Read Online Spirit’s Key by Edith Cohn - Free Book Online

Holden.”
    â€œThank you, Ms. Holden. This order was placed by Holden Spirit.”
    â€œYou mean Spirit Holden?”
    â€œYes,” the man on the line says back.
    â€œBut I didn’t place the order.”
    â€œAre you Holden Spirit?”
    â€œNo, I’m Spirit Holden.”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œYes?”
    â€œYes, Holden Spirits placed the order.”
    â€œSpirits? Did you say Spirits with an s ?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œCan you spell it, please?” I grab a piece of paper and a pen.
    When the man finishes spelling, I’ve written Holden Spirits.
    I stare at the words, and then I reread the gift note on the packing slip.
    Holden Spirits.
    The Greats.
    My ancestors?
    Great-grandfathers and great-grandmothers? They’re Holden Spirits. The Holden Spirits who hold the family gift.
    I hang up the phone. I’m sweaty and my head is spinning. I go to the kitchen and stick my head in the freezer.
    After a minute, I can think clearly again.
    Maybe I should hold my key until it tells me why all this is happening. Dad says even though he can’t know things with his own key, Grandmother could. Maybe I can, too. Great gifts require great time. Maybe great gifts also require great practice. If I have the power inside me somewhere, maybe it’s time to draw it out.
    I go outside, because I don’t want to get sick in the house, and then I take the key from my pocket. The heavy metal lies still in my palm until a jolt of nausea strikes powerful enough to make me drop it. It thuds onto the porch right near a crack, almost falling under the house. I pick it up and try again—this time on the dirt road, where it’ll be safe even in my butterfingers. I hold on until I throw up.
    Despite seeing my peanut butter and jelly sandwich in liquid form on the road, I don’t see anything. I don’t know.
    Maybe I’m like Dad. Maybe I have to hold someone else’s key to know. No one’s asked me to do a reading, so I give up on this idea in favor of seeing something I know I can. Sky. I rub his tag, and he appears, his tail wagging so hard his whole body shakes.
    â€œIf you’re my gift, are you here to help me do readings, buddy? Do you know the future?”
    He has the stuffed pheasant in his mouth. He drops it and grins.
    â€œYou think that’s funny, huh?”
    Sky picks up the toy bird again and runs away with it, wanting me to chase him.
    â€œCome back, Sky! I don’t feel like playing!” I’m still a little queasy.
    He stands for a minute, waiting for me to come, but when I don’t he runs back to me.
    I try to pet him, to say Good dog, but my hand waves through him. Like he’s a ray of sunlight.
    I can touch the pheasant but not Sky. They look equally three-dimensional, but my hand continues to slide through Sky whenever I try to pat his puppy head. He’s young and healthy. His fur looks so soft. It’s hard to believe he isn’t real. Or real in the way he once was. I’m disappointed. I want to hug him close. Feel him lick my face. But it’s pretty exciting that he’s here now. That it’s me and Sky again. Together. Like it should be.
    I run toward the house to get the kibble from the delivery box. If I can’t pet him, maybe I can reward him with a treat. If the Holden ancestors sent it, I wonder if there’s also something special about the bag of kibble. For a piece of kibble, will Sky tell me the future?
    I figure Sky will follow me in the house like he usually does, but as soon as I hit the porch, he stops short. He sits, patient.
    â€œCome,” I command.
    He paces back and forth in front of the steps like he can’t go any farther.
    â€œCome, boy. Come.”
    More pacing.
    â€œStay,” I say instead, putting up my hand.
    He waits while I run inside.
    I come back out with the kibble. Sky stands up and wags his tail. He knows he’s about to get fed. I hold a piece of