“Been there, done that.” Skye winced. Since that disaster of a confession, Tanner’s calls had been short and awkward. For the love of Aphrodite, please don’t let him tell Michael what a fool I made of myself.
“Keep trying, there’s someone out there perfect for you.” Claribel laid down her fork and clapped her plump hands together as inspiration struck. “Would you like a tarot reading? Mr. Wonderful might be right around the corner.”
“Um, maybe later.” Skye wasn’t so sure about a reading. If she pulled the same cards Glenna habitually drew, it would freak her out.
“Oh, let’s!” Claribel clapped her tiny hands together before resuming eating. “Tell me about your family, Skye. I’ve met your brother Michael at the store. Your parents live in Piedmont, right?”
“Mom does. Dad lives in Birmingham. They divorced when I was a year old.”
Claribel shook her head. “So common these days. But maybe in some ways it’s easier that you were so young.”
Skye shrugged. “I guess. Dad and I have never been close. That was an understatement. Dad was all over Michael, but as for herself . . . sometimes it felt like he actually disliked her, let alone loved her. He paid his child support but shirked seeing her as much as possible, was barely civil to her. She never forgot her first and only dance recital at age five. He had come to pick up his son and take him out for the weekend. Skye had come bounding down the stairs in her pink tutu, feathered angel wings, and a crown of flowers atop her carefully curled red hair, all eager excitement. Wait until he sees me in this magnificent get-up. For once, he’d see how beautiful she was, how talented.
He’d stared at her in shock. His eyes took in the costume, went to the wings on her back . . . but instead of pride, she read revulsion. She ran toward him anyway, flung herself at him, practically jumping off the bottom step. His body had been stiff, unresponsive. He’d carefully pulled her away and turned to Michael. “Let’s go, son.”
She’d been devastated, had cried so hard that when she went on stage that night, all the joy of the dance fled. Looking into a sea of faces frightened her so bad she froze. The music washed over her and she stood immobile while the rest of the girls did their clumsy arabesques to the uncritical applause of their families.
Why doesn’t daddy love me, Mommy? She’d asked her mother later. Why does he love Michael and not me?
Rowena Watters, for one of the few times in Skye’s life, had held her and cried. “It’s not your fault, baby. It’s not your fault. Mommy and Michael love you just the way you are.”
“Honey, are you okay?” Claribel waved a hand in front of Skye’s face. “I’m sorry I brought up your parents. I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
Skye blinked back tears. That memory always got to her. “I’m fine. Ancient history.” She began eating with determination. Forget it. Best to steer the conversation to the real reason she invited Claribel here. “Have you always believed in fairies?”
Claribel’s face lit up as it always did at talk of the Fae. “Ever since I was a little girl. I know most people outgrow that stage by kindergarten, but I never could. I always felt like they were my invisible friends and guardians, just out of my reach but there.”
“And you’ve never seen them?”
“No, but they’re around.” She waved her hand vaguely. “I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re here with us as we speak.”
Now for the hard part. “Have you ever had any strange experiences in the shop?”
“Darling, we work in a shop full of magic, that’s the whole point of a metaphysical store.”
Actually, the point was to make a profit. “I’ve had some weird things happen lately, down in the storeroom. Like . . . hearing voices.”
Claribel dropped her plastic spoon. “What do they tell you?” Her voice was intense and her eyes sharpened, losing their dreamy quality.
Skye took a huge gulp of Diet Coke. What the hell, this was Claribel. “The voices are like tiny buzzings, they seem to say . . . this sounds crazy I know, but I think they’re saying ‘help me.’”
Claribel gasped and rose suddenly. “Promise me you won’t ever go downstairs alone again.”
“But why? Have you heard them too?”
“No, but sometimes I feel like there’s dark energy in that room.” She took a deep breath and sat back down. “Delia’s felt it too and she refuses to go down there.”
“We could do a cleansing. You know, burn some sage, place hematite stones and salt in the corners, that kind of thing.” Skye’s face burned. She generally avoided witchy stuff since she totally sucked at the whole thing. She looked down at the napkin in her lap. “At least, that’s what my mother would advise.”
“I’m sure Rowena would.”
Skye’s head jerked up. There was an unusual sharpness to Claribel’s words. “How do you know my mother’s name? I don’t think I’ve mentioned it to you before.”
Claribel blinked. “It was on your job application. You listed her address as your permanent place of residence.”