"Oh, they'll get along. But only if you stop matchmaking."
I decided then and there to change into a nicer top and dig out my black stilettos.
****
No one had told me mountains surrounded Palm Springs. Not rolling foothills like we had back home, but gigantic, rocky, jutting-into-the-sky, snow-tipped, breath-stealing mountains. I wondered how I had missed them last night in the dark. After the blue sky and palm trees, they were the first things I noticed when we got into the car. The second thing I noticed was Aunt Terra and Uncle Esmun's rattletrap received only two radio stations: an all-Spanish channel, and one devoted solely to Christmas songs. They opted for the latter.
I stared out the window, trying to shut out memories of making Christmas cookies with Mom and searching for the perfect tree with Dad. I watched for stores that might sell disposable cell phones and cards with prepaid service. The pickings were slim as we left the outskirts of town. The litter-strewn desert, a barren wasteland, soon dominated the landscape. Acres of sand whisked by while "Little Drummer Boy" and "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas" droned in my ears. I wondered where I would be stuck next Christmas if my parents split up.
The car began a steady upward climb through a rocky mountain pass. "How long have you had your mystery school?" I asked.
Aunt Terra swiveled in her seat. "We've had the store for seven years. We started the mystery school four years go."
Hmm. I wondered if the two endeavors had been recession-proof. It seemed doubtful.
Finally, Uncle Esmun pulled the car up to the curb in front of a brightly painted facade. Purple spirals angled across a salmon backdrop led to the words Spiral Journeys.
"Here we are." Aunt Terra wore a jade tunic over flowing black pants. Before getting out of the car, she put on a little turban-like hat. Mom would have appeared ridiculous in it. Aunt Terra seemed almost chic. It occurred to me she never had said what the workshop was about.
A moon-and-wolf wind chime clanged above the cash register near the front door when we entered. Had my dream been some sort of premonition? Flickering candles perfumed the air, and my gaze was drawn to the mural painted above the bookcases along the back wall. The scene depicted a cobalt sky framed by treeless, rust-colored mountain peaks. The perspective — what my seventh grade art teacher had called "a bird's eye view" — caused my stomach to lurch.
Lightheadedness threatened to topple me. I dug my stiletto heels into the carpet to anchor myself, but it was too little, too late. I felt my spirit slip, ghostlike, from the crown of my head and fly between the mountains. I reached for the nearest display table to steady myself.
"What do you think of our baby?"
Aunt Terra's voice propelled my essence back into my body via what felt like a flip-lid in my head. I tightened my grip on the table and willed the blood to return to my cheeks. "I'm…dazzled."
"Are you okay?" Alarm tinged Aunt Terra's voice.
"Sure." I wondered if Mom had told her about my stint in the mental ward. It didn't seem like the sort of thing she would share in a Christmas card.
Aunt Terra studied me for a moment. It wasn't one of Mom's here-we-go-again anguished looks or one of Dad's tight-lipped, frustrated expressions. Just a hmm look. Terra waved her hand as if dispelling bad mojo, and her expression brightened. "Let me show you around. We custom-blend the anointing oils and handcraft the spell candles and talismans."
"Wow." I had no idea what she was talking about, but figured handcrafted must be better than mass-produced when it came to magic.
"First, come meet Jett," Uncle Esmun insisted.
I released my death grip on the table and straightened my spine. My ankles wobbled, then recovered. I finger-combed my long hair as I trailed Uncle Esmun to a trio clustered around a tall glass case. The couple, both seventy-ish and wearing what appeared to be expensively designed turquoise
I decided then and there to change into a nicer top and dig out my black stilettos.
****
No one had told me mountains surrounded Palm Springs. Not rolling foothills like we had back home, but gigantic, rocky, jutting-into-the-sky, snow-tipped, breath-stealing mountains. I wondered how I had missed them last night in the dark. After the blue sky and palm trees, they were the first things I noticed when we got into the car. The second thing I noticed was Aunt Terra and Uncle Esmun's rattletrap received only two radio stations: an all-Spanish channel, and one devoted solely to Christmas songs. They opted for the latter.
I stared out the window, trying to shut out memories of making Christmas cookies with Mom and searching for the perfect tree with Dad. I watched for stores that might sell disposable cell phones and cards with prepaid service. The pickings were slim as we left the outskirts of town. The litter-strewn desert, a barren wasteland, soon dominated the landscape. Acres of sand whisked by while "Little Drummer Boy" and "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas" droned in my ears. I wondered where I would be stuck next Christmas if my parents split up.
The car began a steady upward climb through a rocky mountain pass. "How long have you had your mystery school?" I asked.
Aunt Terra swiveled in her seat. "We've had the store for seven years. We started the mystery school four years go."
Hmm. I wondered if the two endeavors had been recession-proof. It seemed doubtful.
Finally, Uncle Esmun pulled the car up to the curb in front of a brightly painted facade. Purple spirals angled across a salmon backdrop led to the words Spiral Journeys.
"Here we are." Aunt Terra wore a jade tunic over flowing black pants. Before getting out of the car, she put on a little turban-like hat. Mom would have appeared ridiculous in it. Aunt Terra seemed almost chic. It occurred to me she never had said what the workshop was about.
A moon-and-wolf wind chime clanged above the cash register near the front door when we entered. Had my dream been some sort of premonition? Flickering candles perfumed the air, and my gaze was drawn to the mural painted above the bookcases along the back wall. The scene depicted a cobalt sky framed by treeless, rust-colored mountain peaks. The perspective — what my seventh grade art teacher had called "a bird's eye view" — caused my stomach to lurch.
Lightheadedness threatened to topple me. I dug my stiletto heels into the carpet to anchor myself, but it was too little, too late. I felt my spirit slip, ghostlike, from the crown of my head and fly between the mountains. I reached for the nearest display table to steady myself.
"What do you think of our baby?"
Aunt Terra's voice propelled my essence back into my body via what felt like a flip-lid in my head. I tightened my grip on the table and willed the blood to return to my cheeks. "I'm…dazzled."
"Are you okay?" Alarm tinged Aunt Terra's voice.
"Sure." I wondered if Mom had told her about my stint in the mental ward. It didn't seem like the sort of thing she would share in a Christmas card.
Aunt Terra studied me for a moment. It wasn't one of Mom's here-we-go-again anguished looks or one of Dad's tight-lipped, frustrated expressions. Just a hmm look. Terra waved her hand as if dispelling bad mojo, and her expression brightened. "Let me show you around. We custom-blend the anointing oils and handcraft the spell candles and talismans."
"Wow." I had no idea what she was talking about, but figured handcrafted must be better than mass-produced when it came to magic.
"First, come meet Jett," Uncle Esmun insisted.
I released my death grip on the table and straightened my spine. My ankles wobbled, then recovered. I finger-combed my long hair as I trailed Uncle Esmun to a trio clustered around a tall glass case. The couple, both seventy-ish and wearing what appeared to be expensively designed turquoise
Similar Books
