Emily's House: Book 1 of the Akasha Chronicles

Chapter 48: Emily's Second Master

Chapter 48: Emily’s Second Master

“Miss Emily, I must leave you.”

“You can’t leave me,” I whined. “I’m stuck in this blasted mist again. I need you to help me find my way.”

“You must find your final master on your own,” he replied.

“But how, Hindergog? You gotta’ give me some kind of clue.”

“From your desire to learn all that you need to learn to fulfill your destiny. When you have that in your heart, your master will appear to you.”

“I should know by now that nothing here is easy.”

“’Tis quite easy if you concentrate. Just focus, Miss Emily. I am away.” He began to dematerialize.

“Hindergog, wait! Will I see you again?”

“You will see me again if the fates allow.” He disappeared into the fog.

What now? I stood there for a few minutes, not sure what to do next. I decided to focus on my task and began to walk again.

I soon found myself rambling along rolling hills and green meadows, with stands of large oak and ash. There were little medieval cottages with straw-thatched roofs, and I walked on a path made of stones. It was a majestic place.

As I walked I pondered my destiny. I had learned so much, but I still didn’t feel ready to face Dughall. I wasn’t sure what I needed to learn, but my time with Madame Wong had taught me that there was so much that I didn’t know and even more that I didn’t understand.

As I pondered those things, my surroundings began to change. My stone path changed to a modern sidewalk. The small, medieval cottages replaced with Midwestern homes made of brick or clad in white siding.

My pace quickened along with the beating of my heart. This sidewalk was all too familiar. Could it be?

Up ahead a house. A house well known to me.

I began to run and before long found myself at the front of my own house. But it wasn’t the house I’d left. No, the house before me had beautiful red petunias and sweet William growing in the flowerbeds. And there was a smell wafting from the house. I sniffed the air and smelled chocolate chip pancakes and coffee and bacon.

I practically leaped to the red door. Red, just as my mother had made it. My heart felt like a train rolling down a track in my chest. My throat was dry. I don’t think I could have spit if my life depended on it. My hand reached out to the doorknob. I hesitated a minute then slowly turned the knob and opened the door.

I stepped inside and my feelings were confirmed. Muriel wasn’t there. Wherever I was – whenever I was – it was a place and time before Muriel entered the scene. The house was filled with the golden walls and the vibrant hues of my mom’s Technicolor paintings.

I somehow found the voice to yell out, “Mom?” There was no answer.

I walked from the front hallway to my left into the formal living room. It was exactly as I remembered it from when my mom was alive. Nothing changed. But it was empty.

Back out to the hallway and straight across from the formal living room into the dining room. It too was exactly the same – frozen in a time past. The large, round antique oak dining table and worn Oriental rug over the wood floor juxtaposed with my mom's large, brightly covered canvases. But that room was empty too. There wasn’t a sound in the place.