Bells On Her Toes (Psychic Seasons Read online

  Contents

  Title

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Epilogue

  Links Amazon

  Excerpt of Cat Killed A Rat

  Bells On Her Toes

  by ReGina Welling

  COPYRIGHT NOTICE

  © 2014 ReGina Welling.

  All Rights Reserved, worldwide.

  No part of this book or any of its contents may be reproduced, copied, modified or adapted, without the prior written consent of the author, unless otherwise indicated for stand-alone materials.

  Chapter 1

  One year ago

  And they lived happily ever after.

  Okay, so maybe what the author actually said was that the couple happily climbed into bed together, but Gustavia Roman knew the happily ever after was implied. Or was it inferred? She sometimes got those two words mixed up.

  Picking up her cup of herbal tea, she inhaled its minty, green scent then savored a mouthful before turning off her E-reader.

  It’s funny, she thought, how the bad guys from fairy tales have been replaced by the mundane trials of life in contemporary stories. Death, finances and ego have all ousted the evil queen. At least the prince was still handsome and sometimes even charming.

  Hopefully her prince would come along soon. Honestly, he didn’t have to be a prince; she could be just as happy with a frog as long as he had certain attributes. He had to be fun, stable, articulate, good with kids and, hey, there was nothing wrong with wishing for a guy with a great body. Oh, and he had to be willing to dance. Gustavia loved to dance. He didn’t even have to be good at it, just so long as he got out there and moved around a little.

  In order to put her desire out into the universe, Gustavia selected a nice white pillar candle and selecting the fingernail cleaning utensil from her manicure kit, carved her frog prince’s description into it. Then, she lit the candle to send her wish wafting into the ether. Trusting that she had done her part to set the gears in motion she continued on with her morning routine.

  Pulling on a pair of yoga pants and a loose, cotton tee that said, Cereal Killer across the front, she stepped into the peaceful oasis of her backyard garden. Sunflowers lined the fenced in border of her property, towering over plantings of vibrantly colored lilies, larkspur and Iris. Two mature trees, an oak and a maple, cast dappled pools of shade for those plants that like to keep their feet cool in the summer.

  In addition to floral plantings, she’d added beds of vegetables and herbs, enough to fill her table with good things to eat.

  Off to the left stood a little potting shed surrounded by peonies, a few late bloomers still blossoming, their blood red heads bowed down by their own weight scenting the air. Created out of reclaimed materials, she and her best friend Julie had built the shed, roofing it with a sheet of corrugated metal that played heavenly music when it rained. Plastic barrels, also reclaimed and faux painted to look like weathered wood held rainwater to be used for dry weather irrigation.

  This year’s project would be an outdoor, solar rainwater shower. She’d already picked up a long, coiled length of black plastic tubing and attached it to the roof of the potting shed. One end she fitted with a large funnel mounted on a stand she’d found at the Salvation Army that had only needed a slight modification to work for her intended purpose. On the other end of the tubing, she used several plumbing adapters to fit it out with a shower head. The coiled tubing, filled by the funnel when it rained, heated by the sun, held enough water for a decent shower and was plenty warm. The only thing left to finish the project was to add an enclosure and some sort of drainage system that would divert the water into one of the flower beds. No use in wasting it.

  She liked the satisfaction of creating, building something from nothing and by using recycled materials; she did her part to reduce waste. It was a complete win, in her opinion.

  After making the rounds with her clippers and throwing the dead heads into the compost pile, Gustavia chose a spot near a hedge of fragrant roses and began her workout with a sun salutation. Then, she ramped it up by running through a series of Krav Maga moves that left her feeling toned and full of energy. The combination of peaceful stretches and aggressive kicks, punches and spins, she felt, balanced her out, prepared her for whatever the day might bring. As always, she hoped for peace but prepared for war.

  _,.-'~'-.,_

  “Ember circled the village three times, dipping his wings at his new friends below. He was sad to be leaving, but he flew on toward night and his next adventure and if a tear fell across his scales, he never told another soul.”

  As she finished reading these words aloud, Gustavia looked up at the faces of the children who had been listening to her with rapt attention. It wasn’t just her words they found utterly fascinating; this woman was a feast for young eyes. With rings on every finger, strings of beads around her neck sparkling in the light and bells entwined in the complex arrangement of her braids, she jingled and tinkled musically with each movement. But it was the warmth of her gaze that made them feel safe and loved. It was both the woman and her books that drew them to her readings.

  She sat in the corner of the small town library looking at a sea of faces, both children and adults filled the space. Quite a turnout for a Thursday afternoon. She hadn’t expected so many.

  “Did you like the story?” she asked.

  “Yes, Miss Gustavia,” they chorused.

  Gustavia reached behind her for the box of books she brought to these library readings and began passing out copies to each child. As a prolific author of children’s books, she made a comfortable enough living but these moments were the true payoff. There was nothing like the feeling of bringing joy to a child, it was something money just couldn’t buy.

