Page 8 of Vampire's Vixen

“It’s not pity, don’t think that,” I said. “I’m just trying to be a good neighbor, a good friend, and someone who helps make her town a better place to live.”

Before my next appointment arrived, I called Astra.

“Who do I talk to about starting…I don’t know—something to help my mailman?”

“What are you talking about?” Astra asked.

I told her what had happened. “I want to make things a bit easier for Terry. He seemed so forlorn, Auntie. He needs support.”

“I know Terry. He’s been around for a long time. If he needs help, people will come through. He’s had just about every mail route in town in the time he’s worked for the post office.” She paused, then added, “Let me spearhead this. I can get it moving.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it, and I know Terry will, too.” I hung up, relieved. Over the past few weeks since I’d pledged myself to Aphrodite, it seemed like my emotions had ramped up. I felt things more keenly, and at times, I was having a hard time keeping it together.

As my second client of the day arrived, I tried to shake off my concerns and faced him with a smile. “Hello, I’m Maisy Tripwater. Welcome to Married At First Bite. Please have a seat,” I said, motioning to the chair opposite mine.

The man sat down. He was long, lanky, well-dressed, and had an air of authority about him. His hair was neck-length, sort of in an early Beatles style. There was also something I couldn’t quite pinpoint—he felt...

Like he’s faced death…

The thought jarred me and I straightened.

He took out a notebook and set it on the table, along with a pen. “I’m John Birchwell. I’d like a reading,” he said.

“What can I do for you? What are you looking to find out? I use the cards or my crystal ball, or both, depending on the question.” When he’d called, he hadn’t actually mentioned the reason for the reading.

John shifted, smoothly crossing his legs. He folded his hands on his lap, reminding me of an old-fashioned English professor. “Ms. Tripwater, I want to find out if my late wife is all right. She died last year.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said, my heart sinking. It was hard to read for bereaved spouses, because I tended to identify with them too closely. I cleared my throat. “Why don’t you tell me why you’re concerned?”

He rubbed his chin, and it was then that I saw the weariness in his eyes. “I’m having trouble sleeping and eating. I’ve lost ten pounds the past week. I’m definitely not on a diet, but I just can’t seem to work up an appetite. I’ve only managed two to three hours of sleep each night the past week. I keep dreaming that my wife is trapped somewhere. I hear her screaming for me to help her, but I can’t find her and I wake up in a panic. It’s so bad that I don’t want to go to sleep, I’m so afraid of my dreams.”

I picked up my cards and held them for a moment, then handed them to him. “Shuffle four times, knock on the back of the deck three times, then hand them to me.”

As I waited, he did as I asked. After he gave them back to me, I began to lay them out, focusing on what his dreams were trying to tell him. The cards began to form a pattern, though I wasn’t sure what it was yet. But I could feel the connection between them strengthening, weaving a pathway for me to follow.

I sat back, eyeing them. After a moment, I said, “She was sick, wasn’t she? Or…she got sick, really quickly.”

He nodded. “She died while I was away on a business trip. It was quick—she had a hidden allergy. We never knew she was allergic to shellfish. I don’t eat it because I’m Jewish, and she didn’t eat it because of me. I told her she could, but she wanted to keep the kitchen free of it, since I eat kosher meals. But while I was gone, she went out to dinner with a friend and I told her to enjoy herself, to try something she usually doesn’t try. I never thought it would end up like this.”

I could see where this was going, and it wasn’t pretty.

“It was a seafood restaurant, but instead of ordering fish like she would if we went out together, she decided to treat herself to lobster. She only ever ate it once in her life, I think, and it was fine.” His cool demeanor had vacated the building. “She took two bites of the lobster and her throat swelled up. Nobody had an epinephrine pen, or even Benadryl. They called the medics the moment they realized something was going horribly wrong, but by the time they got there, she was dead. The EMTs tried to revive her, but it was too late. She died on the restaurant floor, surrounded by strangers.”

He rubbed his head, closing his eyes.

Right then, I knew two things: there was absolutely no pretense here. He was mourning his wife, mired so deep in his grief that he had to look up to see bottom. I’d been there, I knew that look, inside out. I wanted to reach out, to take his hand and make it better, but nothing I could do would help in that manner. Grief was grief; you had to walk through it.

“Why do you blame yourself?” I didn’t even bother asking if he felt like he was to blame. That fear was already on his face.

“I encouraged her to step out of her box. She was all set to order the salmon mousse. She loves—loved—salmon. I felt like I’ve been keeping her from eating foods she might love, due to my own beliefs. And she changed her mind. She told me she might as well, if I didn’t mind.” His expression crumpled.

I stared at the cards. His anxiety and guilt were totally triggering his dreams. “John, take a deep breath. I want you to listen to me. I can answer your question right now.” I picked up the High Priestess card. “Your wife went through the Veil. She transitioned easily, and she’s already journeying on to her next phase of existence.”

He held my gaze, fear warring with hope. “How…are you sure? Then why am I having these dreams?”

“Because of your own guilt and fear. You did not kill your wife. She’s not haunting you. She’s absolutely fine, and she wants you to be free of these fears.” Even as the words came out of my mouth, I knew they were the truth.

Apparently, they rang true and touched something inside of John. The tension began to drain out of his shoulders, but then, loss filled the void that his fear had occupied, and he began to cry.

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