Ghosts Of The Attic

6. Divination

6

     The cold wind bit into me as I trekked to Grimoire Street. Snow continued to fall while slush was resting on the side of the road. Kicking away a stray pebble, my thoughts were bringing me back to Madame Sybil. I should just walk home, I thought. But there was a tiny voice pestering me about going to her. It’s a worth a shot, the voice stated.

     My eyes glanced up to the street sign, Oleander Street. My steps immediately stopped in front of the sign as I continued to stare, uneasy, until the sound of wind chimes broke me from my trance. Mom’s shop is down there, I noted, and so is Grimoire Street.  Paling, I scanned the street and took in the familiar array of boutiques, but then I saw the sign, which was carved into the shape of a book. Hellebore & Faust was painted green on the wooden sign that began to sway in the light breeze.

     Across the bookstore was my mother’s car and the color drained from my face even more. What do I do? The question rolled through my mind over and over while the sign continued to sway. I started to pace back and forth in front of the sign, thinking of a way to reach my destination.

     “If I go around,” I murmured, “I could take Mallory Drive...but then that’ll lead me halfway across town.”

     Street names ran across my mind as I bit my lip then my eyes caught onto the strip of snowy land behind the stores. Perfect, I thought. A smile graced my face as I scurried through the snow and behind the stores. Noise sounded from the inside of the shops except for my mother’s, which was deathly silent except for the sound of her mournful voice through the window. I stopped with my back pressed against the brick of the small building and listened, closing my eyes.

     “I’m so sorry, Bonnie,” she murmured. “Your mother was the best woman I’ve ever worked with.”

     Old Mrs. Faust died, I noted. The fact didn’t surprise me and my mother continued to talk, so I took a step forward before slipping on ice. My body smashed into a trash can; the commotion was loud enough to wake the dead. My pulse froze as my mother’s voice ceased and I did the only thing I could do. With fear rushing in my veins, I vaulted over the fence opposite me before landing in a snow blanketed hedge.

     Through a tiny crack in the white fence, I peered out to see my mother. Her small frame was covered in a dreary shawl while in her hand was a phone. Inquisitive, blue eyes swept the area around her, but they seemed to stop to stare at my spot, before they snapped back onto the garbage littered on the ground. She raised the phone up to her ear.

     “I’m so sorry, Bonnie,” she sighed. “Something tipped over a trash can…when’s the funeral?”

     After a moment, she set the phone down and began to pick up the trash. Her gaunt face seemed spectral while her eyes had lost their questioning gleam. Her thin, pink lips were tightened in a straight line as she quickly rectified the trash can. And as she was about to retreat into the bookstore, she froze while her eyes caught onto something in the snow. What is she looking at? I pondered then it dawned on me. My footprints!

     I mentally cursed myself and silently prayed that she wouldn’t investigate further before turning my attention back onto my mother. She was obviously distressed at the sight of the impressions in the snow as she slowly examined them, her eyes following the trail until they stopped a few inches from the fence. Please don’t look, I prayed.

     “This better not be another prank,” she finally whispered.

     With quick movements, she grabbed the phone and hurried back inside, slamming the back door after her retreating figure. I stayed in my spot–staring at the cloudy sky–for a moment to make sure she wasn’t going to return before slowly removing myself from the hedge. Then my grey eyes stared at a pair of curious, green ones. The little girl, who looked four, pushed back a lock of red hair and continued to stare me down.

     “Hello,” she greeted with a soft tone. “Who are you?”

     “Lucas,” I replied. “I’m sorry.”

     “For what?”

     “For falling in your hedge.”

     She blinked and glanced back at the patio door. “It’s okay,” she stated. “I’m…Una, by the way.”

     “That’s a pretty name,” I smiled.

     She smiled back and looked at the door, which made her eyes widen. “My momma’s coming back,” she stated.

     Realizing my presence wouldn’t be welcomed, I gave a small smile to Una once more before climbing over her fence again. Her mother’s voice echoed as I strided towards Grimoire Street. My hot breath formed a small cloud in front of me as I reached the sidewalk, which was slippery with ice.

     “One hundred and sixteen,” I stated.

     With the number rolling through my mind, I slowly approached the shops; my eyes scanning the building numbers. 114. 115. Finally, my eyes rested upon an antique looking shop. A cheesy, crystal ball display was stationed in the front mirror while velvet drapes lined the rest of the window. Sighing, I opened the door.

     A bell chimed as I stepped inside, the smell of incense smacking me right in the face. Coughing, my eyes swept the large room, which was decorated with scented candles, dead flowers, and other, odd objects. An out of place, oriental screen cut off the small, waiting area from the rest of the room. A doorway was blocked by red, velvet curtains while a table was blanketed by a star covered cloth. A large, Victorian mirror rested on the wall opposite of the table.

     “I’ve been waiting for you,” an ancient, spirited voice said.

     I rolled my eyes as an elderly woman stepped out from behind the curtained doorway. Her skin was wrinkled except around her dark, mysterious eyes. A cynical smile was formed on her ruby red painted lips.

     “Do you always say that?” I inquired.

     “Somewhat,” the old woman remarked. “Please do take a seat.”

     She motioned to a bulky, violet armchair, but I continued to stand until she sighed. Her small body disappeared behind the curtains and in a minute, she brought out a tea tray. She quietly set it down on the table before pouring two cups. “It’s chamomile,” she explained. “Now...I won’t say this again, child. Take a seat.”

     Reluctantly, I sat and was immediately swallowed up by the chair. She pushed the cup at me, but I stared at the liquid inside before glancing up at her. Her black eyes were examining me with curiosity as she took a sip of her tea. “Why are you here?” she questioned.

     “Shouldn’t you know that,” I retorted.

     A smirk crossed her face. “You don’t believe that I am true,” she remarked, “but I am, Lucas Keegan Hellebore.”

     I remained passive, which caused the old woman to raise a graying eyebrow. “Do you still not believe me?” she continued. “You should know that I, the great Madame Sybil, am quite interested by your….case.”

     “And what case is that?”

     “Your case,” she breathed deeply, “involves your encounter with the paranormal.”

     “And what was my encounter?”

     She took another sip. “The dead girl,” she whispered, “with the amber eyes.”

    My eyes widened and she giggled at my surprise. “How did you know?” I asked.

     “She’s standing right behind you.”