A Ghost of a Chance by Cherie Claire (fantasy novels to read .TXT) 📕

is crossed behind the other. Around his head, a yellow light glows.

I’ve been told the Hanged Man represents indecision or feeling stuck, an ample definition of my life since I graduated LSU in 1997. But the Hanged Man’s resignation, the ease of his hands folded behind his back and the heavenly light about his head suggests I need to surrender to circumstances and let go of emotional issues.

“You need to release what you are holding on to,” the last card reader told me, which made me laugh considering. How does one move past the death of a child? “When you let go of the worries, concerns, emotional baggage you hold tight to, a new reality will appear.”

I stare at my nemesis, an image I have come to detest with the message he brings, since the resolution the card demands has always remained out of reach. This time, I’m not intimidated. “This is my new reality, sucker,” I tell the flipped man, who never flinches from his head-exploding position.

Just then the door opens and a woman peeks out. “I don’t open until ten but you’re welcome to come in. I’m stocking inventory.”

I have fifteen minutes to kill so why not. “Okay,” I tell the woman, who opens the door wide and flicks on an additional light that illuminates the many shelves of New Age miscellany. The store is filled with crystals and other stones, jewelry, books and witchy things like blankets sporting pentacles, altar kits and black capes. Of course, there are Tarot card decks and how to read them, plus other divination articles such as runes and numerology.

“Cool store,” I mutter as I make my way through the maze, breathing in the sweet smells of sage, incense and something else, scented candles perhaps?

“Anything in particular you’re looking for?” the owner asks. “Something to help you focus, maybe?”

I turn and stare at this woman dressed in a long, flowing skirt and peasant top, hair a mass of frizz turning toward white, wondering how she picked up on my morning predicament. “What makes you say that?”

She leaves her mound of boxes, slipping a stack of what appears to be political flyers beneath the counter, and emerges to where I’m standing, her hand outstretched. “I’m Cassiopeia and this is Rainbow Waters.”

I shake her hand, which is warm and comforting, but my manners leave me once again. “Seriously, that’s your name?”

“Well, we cater to lots of people here in Eureka. There’s a big Christian population who come for the Passion of the Christ performance in the summer, but a lot of gays visit here as well, plus they own a lot of the local shops. And, of course, there’s the Wicans who are attracted to the mountain because of its healing properties and other spiritual attributes. A rainbow seemed appropriate. And I don’t have to tell you what the waters refer to.”

I meant her name, but I don’t interrupt. “Cool,” is all I manage.

“Looking for something in particular?” She picks up a cloudy somewhat purple stone and one a brilliant lavender. “Lepidolite is a great stone for healing emotions,” she says holding the darker stone, “but if you want something for clarity and focus, I would suggest purple fluorite.”

I’m attracted to the vibrant purple stone, but I can’t get past what the star lady said. “How did you know about my focus issues?”

Her smile warms me like her handshake, genuine and kind, and I’m convinced she has looked inside my soul and deciphered every fault and attribute. “Just a hunch.”

Suddenly, I’m tuned like a baby grand. “What’s the deal with ghosts in this town?”

Cassiopeia casually leans back against the counter as if we’re discussing the weather and not dead people walking the streets of Eureka Springs. “It’s the geology. Some people believe more hauntings occur near strong magnetic fields and lots of time that’s around places where the ground shifts, the kind that produces electromagnetic energy but not hard shifting that produces earthquakes. Know what I mean?”

Huh? “Not hardly.”

“Cracks in the earth, near mountains like this one, can produce electric and magnetic fields when there is geological strain. You find this a lot with granite mountains, where quartz exists.”

“So the ground is evolving and the pressure causes unusual fields and that attracts ghosts?” I hope I’m not sounding as clueless as I am.

“It’s a theory,” Cassiopeia says. “The crystals help move the energy. Our bodies pulse energy, pouring out of us and producing our auras. Ghosts are believed to be energy imprints left on the earthly plane, or sometimes more intelligent energies who are able to communicate with us. You’re too young to remember this, but early radio sets used crystals because they vibrate at various frequencies.”

I know this theory all too well.

“Water is another conduit,” she adds.

This stops me cold, reminding me of my repetitive dreams. “Water? Why?”

“Water has many metaphysical properties. We’re comprised of mostly water as well as the earth. It’s the basis of all life. It transforms itself and reacts to vibrations. You can take a glass of water and transform its energies simply by speaking to it or labeling its container.”

“Masaru Emoto.”

Cassiopeia brightens. “Yes. Exactly.”

Emoto was a Japanese doctor of alternative medicines who inflicted either positive or negative energy towards different containers of water. He then photographed the water crystals and found striking differences between the two. The water receiving positive energy — such as words of “thank you” or “love” in different languages — had complex, beautiful crystals when frozen and photographed. The water with the negative language had malformed crystals. I had read his book, The Hidden Messages in Water, and felt the pain lying within those distorted water crystals appearing like an abused child, plus learned more in the documentary on physics and the spiritual world, What the Bleep Do We Know.

Emoto is convinced that our individual consciousness and that of the world’s consciousness collectively is deeply connected to water.

“Fascinating guy and ground-breaking work,” I say.

Cassiopeia nods enthusiastically. “Water is my favorite subject. It can be so healing. It’s what brought people to this town to begin with, the healing springs we take for granted and pollute.”

“Water also destroys.” I speak before I think, something I tend to do. I didn’t mean to interrupt our positive conversation but Katrina is always lingering in the back of my mind these days.

Cassiopeia gazes at me as if I gave her the final piece of a puzzle. I sense she knows me completely now, although I can’t explain why.

“You know, maybe you should try blue apatite.” She heads to a corner of the store where a collection of blue rocks rest. “It stimulates psychic visions and clairvoyance, helps communicate with the other worlds.”

Before I can answer that the last thing I want to do right now is to communicate with the dead anymore than necessary, the door swings open and the mayor stands gaping on the threshold. Once again, she’s attired in a stark business suit, her hair perfectly coifed and her face fully made up — too much so — with that trademark red lipstick.

“I knew it,” she practically shouts at me. “I knew you were in league with my cousin.”

This is getting ridiculous and I’m in no mood this morning to be yelled at by a woman who left nail marks on my upper arm. “Who the hell is your cousin?” I retort.

Cassiopeia steps between us. “I am.”