Page 21 of The Deer and the Dragon
I began my needle-in-the-haystack research with shadow people, which yielded no results. The term was a descriptor for another phenomenon altogether and could be psychological, malevolent, friendly, or benign. I scrunched my face against what I knew of mythology and launched into North American lore, opting for geographical anchors. Combing through online ledgers and digitized texts in my evenings yielded little results, particularly as I didn’t know what I was looking for.
The librarian confessed that she’d read my novels and wasvery hopeful that my localized research on North America meant that the subsequent installment might be on indigenous lore. I’d given a canned nonanswer, ever the politician. I hadn’t decided what the fourth book would entail. I’d been given a sizable advance on the promise that there would be several more in the series. But as it stood, I could barely get through book three.
Her guesses on my reason for invading the archives ceased after I’d shown up a fourth, then a fifth, then a sixth day.
I’d frowned up at her after she’d spent an hour quietly overseeing my studies of her sacred texts. They’d made me wear gloves before delicately handling the loose parchments, but I continued to find nothing of interest. I tried to make the most of having someone breathe down my neck. Looking up over the aged, fragile piece of paper in the basement archives, I asked, “If I saysigil, what’s the first thing that comes to your mind?”
The librarian mirrored my curious expression. She sank into her chair, eyes moving up and to the side as she scanned her memories. “You’re looking for resources on sigils? Have you spoken to any practitioners?”
I gave her a quizzical look.
“Sigils could be about anything. Wards, deities, angels, demons.”
I shuddered at a few of the words in her list. My religious upbringing triggered an unintentional flinch at the thought of fire-and-brimstone sermons on angels and demons. I wondered if she could count the creases in my forehead as my confusion intensified.
Unbothered, she said, “You should be looking within the witch community. They might have more resources than our library.”
“Witches?” I repeated, struggling not to make a smartass comment about Halloween. At least she hadn’t suggested I speak to a priest.
The librarian nodded. She pulled out her phone and sentme the contact information of her friend who performed guided psychic meditations, as well as the usernames of three of her favorite witches on social media. She implied that, given my reputation in the mythological community, I might be able to swing for the fences and speak with someone high in the echelon.
I looked at her skeptically. Images of pointed hats and cauldrons and crows peeled my mouth into an apologetic half-smile. “I generally prefer to keep my research…academic.”
Disappointment flickered through her. She weighed me before saying, “You can’t study something while looking down your nose at it.”
She had a point, and I was desperate. That said, I’d done so much to distance myself from religion and belief that the idea of dipping my toes into spirituality made me cringe. Still, if imaginary friends were real, maybe witches were, too. So, off I set.
The librarian’s initial contact proved useless, which did little to earn my confidence in the witch-identifying community. The woman gave me a tarot reading over a video chat, assessed my aura, and informed me that I was destined for greatness. I offered a deadpan thanks and sent payment via the site she’d listed on the bottom of the screen.
A second self-proclaimed practitioner consulted the Prime Creator, rang a few bells for a sound cleansing, then cleared my chakras before asking for fifty dollars. I wasn’t religious, per se, but I also wasn’t entirely convinced that a white woman from Nebraska was qualified to be the authority on chakras.
They were making it hard to keep an open mind.
I stared at my phone for a long while before calling the third contact on my list. I looked at my reflection in the dark, blank screen, sighing before I set off on what would surely be another fifty bucks wasted. I hadn’t been given a number for the final contact, only a Skype username. The mindlesslyupbeat chimes rang for five seconds, then ten, then fifteen. A rather frazzled woman with the outgrown roots of blue-green hair in a hooded sweatshirt and with a toddler on her hip bloomed into view as she answered the phone.
“Hi, yes, what is it?”
I was caught entirely off guard. It wasn’t the metaphysical stars, curtains, and incense I’d been expecting. She made no attempt at a calm, soothing voice. I blinked through my disorientation, rallying as I got down to business.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Before we get started, I’m not sure how to pronounce your name. I got your information from—”
“It’s Xuân, more or less pronounced like the bird: swan. I used to go by an Americanized name but then thought: Fuck it. If they can learn to say Joaquin Phoenix, then they can figure it out. And you? Are you calling from Pearl’s school? I left a message with the secretary that she wasn’t feeling well.”
“Does your kid’s school video-call you?” I asked. It was a symptom of rarely thinking before I spoke. I kicked myself for sounding snarky.
“Yes,” she said to my surprise. “I didn’t like people being able to get a hold of me all hours of the day, so I got rid of my phone. If someone wants me, they can send an email, or look me in the eye when they talk to me. Welcome to my computer. Now, what do you want?”
I struggled to remember why I’d thought calling her had seemed like a good idea. “I’m reaching out because I need advice on…how to see something. I was told to ask a practitioner. Your information was—”
Without waiting for me to finish, she asked, “Have you meditated yet?”
I nodded. “I did a guided meditation—”
“Pearl! Stop it!” she scolded the off-screen child. Xuân continued to bounce the baby on her hip as she said, “No, not a guided session. Use your clairs. Try to look through the veil.”
When I looked startled, she gave me a tired expression and approached the screen. My phone pinged as she forwarded aguided meditation calledPiercing the Veil for Beginners.
“Here’s what you’re going to do.” Xuân cleared her throat. I was quite certain that she was keeping her child off-screen by holding out her foot while the baby continued to vie for her attention. “Light a candle and picture a dial. Like, a radio dial. You’re going to watch that volume knob turn all the way up in your mind’s eye as if you’re making music blast, okay?”
