receipt for Senor Orenda. You may find more information here. Browse as long as you like."
I pulled several books from the shelf and settled into one of Kamaria's overstuffed chairs. According to the first reference book, the arrow symbol had many meanings. Mine pointed left, which meant to ward off evil. I pulled a notepad out of my purse and jotted down notes. I was reaching for the next volume when I heard a soft laugh. Without thinking, I looked through a space in the bookshelf.
Lilith's black-lacquered fingers rested on Nicholas's arm as she smiled at him. Facing each other on the next aisle, they looked like slightly mismatched bookends. Lilith, in her short black skirt and gauzy cobweb top, and Nicholas with his shoulder-length black hair and long black coat. She whispered something, and he bent his head down closer to hers.
Quietly, I pocketed my notes and slipped the books I'd been reading back on the shelf, plugging the hole and blocking the view. I'd find another time to talk with Kamaria about disasters and prophecies. Today, I'd had all the bad news I could stomach.
Chapter 16: The Fool's Journey
Our entire block of stores closed on Thursday, so everyone could volunteer at the Hope Cottage woman's shelter. Their kitchen always ran short of volunteers before the holidays, so we signed up to cook and staff the serving line in early November to fill their thin volunteer time before the holiday buying rush hit our own stores.
Patches of frost covered the dead grass of my lawn, but it would burn off shortly as the day warmed up, so I walked to the shelter.
I wrapped still-warm pumpkin pies, inhaling the homey scent of cinnamon and nutmeg. My grandmother had taught me to bake pies: Pumpkin and apple, mincemeat and cherry. Her sunny kitchen was constantly filled with mouth-watering food and unconditional love.
I pulled my black cloak from the front closet. Fastening the half-moon latch over my sweater, I picked up the bag by its handle, locked the door, and walked down the steps to the street.
Without warning, a deathly white face appeared among the cars. The speeding traffic buffeted the transparent form, causing her long gray hair to swirl around her head.
I watched the apparition cross the traffic lane, straight into the path of a black pickup truck heading north. The driver had his hat brim pulled low over his eyes, but it was clear he saw the woman in front of him. In fact, he aimed for her.
"No! Back up! Run!" My scream came out strangled and feeble, but the woman looked at me, her dark eyes dilated and frightened.
It was too late. I turned away. There were no screeching brakes, no blaring horn, only the muffled thud of impact.
When I turned back, the elderly woman lay in the street, her head and shoulders a sodden mass of blood and shattered bone.
My hesitant step toward her halted when a horn blared a long, strident warning. I lurched out of the way, tripped on the curb and fell awkwardly into an oleander bush, skinning both palms. The driver of the black truck got out and ran to the body. He knelt by the old woman and lowered his head, perhaps checking to see if she was breathing. When he raised his head and looked around, his face was streaked with blood. He got up, ran back to his idling truck, hopped in, and took off.
I rolled to my knees, planting one hand in the bag of pies. My palm sunk into the squishy orange pulp, reminding me of the woman's shredded face, her hair matted with blood and brain. Bile welled into my throat. I wiped my hand on my jeans in frantic motions. My stomach convulsed, forcing me back to my knees to wretch my terror into the gutter.
A crowd gathered. Someone shouted, "Call 911!"
They couldn't help her. There was no reason to stay. I already knew how it would end. I'd seen the victim's ghost. Envisioned the whole scene before it happened.
I stumbled away, my destination forgotten, the sidewalk smeared with pumpkin pie.
* * * * *
In the lengthening shadows of my
I pulled several books from the shelf and settled into one of Kamaria's overstuffed chairs. According to the first reference book, the arrow symbol had many meanings. Mine pointed left, which meant to ward off evil. I pulled a notepad out of my purse and jotted down notes. I was reaching for the next volume when I heard a soft laugh. Without thinking, I looked through a space in the bookshelf.
Lilith's black-lacquered fingers rested on Nicholas's arm as she smiled at him. Facing each other on the next aisle, they looked like slightly mismatched bookends. Lilith, in her short black skirt and gauzy cobweb top, and Nicholas with his shoulder-length black hair and long black coat. She whispered something, and he bent his head down closer to hers.
Quietly, I pocketed my notes and slipped the books I'd been reading back on the shelf, plugging the hole and blocking the view. I'd find another time to talk with Kamaria about disasters and prophecies. Today, I'd had all the bad news I could stomach.
Chapter 16: The Fool's Journey
Our entire block of stores closed on Thursday, so everyone could volunteer at the Hope Cottage woman's shelter. Their kitchen always ran short of volunteers before the holidays, so we signed up to cook and staff the serving line in early November to fill their thin volunteer time before the holiday buying rush hit our own stores.
Patches of frost covered the dead grass of my lawn, but it would burn off shortly as the day warmed up, so I walked to the shelter.
I wrapped still-warm pumpkin pies, inhaling the homey scent of cinnamon and nutmeg. My grandmother had taught me to bake pies: Pumpkin and apple, mincemeat and cherry. Her sunny kitchen was constantly filled with mouth-watering food and unconditional love.
I pulled my black cloak from the front closet. Fastening the half-moon latch over my sweater, I picked up the bag by its handle, locked the door, and walked down the steps to the street.
Without warning, a deathly white face appeared among the cars. The speeding traffic buffeted the transparent form, causing her long gray hair to swirl around her head.
I watched the apparition cross the traffic lane, straight into the path of a black pickup truck heading north. The driver had his hat brim pulled low over his eyes, but it was clear he saw the woman in front of him. In fact, he aimed for her.
"No! Back up! Run!" My scream came out strangled and feeble, but the woman looked at me, her dark eyes dilated and frightened.
It was too late. I turned away. There were no screeching brakes, no blaring horn, only the muffled thud of impact.
When I turned back, the elderly woman lay in the street, her head and shoulders a sodden mass of blood and shattered bone.
My hesitant step toward her halted when a horn blared a long, strident warning. I lurched out of the way, tripped on the curb and fell awkwardly into an oleander bush, skinning both palms. The driver of the black truck got out and ran to the body. He knelt by the old woman and lowered his head, perhaps checking to see if she was breathing. When he raised his head and looked around, his face was streaked with blood. He got up, ran back to his idling truck, hopped in, and took off.
I rolled to my knees, planting one hand in the bag of pies. My palm sunk into the squishy orange pulp, reminding me of the woman's shredded face, her hair matted with blood and brain. Bile welled into my throat. I wiped my hand on my jeans in frantic motions. My stomach convulsed, forcing me back to my knees to wretch my terror into the gutter.
A crowd gathered. Someone shouted, "Call 911!"
They couldn't help her. There was no reason to stay. I already knew how it would end. I'd seen the victim's ghost. Envisioned the whole scene before it happened.
I stumbled away, my destination forgotten, the sidewalk smeared with pumpkin pie.
* * * * *
In the lengthening shadows of my
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