Page 8 of A Violet Obsession

“You didn’t have to make my favorites.”

“You deserve it.” Dawn breaks off a small piece of cookie and pops it into her mouth, brushing the crumbs from her fingers. “You did a killer job on this catalogue.” She cocks her head at me. “You were really thorough with all the superstitious folklore surrounding the Veridian Amethyst.”

“It’s interesting. The amethyst has a colorful, if dubious, history,” I say wryly, thinking of some of the more outlandish claims people have made about the stone, now in a necklace setting, over the centuries. “I didn’t really think anyone would actually believe all the stories about its supernatural powers.” I make air quotes around the word.

Dawn huffs a laugh as she strolls to the locked cabinet on the far side of the room that houses the fine jewelry collection. “Me either, but I guess we were both wrong.” She shakes her head with a bemused expression on her face. “We worked for over six months on this auction. I knew it would be competitive, for the provenance alone, but I was shocked by how intense today was. There was definitely more at play than just owning a historic piece of jewelry.”

Intense is one word for it. Insane and unhinged are a couple of others that come to mind.

“Hmm,” I hum noncommittally as I use my utility knife to carefully cut the foam piece that fits at the top of the clock’s box.

Clairmont Fine Auctions usually hosts sedate events for wealthy collectors. Today, when the representative from the Transcendent Community got into a hysterical shouting match with the eccentric Swiss billionaire Alaric Voss, everyone was stunned. There was a moment when the slight man in neutral-colored, floor-length robes, looking every inch an acolyte of a powerful new age group, bid five million over the last bid for the amethyst necklace. I wasn’t sure who was going to pass out first, Alaric Voss or Dawn.

Thirty-five million dollars for a nondescript amethyst on a chain. Insane is definitely the right word.

The amethyst was the last lot in the auction this evening, and it was clear from the outset that Alaric Voss and Robe Guy were the most serious bidders. As the price climbed past anything remotely reasonable, the other early bidders dropped out, and the two men grew more animated.

But after the last bid was made, it was obvious Voss couldn’t match it. He started arguing with a man seated next to him, and by the time they stopped, everyone in the room knew from their shouted insults he’d already overbid what his trust had approved.

Voss was livid. Storming to the door, he stopped and pointed a finger at the robed man. “Tell that crystal freak this isn’t over.”

Now, several hours later, everyone is gone, and it’s peaceful again. I’m working through the lots that need to be shipped while Dawn finishes the sales paperwork. Tomorrow Robe Guy is coming back in person to courier the necklace to its new owner. He’d left strict demands that the amethyst stay locked in the jewel cabinet until then.

Go home.

I’m so shocked by the whisper after so many years of silence that I slice the edge of my finger.

The cut is forgotten, though, when the familiar feel of tingling starts in my fingertips.

“Fuck,” I mutter, sticking my thumb in my mouth.

“Language.” Dawn frowns from across the room.

“Sorry.” The apology is automatic. I know Dawn is trying to help me by smoothing my rough pieces, as she calls them, but it’s still annoying.

“Is it bad?” She tugs my hand away to examine the thin slice. “Let’s get you fixed up.”

Marching to her purse again, she pulls out a Band-Aid. For a woman who doesn’t have children, she and her purse of a thousand treasures remind me of my mom. A sharp pang strikes behind my sternum, but thankfully, it’s no longer accompanied by the anger I felt for years after I discovered what my parents had done.

After wrapping my cut, Dawn studies my face. “Are you having trouble sleeping again? Did you tell Dr. Williams?”

I keep my face neutral. Sometimes Dawn forgets that, even though she and her husband Trevor have looked out for me the last several years, I’m not a child. I’m grateful Trevor, my former high school counselor, kept in touch after I left school. He’d encouraged me to get a degree and helped me find this job through his wife. They’d even connected me with Dawn’s former roommate, Dr. Williams.

But neither of them was good with boundaries.

Like real parents. The thought sends another pang through my chest.

“I’m sleeping great,” I lie.

Over the last month, my nightmares have returned, and the only thing that lets me sleep are the guided sleep meditations Dr. Williams created for me.

Thank god, Dawn doesn’t know about those. How embarrassing. I’m twenty-four and can’t sleep without someone’s voice in my head telling me it’s safe to close my eyes.

Dawn frowns, still studying what I know are circles under my eyes. “Don’t stay late. Some of these items don’t even need to be mailed until Thursday… And make sure one of the guards walks you to your car.”

“I will,” I assure her, thankful she didn’t notice the absence of my car in the parking lot, because I don’t need another lecture on budgeting. Budgeting isn’t my problem. Living in Atlanta on what I earn is. So, getting my transmission fixed is going to take a minute.

“That dress is darling, by the way.” Her lips tip on one side. “I should have had you model the necklace during the auction, instead of having it on the stand.” She waves a hand up and down my long dress. “It’s very medieval maiden-esque with that neckline and corset look. It would have been perfect.” She giggles, and I force a smile. I know Dawn wants me to dress more ‘professionally’. Translation… slim cuts and muted colors, like she prefers.