Like a Prayer
They stood facing the plate glass window. It was beautiful with its display of intricate designs etched into every square. The front door pictured a woman lounging on a cloud; her arms outstretched as she welcomed lost spirits. The sisters turned to look at one another slowly.
“Oh my God,” Jade said first.
“I know. Do you feel that?” Heather whispered.
An icy chill and strange heaviness hovered around the spot they were standing. Its origin was unknown and the anonymity of it made their bones feel weak. The smell of roses blew its sweet scent into their faces though there were no flowers in sight.
“Bye!” Heather said firmly, turning back toward the direction from which she came. She only made it one step before Jade pulled her back by her ponytail.
“Stay! God, you are such a pussy!’ she said emphatically.
Jade always marveled at how her older sister could be so brave in the face of real danger but such a coward about the things that couldn’t touch her. She would opt for a drunk designated driver with a lead foot over a simple game of Ouija.
They had located the psychic through a diligent yellow page search but both sisters were both more skeptical than hopeful. They didn’t doubt that real psychics did exist but they also didn’t believe a true psychic sold her gifts. Throughout their strange lives, the sisters had happened upon many seers when they weren’t looking and none had ever tried to charge them for delivering messages from the spirits.
“Nobody’s here,” Heather insisted.
“We haven’t even knocked yet!’ Jade laughed.
The door opened, causing the hinges to play out a slow creaking tune. It felt like a typical horror movie setting and Heather thought it unfair that fate chose to amuse itself at her expense.
A Spanish woman with a small build and a very big presence appeared in the doorway. Heather noted she was striking; beautiful in an exotic way. When she spoke, her thick accent gave away her Hispanic roots even more than her appearance did.
“Hello,” she said softly, making eye contact with each sister for longer than was normally acceptable.
“Hi,” Jade answered. “We’re here for a reading.”
The woman finally smiled and they felt as though they had passed her first test. She backed up to give them room to pass but maintained her post at the door. It forced the sisters to head into the shop ahead of her and Heather recoiled at the feeling of leading the strange woman into her own lair. They heard the door close and both of them froze in their positions.
“Go on, down the hall,” directed the psychic.
As they walked slowly down the small hallway, each sister stole frequent backwards glances. Jade needed to reassure herself that the woman hadn’t morphed into a vampire or werewolf. Heather wanted to prove to herself that she didn’t have the barrel of a gun to her head. She feared people the same way most people feared monsters.
They passed an apothecary that boasted loving care and serious devotion. It smelled of aromatic candles and Heather was overcome by the familiarity of the scents. She was struck with a memory that had been in a coma for thirty years. In it, she was little and she was taking comfort from the scent of a cedar music box in her parent’s bedroom. The little ballerina had twirled around repeatedly to the song, Music Box Dancer. With no further clues to help her color a clear picture, she shook it out of her head.
They knew they had reached their destination when they saw a round table with three waiting chairs. The psychic waved them toward the seats and they sat down obediently.
The table held nothing but a single white candle and its flame stood up, sturdy and proud.
“You’re pregnant,” the psychic told Jade.
“Wow, you’re good,” her sister retorted. She clasped her hands around her huge stomach and offered her sister an apologetic look that said they could leave soon.
Heather didn’t want to waste time looking in the wrong direction but she had no way of knowing what the wrong direction was. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be a lesson learned until she had already screwed up. She moved to stand but stopped when the psychic asked her a question.
“You two are very close. There is another sister, not as close, right?”
Heather looked over at Jade and they stared blankly at one another. A grandfather clock in the corner seized her attention and she focused on the direction of its hands. It was 11:11 a.m. and she nodded recognition to whomever – or whatever – was watching.
“Yes,” Heather finally answered. The instinct that had instructed her to leave took a backseat to curiosity.
“My name is Soraya,” the psychic finally said.
They sized her up more as they traded introductions. Soraya was about five feet tall and all of ninety pounds. When she spoke, something in her voice made them want to listen.
“Traumatic experience and a significant geographical distance are the reasons for the weak bond, right?” she began.
Heather pictured the angry child that Lisa had been. Their