Girls of Brackenhill(53)
She was so tired. She hiccuped and realized she’d been crying. Sobbing, really. In the courtyard she sat on a bench to catch her breath. She hadn’t told anyone—not Julia, not Aunt Fae—about the sleepwalking for fear they’d send her to Plymouth to see a doctor or, worse, send her home for good. Julia had already been going on about Brackenhill being evil and wanting to go home. She had an overactive imagination. Did she really believe the nonsense she spewed about seeing things? About Aunt Fae? Hannah couldn’t leave. What waited for her at home? The creaking open of her bedroom door, even more fitful sleep, cold hands inching up her thighs. No. It was out of the question.
Still, she was tired in her bones. She stood, wanting to get back to bed. The warmth of her comforter. It had to be two a.m.
A shadowy figure at the mouth of the path caught her attention, fear instant and sharp in her chest. A blur of red shirt, black skirt, a cloud of hair. Ellie. Julia’s friend. The girl with the bright-red hair. Slowly, the girl raised her hand in a cautious wave. Hannah waved back. What was she doing here?
“Hey!” Hannah called out, but Ellie turned and ran away, down the path, toward the river.
She was gone.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Now
“That’s a scrying ring,” Jinny said matter-of-factly. She was busy reorganizing a spice cabinet behind the counter, jars and bottles and tubes and shakers all scattered next to the cash register. Her long black-and-white hair was piled on top of her head and held in place with chopsticks. She had a ring on each finger. Most notable was an obsidian oval on her index finger set in a knotted wire. A twin for the ring Hannah wore on her middle finger, the one found in the corner of the toolshed. Hannah had recognized it as being similar to jewelry Jinny owned and thought perhaps she could point to its origin.
“What’s a scrying ring?” Hannah asked warily.
Jinny stopped wiping shelves and shut the cabinet doors. “Sit at the table.”
Hannah pulled out one of the two chairs at the round table in the center of the room. The table held a lazy Susan of props: a glass gazing ball, a tea strainer, paper towels, tissues, handkerchiefs, and several rings similar to the one Hannah now wore, in both black and gold.
Jinny sat opposite Hannah and splayed her hands. “You don’t believe in this hoopla. You’ve said so. Correct?”
Hannah shifted in her seat. It wasn’t that she didn’t believe, necessarily. It was that she had little use for things that remained unproven. It seemed like a waste of time. She would never have the heart to say this to Jinny.
Instead Jinny continued, “Or maybe you’re apathetic. You don’t so much think it’s beneath you as you don’t care enough about it.” And that was much more on the nose. Hannah winced, shrugged, but nodded. Jinny placed both hands on the gazing ball and set it in front of Hannah. “Scrying is just a meditation of sorts. If you relax your consciousness, let your own vision blur into the ball or the ring or sometimes a bowl of water, perhaps a polished crystal, you can access a plane of knowledge that most people on this earth have no idea exists. This is called the Akashic record. The Akashic record is a collection of all events, thoughts, words, emotions, everything that has ever happened to every person or ever will. It’s emotion. It’s spirituality. It’s facts and perception and truth and falsehoods. It’s overwhelming to think about. But allows us to understand our own existence and our loved ones more than we otherwise would. Do you understand?”
Absolutely not. Hannah thought it sounded like insane babbling. She nodded anyway.
“Don’t lie to me.” Jinny held up her hand, her voice firm. She stood, removed the tray, and set it down across the room. The table contained only the gazing ball, held on a pewter stand. “A crystal ball. Corny, yes?”
“A little,” Hannah admitted.
“Clichéd, maybe. But useful. Nostradamus used a bowl of water. I like the predictability of the gazing ball. It’s a classic.”
“My sister used a crystal ball?” Hannah asked, incredulous.
“No. She felt like it was too much. She liked the flat ring, how small it was. She could wear it, use it whenever she wanted. She became quite quick those last two summers.”
Hannah tried to remember something, anything, her sister gazing into a ring and murmuring. But nothing came back. Julia had not been herself, for sure, but Hannah would have noticed a clear exit off the rails like that.
“Let your eyes relax.” Jinny stood, turned down all the lights. Behind her, Hannah heard a click, and the candelabra that lined the shelves on either wall flared to electric life. Jinny motioned toward the small lights. “I stopped using real candles after the third fire. Dried herbs and old books burn like hell, you know.”
Hannah felt a chill up her spine and shivered. She didn’t believe in spirits and ghosts the same way Julia had, and certainly not like Jinny did, but the room suddenly felt cavernous. She could only make out a bit beyond the table; the windows to the front of the store had long been blacked out.
“Jinny, this seems unnecessary, truly.”
“Do you want to know what your sister was doing? What she could do? Try it. Here’s the thing. I don’t believe that second sight is only available to certain people. Everyone has it inside them to believe in infinite possibilities. I believe that certain personalities allow for the ability to access what could be available to all of us. You don’t know all the rules of the universe, my dear. None of us do. Some of us go to church or pray to deal with that. Others scry and read tarot and burn herbs and talk to spirits—only in the loosest sense of the word.”