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Seventeen
I floated peacefully alone for the next hour before being yanked from my reverie by a powerful boom. Scrambling from the pond, I stood at the edge of the water and scanned the surrounding jungle.
High above the trees in the distance, smoke rose into the air in thick, choking plumes, turning the sky an ominous dark gray.
I squeezed the blue stone still in my palm and woke up safe and sound back in my own bed.
Once again, some sort of catastrophe had penetrated my dreams. And I didn’t care what Roarke said… It was starting to feel like there was more to it than he was letting on.
Dawn finally broke in the real world, and I flipped on the TV, nestling under the blanket and intent on watching every story that flashed across the screen.
After a few commercial breaks, the reporter reappeared. “And in other news, three tourists were pulled from the North Rim of the Grand Canyon yesterday after a gust of up to sixty-five miles per hour blew them from the trail, ending their lives.
I gasped. There were three?
Clutching the blanket to my chest, I waited for the next report. A knot formed in my throat as images of the Amazon rainforest appeared, along with huge swaths of barren land and burning trees.
“Protests continue in the jungles of South America as developers threaten the region with a massive construction push that’s leading to unimaginable deforestation,” the lady reported.
Tears burned my eyes as I stared at alternating images of birds and all manner of wildlife scrambling to survive as their habitats were torn to shreds, floods raging where trees no longer stood in their way, the soil eroding into dangerous crevices as the water rushed toward a village below, and trucks and trailers filled with logs mutilating the ground as they rolled through the jungle on their unforgiving, oversized tires.
I was heartbroken, thinking back to the beautiful place in my dream, and I didn’t understand why the Weaver couldn’t do anything about it. Why we couldn’t do anything about it.
I pushed from the couch, desperate to put my anger to good use.
Grabbing a bundle of lavender from the rafters in the back room, I stomped to my altar and lit the white candle already standing at attention in its golden base.
Goddess of all, hear my plea. Sprinkle peace onto the world I see. Calm and soothe the hearts of man, bringing balance back to the land.
I crushed the lavender between my palms, letting the petals float down into the candle’s flame. Sparks popped and snapped as the dried flowers burned, releasing the magic of my rushed spell.
I wasn’t sure if what I’d done would help in the grand scheme of things, but I couldn’t just sit here and do nothing. I at least had to try to help.
I left the candle burning as I reclaimed my seat on the couch, waiting to see the next set of reports as they came around. Within the next half hour, an update filled the screen, and I cheered internally. Barricades had been erected at the site of the commercial loggers in South America, halting further progress while new negotiations took place.
Whether it had anything to do with me, I wasn’t sure. But it certainly felt good nonetheless.
Sunlight filtered through the double-pane windows at the front of the house, brightening the cottage and lifting my mood even further. I snatched Jenks up into my arms and spun around.
“What shall we do today, Mr. Jenkins? Hike through the woods, looking for mice? Venture to town and purchase a new apron? Or perhaps…” I let Jenks jump out of my arms as I went to look for the little black book I’d left in the other room. “We could run to the library and return this to Keelyn after all.”
A slight shock zapped my fingers, and I jerked back, dropping the book to the floor. Its spine hit hard and spilled open, revealing a drawing sprawled across the pages within.
I bent down and retrieved the book, inspecting the charcoal outline of a witch standing over a bubbling cauldron, and read the caption below it.
Agitha, the disgruntled witch who cursed a Weaver when she wasn’t chosen to be his queen.
“What in the world?” My knees gave out, and I dropped back onto the couch, crossing my legs and reading on.
Cursed to exist alone in the real world, the Weaver line has struggled to reproduce while being bound in the dreamscape ever since.
Struggled but succeeded, I thought as I stared at the tiny tome, realizing it had more secrets to share. If this were true, then it was why Roarke and I couldn’t be together in the real world. He’d said it was because of the “rules,” and I assumed he would have told me about a curse. Unless…
I walked back to my altar, marking my place in the small black book with the sprig of flowers that was left after my spell. Gripping the book tightly in hand, I grabbed my pendulum from the small drawer of the wooden box I kept it in. Positioning the hanging point of the rose quartz over the book, I focused my intent and asked my question.
Lord and Lady, guide my talisman with your highest light and tell me the truth. Does the Weaver know about his curse?
I felt the pendulum move in my hand and opened my eyes. It was swinging in the no direction, confirming my fears.