  When all of the children had returned to their seats, Gustavia realized one little girl had not come forward for a book. She still sat in her chair, eyes downcast, red-faced, every line of her body exuding sadness. Recognizing chronic shyness since it was something she’d had to overcome herself, Gustavia decided there was no way this child would leave without a book.

  With five minutes left in her allotted hour, she asked the kids if they had any questions, this was her favorite part of the reading. Their questions often provided her with new perspectives and priceless insights into her characters.

  “Why was Ember purple? He’s a boy dragon and everyone knows boy dragons are green.” The first question came from a boy of six whose mobile features had already perfected a look of scorn. Probably a future banker.

  “Because, just like people, dragons come in many colors,” she smiled as she answered, “and did you know that purple is the color of royalty? Kings once wore purple robes in case you were thinking it’s not a manly enough shade for a dragon.” The look of scorn softened to one of speculation.

  “Why wasn’t there a princess in the story, usually if there’s dragons there’s princesses.” The next question came from a little girl weari
ng a Cinderella tee shirt.

  “Because there are more dragons than there are princesses and purple dragons don’t care about titles, especially when they are the adventuring type.” That seemed to satisfy the child.

  The shy little girl lifted her head with a look of longing on her face that told Gustavia she desperately wanted to ask a question.

  Instead, biting her lip in frustration, she looked away. The father sat next to the child, face tensed with despair. Intense brown eyes behind a pair of studious wire rimmed glasses turned toward Gustavia, seeming to beg for something even he was unable to define. A brief moment of eye contact showed his pain.

  Hunched in her chair, long blond hair caught in a clumsily wrought tail, the little girl stared at the floor, then every so often flicked a glance up at Gustavia with longing in her eyes. She wanted to participate, was aching to ask a question but, instead was so caught up in shyness or fear that every time her shell began to crack a little, some inner struggle pulled her back

  The father watched her battle indecision and again turn her head away, and this time when his eyes met Gustavia’s she tried to communicate her compassion and understanding, judging she had been successful when she saw his shoulders relax the tiniest bit.

  “One last question and then it’s time to go,” she said.

  “Is there going to be another story about Ember?”

  “Yes, I think there will be another story. Ember likes his adventures and so do I. Now, that’s all the time we have for today. Thank you for listening to my story and I hope to see you again soon.” Catching the eye of the shy girl’s father she mouthed, “Stay” and saw his answering nod.

  As everyone else filed out, Gustavia shook hands and accepted kind words from the parents while taking the time to say a fond goodbye to every child. Then she turned to the father and daughter who remained.

  Sitting next to the girl, she leaned down to make eye contact and said gently, “I think you had a question. Everyone else is gone, why don’t you ask it now?”

  The girl looked around and then soberly asked, “Why didn’t Ember have a mommy?” Her question revealed there was a great deal more than simply shyness keeping this adorable child from speaking up, there was also a deep, intense sadness lurking in her eyes.

  “That’s a really good question. When dragons go on adventures it’s because they’re old enough to be away from their mommies.”

  “If he goes too far away, won’t his mommy get lost? My mommy got lost, I miss her”.

  Understanding flashed through Gustavia, her heart nearly breaking with sympathy for this little girl and for the father who was struggling to deal with a complex series of emotions. In a peripheral way, she realized that he was attractive. Frog prince attractive, in other words, just her type. Though this wasn’t the moment to be thinking about how he looked. He needed help; she could see he was sinking and everything in her yearned to throw him a lifeline if she could.

  “I’m very sorry about your mommy, and I’m sure she misses you, too. What is your name, sweetie?”

  “Samantha.”

  “Well, Samantha,” already halfway in love with this child, Gustavia took the girl’s small hand in her own, looked squarely into those big brown eyes and tried to find the right words. “I know it’s very sad that your mommy is gone but it’s okay to feel sad as long as you try and feel happy sometimes, too. Mommies, even mommies who are lost, always want their little girls to be happy.”

  “Would Ember’s mommy want him to be happy if she was lost?”

  “She would want her son to be happy, even if she knew he would still miss her. Mothers always want the best for their children, even when sad things happen.”

  “So my mommy would want me to be happy sometimes, too?” Samantha repeated Gustavia’s advice.

  Gustavia, heartbroken and wanting to provide what comfort she could, squeezed Samantha’s hand gently in both of her own, caressing the soft, petal pink skin. “Yes, because she loved you and she wouldn’t want you to be sad all the time.”

  “Okay,” Samantha took a deep breath and sat up a little straighter, some of the sadness falling away, “Okay” she repeated, nodding her head with resolve.

  Because there didn’t seem to be anything more to say and because both she and the girl’s father were nearly in tears, Gustavia scribbled something inside the front cover and handed the girl a book before giving her a big hug. As she did, Samantha’s father caught her eye and whispered, “Thank you.” Reaching out, she gave his arm a quick squeeze. She noticed he, too, was standing a bit straighter.

