Page 9 of Midlife Witch Unexpected

“Bingo.”

As many times as I tried to explain the radiating heat coming out of my hand when I knew I was drawn to something. It always sounded weird. No one really believed me, even in LA. I wasn't completely ensconced in the foofoo world of spirits and ghosts, but I had friends that dabbled. Los Angeles was full of people who believed in such things. And while I didn't believe in it, I did know there was an energy moving through all things, including me, and if I could focus on the energy and connect it, I could feel it.

My aunt had shown me on one of her visits down to Los Angeles when I was a kid how to rub my hands together and produce the energy. She had told me I could use the energy to source things that were good for me simply by holding my hand over it and seeing what I was drawn to.

It was my secret toolkit for so many decisions I had made in my life.

Unscrewing the lid, I took a whiff. The aroma of chai, heavy on the cardamom and cinnamon, was heavenly. It felt like a cozy day in front of a warm fire.

Without warning, the fire along one wall of the dining area lit up. I jumped at the unexpected comfort, but still, it was suspicious. I walked over, eyeing it carefully. It was a fire. A real deal, barrier against the cold. The kettle whistled and it wasn’t long before I was sipping the heavenly mixture of chai in front of the roaring fire. The fragrance coming off the tea was delicate and exciting all at the same time.

The tea recharged me and gave me a final boost of energy to do a mild exploration of the lower story of the house. It was an intricate Victorian house with fine woodwork inside and out, but it wasn't large. The Estate was built at a time when budgets and people were modest. Even though The Hayes family had been the wealthiest in the region, they had still not thought to show their wealth with the construction of an ostentatious home. I knew the specs. It was a three-bedroom, two-bathroom, thirty-two hundred square foot house, with a library.

A library?

I had to see this.

The front parlor of the house had a massive bay window with a reading nook and high ceilings. While it wasn’t the library in a castle, it did bear a couple of key similarities; books lined every shelf from floor to ceiling, and those books were old leatherbound volumes in languages I didn’t recognize. A large desk sat at one end of the room and on it were scattered a variety of books. The only other two items in the room were a single red velvet, high-back chair sitting beneath a wall sconce that bathed it in dim light, and a pedestal upon which sat a very old-looking bible.

I set my empty cup of tea down on the silver coaster and stared at the leather-bound bible. The open pages were worn and yellow. They must've been bright at one time, but now they were darkened from age. The pages were strong, yet delicate. I leaned down to smell the book, the earthy tones of leather, paper, and ink blending in my senses. The overwhelming feeling I was home washed over me again.

I looked quizzically at the bible. "Are you calling me?" I murmured to myself as if I was talking to a small animal. I stroked the top page, tracing its exquisite lines. What was super strange was the deep longing I felt in the pit of my stomach for the book.

“How curious…” There was a warmth coming from the book to my stomach and my body relaxed, suddenly feeling like jelly. I nestled into the red chair, pulling my feet up underneath me and feeling the velvet bristle against my ankles in the gap between my leggings and socks. My cup of tea, which had been empty moments before, was suddenly full again and I felt the soothing warmth fill my stomach as I began to sip it. I inhaled deeply through my nose and exhaled through my mouth, feeling the strain of the journey moving through my body and drain out of me. It was almost as if the chair was sucking the pain of the trip out of me. With each sip of the tea, I felt a little more enlivened and in the flow of life. It was the most blissful feeling I had ever experienced.

Chapter 5

The slamming of the front door aroused me from my slumber. I was startled, my head twisting to the side and hitting the other wing-back of the red velvet chair where apparently, I had slept for the entire night. I wiped a small bit of drool off the side of my face and slid my feet to the floor.

“Is anyone here?” A woman’s high-pitched voice called into the house.

"What the actual heck?" I murmured to myself. Standing up, I straightened my sweater so hopefully, it didn't look like I had just slept in a chair. I ran my fingers through my hair. Fortunately, it usually fell tragically straight. I took a deep breath. This was a small town. It was made up of about two thousand people max including tourists visiting the hot springs. Apparently, in towns this size, it was normal to walk into someone's house first thing in the morning, even if you don't know them. Where I was from, that would get you shot.

Not cool.

I was going to have to start setting boundaries with people around here.

A vision of Branson crashed into my memory. Especially with him.

“Boundaries,” I said the word fiercely as if I was really going to make it happen.

“Hello, hello. Did you get in last night?” The high pitch voice continued.

I tracked the voice. It was coming from the kitchen. The person was walking around my damn house, and she seemed super comfortable. Like she knew exactly how loud she had to speak in the kitchen to be heard in the living room. Now that was intimacy.

Completely uninvited and unexpected.

A tall, skinny lady with a hawk-like nose and all-black attire stood in the center of my kitchen. She had the kettle on, the fire going, and food cooking on the stove.

“Shall I make you something also?” She asked.

“Also?” My hands flew to my hips, and I was about to give her a piece of my mind when I realized she wasn’t just cooking for herself. Two young adults sat at the dining room table staring at me.

They both had shoulder-length black hair, but it wasn't clear if it was natural or dyed. It was obvious they were twins, almost identical except one was male and one was female. For the most part, they both looked androgynous; the young man was crocheting a scarf and the young woman was reading a book.

“Hi,” I said lamely.

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