
“How do you possibly know ‘my circumstances’?” I asked the woman. My friend Lacey told me that her cousin Jennifer knew a woman who was a psychic. This “spirit goddess,” as she called herself, rented a small room in the tiny village 20 miles from my home. I deemed myself desperate enough to pay her a visit.
Perhaps “pay” was the operative word here. I didn’t expect her services for free, but… “Whatever my circumstances, what is your fee?” I asked. Continue reading
Wight Muse by Mike Allegra.
Our name is Pamela Wight, but only she is a middle-aged woman.
She isn’t always middle-aged, and she isn’t always a woman.
At this point though, her Earth self is unable to comprehend the truth. But once, long ago and yet still now (on the time spectrum that surrounds us, even though most refuse to see it), she and I are one on an enchanted island of being. Continue reading
Before further conversation, I grabbed my brown suitcase, the one Derek was still holding in his hand. “I think I’ll make the switch before we forget,” I said with a wry laugh.
Ignoring me, he tapped his finger on his forehead. “I knew I recognized you. Bob. Bob’s girlfriend.”
“Ex- girlfriend,” I interrupted quickly. (Story begins with The Wrong One and then Summertime Baggage.)
Derek continued, “At my parent’s Christmas party in Brookline. Bob and I were…” Continue reading