  Watching the pair of them walk out of the library, Gustavia sighed then conjured up a vision of the two bathed in the white, healing, light and protection she believed the universe provide to those who asked for it. Then, turning her attention back to the task at hand, she helped the library staff put the room to rights and gathered her things. Meanwhile, in the back of her mind, a new story was composing itself, a story about Ember and his lost mother.

  _,.-'~'-.,_

  At the exact moment Gustavia’s wishing candle had guttered and gone out, signifying the end of the ritual, Finn Kent had been sitting down to breakfast with his daughter. Another silent breakfast. Another day when nine year old Samantha had, so far, remained essentially mute.

  Each day, as she became more withdrawn, he feared she might stop speaking altogether. It was worse than ever as anniversary of her mother’s death approached. He was at his wits end. Yesterday she had spoken only once, in little more than a whisper, to request a particular bed time story.

  Sam liked to read. Lila had always said her daughter was born with the bookworm gene.

  Right now, she was addicted to a series of books by someone named Miss Gustavia. Her favorites were the ones about the wicked witch raising her poor, innocent granddaughter. There were four books in that series and he knew she had read them over and over. So had he.

  Bed time stories were one of their favorite activities. Recently the author had released the first book in a new series about a dragon named Ember and next week Miss Gustavia was scheduled to do a reading at the local library.

  Finn had already built the time into his work schedule to take Samantha to the reading. He had a wild idea that this would give her something to look forward to and maybe get her talking again. It was odd to hope that a chance meeting with some stranger in a library might help turn things around but he was desperate.

  “Anything on your schedule for next Thursday?” He asked. Sam glanced at him, eyes wide. She’d heard him talking to Grandma about scheduling a meeting with a child psychologist and then done a web search to see what that might mean. It was a doctor who would want to talk with her. Worse, the doctor would want Samantha to do most of the talking.

  “Did you hear me, Sam?” She shrugged then shook her head.

  “I said: how would you like to meet Miss Gustavia next Thursday?” He watched her carefully, trying to gauge her reaction.

  Sam’s head lifted and he could see the excitement begin to steal over her as she realized exactly what he had asked.

  “Miss Gustavia? Oh, yes please.” Five words. Five short words in a row. The most words at one time all week. He was on the right track. Thursday couldn’t come soon enough for him but, in the meantime, he planned to build on that foundation of excitement, see if he could get more out of her.

  Things were looking up.

  Chapter 2

  Present Day

  “You’ve already met him, the cards don’t lie.” Kat tapped a fingernail on the two of cups while Gustavia, usually the picture of patience and good will, rolled her eyes then immediately felt bad even though she knew the psychic couldn’t see the gesture.

  Kat was blind.

  Traumatized as a teenager when her psychic gift allowed her to see spirits, Kat had inexplicably begun to lose her vision. Now, diagnosed with a form of hysterical blindness, she used a tarot deck embossed with braille to give readings.

  “I think I
would have remembered meeting my soul mate,” Gustavia argued with the woman who was one of her closest friends, “and I didn’t come here to get a reading about my love life, or my lack of one.” Sweeping up the cards laid in a cross pattern on the table, frustration sharpening each motion, she reshuffled them back into the deck, cut the cards and handed them to Kat asking her to lay them out again.

  The sign on the front of her door said Madame Zephyr, Psychic Readings; but Kathleen Canton, Kat to her friends, was not the stereotypical psychic. Sitting at the table in her sunny, lavender-scented dining room, the twenty-something woman, dark hair falling around her face, did not give off an other-worldly vibe.

  Gustavia, dressed in a floaty skirt in a stylized floral pattern, chunky sandals showing off a series of toe rings, draped in beaded necklaces and wearing bells woven into her hair, did fit the part.

  Over the past three months Gustavia and Kat had become embroiled in an adventure of sorts. It all started when Gustavia brought her best friend Julie in for a reading that had been more than any of them bargained for. Kat had channeled Julie’s grandmother, Estelle, and also her great grandfather, Julius, the spirits sending them all on a quest for a cache of hidden family heirlooms. Aura reader, Amethyst, had been drawn into the intrigue and so had journalist turned historian, Tyler Kingsley.

  By the time the dust settled, Julie and Tyler were engaged; the family silver had been found; Julie’s ex fiancé, who turned out to be a con man, was on the run; and they’d learned there were three more caches hidden somewhere in the house.

  For Kat, the most surprising development occurred when her vision returned each time she channeled Estelle. This confirmed her doctor’s diagnosis of hysterical blindness and gave her hope that somehow, someday, she would see again.

  “Tarot always shows what is most needed, rather than what is most wished for,” Kat explained with a mixture of exasperation and humor, since Gustavia’s past three readings had centered on her love life no matter what question she had asked. “Are you sure you don’t remember meeting someone? You meet a lot of people when you do readings and other promotions, maybe he attended one of them.”