Sapphire Nights (Crystal Magic Book 1)(3)
Had she no family? No friends? She really was ready to weep—in disappointment as much as fear. Hope that she was coming home had carried her this far. Now, she had nothing. She swallowed hard on incipient panic.
Mariah filled a sugar container and pulled a box of artificial cream packets from under the counter. “Way back before the highways went in, the late 1800s, I think, there was a ranch and lumber mill up here. But they couldn’t keep any help because the place was haunted. That was back in the days when the ladies back East played at spiritualism. Ever heard of Lily Dale?”
If she had, Sam couldn’t say. She shrugged.
“Well, the ranch owner’s wife was originally from New York, and she had a sister still back there who was one of the Lily Dale spiritualists. The sister got all excited about the ghosts and caught the next train, so to speak.”
“I like this story.” Sam drew in the rich aroma of the coffee Mariah handed her. “I like it even better with caffeine. Did the sister find ghosts?”
“Oh yeah.” Mariah nodded toward the ceiling. “That’s my job around here, to catch the ghosts.” Without looking the least bit insane, she sipped her coffee.
Sam swung the stool around and studied the ceiling behind her. In each corner was an intricate web of yarn and string decorated with what appeared to be beads and crystals. “Aren’t those called dreamcatchers? I don’t see any ghosts.” She almost felt disappointed as she swung back to Mariah.
The ghostcatcher beamed in approval. “Ghosts are like bad dreams. My nets are modified, of course, and they’re empty because they’re working. Hasn’t been a haunt in here since I hung them.”
There was a scam wide enough to swallow a town. “So the sister found ghosts and learned to make ghostcatchers?” she asked, trying to hide her doubt.
“Nothing is that simple. She claimed to channel an old Indian, Native American, Ohlone, however you want to categorize him since this tale was written well over a century ago in practically a different language. The spirit told her the ranch house was built over sacred land and the ghosts of his people were rising in protest.”
“I’m guessing we’ve run roads over more graves than anyone can count, but I don’t think it’s spirits causing wrecks,” Sam said, deciding she liked her coffee with sugar but not fake cream.
“Hard to say, but Hillvale is different. I’m sure you’ve heard about the vortex energy in Sedona. We have that here, only it’s opposite. In Sedona, it spirals outward, purportedly providing healing energy, spiritual uplifting, whatever. Have you ever been?”
Sam didn’t have a clue. She shook her head negatively anyway. “What would the opposite be? Sucking energy?”
“You need Cass or one of the local psychics to explain. But it apparently gives power to those below, like ghosts. And to those who can channel it, like the various spiritualists who eventually migrated here.”
“After the rancher’s wife’s sister spread the word?” Sam couldn’t hide her amusement.
“Why would Cassandra send us another Null?” Mariah cried in exasperation, raising her cup in mockery. “We’re in desperate need of fewer doubters and more believers. Don’t let anyone know you’re a Null! People have been stoned for less.”
Casting aside the commentary as non-serious, Sam insisted, “No, really, what happened after she talked to the Indian ghost?” She’d wanted normal. She’d hoped for family. And what she got was a missing witch who believed in ghosts and a town of psychos? It might be time to find a head doctor. She wondered if she had insurance.
“The ranch house burned down over the sacred land. The rancher wisely rebuilt where the town now sits. The sisters started a church of healers. More spiritualists gravitated to the area. We became quite a tourist attraction back in the day when rich city people retreated to the mountains in summer. Then the highway went in, people left, the population dwindled, until the late 60s, when a bunch of hippies formed a commune in the hills you see to the east.”
Sam turned to look out the window and could just make out a pink haze rising over those hills.
“We’re gradually making it back on the map again,” Mariah continued, “but we’re still so far off the beaten path that we only make money in summer. So if you’re looking for work, I wish you well but minimum wage is about it. Some of the psychics do well, but it takes time to establish clientele.”
“No internet to spread the word?”
Mariah refilled her mug. “Oh yeah, we have cable. Stay here long enough and you’ll meet our mayor, Monty Kennedy. His family owns half the mountain north of here. He and his brother had cable run in for the lodge. So far, they haven’t actually bought a satellite or cell tower. Give them time.”
“I detect a faint sour note,” Sam said with amusement as Mariah filled her own cup and opened a pie case with yesterday’s leftovers.
“Monty and Kurt are the Null to end all Nulls. Men are so. . . damned logical. To most women, TV waves and internet clouds are magic. To most men, they’re easily explainable technology. But give men a whiff of weird they can’t account for without cords and wires, and they go bug-eyed.”
“That’s sexist.” Sam’s taste buds watered as Mariah slapped a piece of apple pie in front of her. “I’m down to my last few dollars,” she admitted. “I can’t contribute much to the economy. How much does pie cost up here?”