“I’m leaving,” said Dana, but Corinda snaked out a hand and caught her arm. The woman was surprisingly fast, and her grip was strong.
“No,” she said. “You need to stay and we need to have a conversation. I know you’ve seen him at night, in your room.”
Dana thought about pulling away, and almost did, but she had to know. She heaved an eloquent sigh and settled back.
“Drink your tea,” said Corinda. There was a deep, strange noise from the speakers, and it took Dana a moment to realize that it wasn’t feedback or distortion but was instead Australian folk music played on a didgeridoo. There was a whole display of those long, painted, hollowed-out wooden drone pipes in the front of the store. Melissa loved them, but Dana thought the music sounded like the kind of songs whales would play at funerals.
She sipped the tea and looked at Corinda. “Tell me how you know what’s going on with me.”
Corinda cocked her head to one side and gave Dana a considering look. “You do know where you are, right? I mean, you know what this place is, and who I am, and what I am? Look around. Tell me how you think I know about these things.”
Dana actually did look around. At the racks of tarot cards and crystal balls and rune stones. At the shelves of books about spiritual channeling, sun signs, roads less traveled, about inner work and self-discovery, books about unlocking the mind and transcending the body. At the talisman jewelry and the icons that stood in ranks on every table. At the posters on the wall for classes in yoga, tai chi, meditation, aligning chakras, light therapy, rebirthing, primal screaming, pranayama, qigong, and more. When she turned back to Corinda, the tall woman wore a knowing smile.
“Yes,” she said. “That’s how.”
Dana gave a stubborn shake of her head.
Corinda sipped her own tea, then set the cup down firmly. “Last night when I was meditating, I was letting my consciousness rise free from my body. Do you know what astral projection is?”
“I think so. Leaving your body? Something like that?”
“Yes. Your spirit self leaves the physical behind and can travel great distances without assistance. The spirit undertakes a willful out-of-body experience, what we call an OBE, and once free of the body, the spirit expands beyond the limits of the five senses. It can see more, know more, understand more.”
“And you’re saying this is what you do?”
“All my life,” said Corinda. She gave a rueful grin. “It’s not the easiest way to grow up. It was bad enough being taller than every guy in my class and acing all my courses, but then I had to go and be deeply weird on top of it. But then … you know what that’s like, don’t you?”
“Do I?” asked Dana, keeping her guard way up.
“Sure,” said Corinda. She selected a scone, tapped crumbs off it, took a bite, and spoke as she chewed. “You ace your classes. You always have.”
“How do you know that?”
Corinda gave her a look. “I told you already. Don’t look like you’re totally shocked. You’re in my house and this is what I do. Now … give me your hands. Let me read you. It’s okay, I don’t bite. Come on.”
Corinda set down her scone and reached across to take Dana’s hands. Dana resisted for a moment, then allowed the touch. Corinda’s hands were warm against Dana’s cold fingers.
“How … how does this work?” asked Dana. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Just look into my eyes,” murmured Corinda. “Concentrate on me and allow me to step inside your energy field.”
“How?”
“Just allow it, honey. That’s all. I’ll do the heavy lifting.”
“Um, okay?” It came out as a question.
Corinda stared at her with green eyes that were flecked with chips of gold. She kneaded Dana’s fingers gently and steadily, as if working to soften stiff pieces of modeling clay. At first Dana was very aware of the people and movement around her and was certain she looked like a complete idiot, sitting here holding hands with a woman twice her age. But the soft, steady, constantly moving pressure of Corinda’s fingers on hers was strangely soothing. It was like a massage in a way, and the warmth seemed to spread, to run up her hands into her wrists and through the muscles of her arms. The Australian folk music ended and a new album began playing, one Dana recognized from past yoga classes. A somber flute played by Paul Horn, recorded inside the Great Pyramid of Giza, and it had a hypnotic quality. Slow and subtle and very deep.
“I can see your spirit self, Dana,” said Corinda in a low, measured voice. “Your aura is orange-yellow. It means you have a scientific mind. You tend to analyze and overanalyze everything. You’re a perfectionist. You love to solve riddles and problems and to find order when everything seems chaotic.”