Page 6 of A Medium Fate


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Nic grinned. “I guess the memories have transferred to you. Yes, that’s the story Grandma Andrews told me when she told me about the inheritance. I’d asked her the same questions. I knew you were happy in your Seattle life and didn’t want to come back.”

“Well, let’s just say I was in denial in my Seattle life. Happy being an idiot.” I held up my hand, warding off the questions about my relationship with David. Or the support. “It’s over, I don’t want to talk about it. What I want to do is start a new life here. I guess I’ve got the funding to start or buy a business now. How much of a problem are the aunts and uncles going to be? Do I need to hold off spending some of that money?”

Nic wrapped the empty vial and the small paintbrush in a white handkerchief and tucked it in his pocket. “I’ll have Trenton start a fire in the living room when I get home. This will be gone before nightfall. It’s tradition.”

“Thanks, I know you’ll handle it. I trust you.” I glanced around the desk making sure Grandma’s blood hadn’t leaked or dropped anywhere. “But what about the money?”

“That question is for our attorney. I’ll let him know we’re ready.” He went to the door to get Mr. Dean, as I sat back down. The food had helped me not pass out when the ceremony was performed, but now I was starving. A plate full of croissants sat on Mr. Dean’s desk, and I took one and ripped open to eat the buttery insides. Then I ate another.

I glanced at my hand where Nic had drawn the family symbol, but the blood was gone. Instead, I now had a cute tattoo of a lion. Our family mascot. Family lore said our blood line was out of Romania, part of the roving bands of gypsies that caravanned around Europe. I hadn’t ever traced our history, but now, with so much in my head, memories from one practitioner to the next, lifetime after lifetime maybe I’d write it down in case I had a daughter. Or worse, in case I didn’t.

“Everything taken care of then?” Mr. Dean asked as he studied me. I wasn’t sure what he was looking for, maybe a second head, but I felt the same as I had before we’d come into his office. Maybe a tad less sad since I could feel Grandma’s presence in the back of my mind. The locket had kept her and Grandpa near my heart, but this level of connection felt like she was standing behind me.

“Yes, we’re done. However, Eddie and I would like to know about the inheritance process. Do you think the relatives have a chance at breaking the will?” Nic sat next to me.

Mr. Dean crossed the room and sat at his desk. I got the feeling he was using it as a shield against me. He knew the power we, or I guess, I now held. And it scared him. Even though he’d been the family lawyer for years. And before that, his father had been our attorney. And his grandfather. When he retired, the family attorney role would pass to the next generation. It was in our contract with the Dean family. They were well compensated for their loyalty. I didn’t want him to be frightened of any of us. Unless you counted Uncle Arthur. He was scary.

A smile crossed Nic’s face and I realized he’d been listening to my thoughts. I broke the connection and put up a wall. Something I needed to do every morning for the rest of my life. A wall to protect my thoughts as well as those of my ancestors I’d just been given.

I refocused on what Mr. Dean was saying.

“The judge has already reviewed the will and the facts in the case. There’s no reason to break the will or change the inheritance. They can sue, but that won’t cost you anything. We’ll get our money from the losing side and believe me, they will lose. Your grandfather’s will was contested by your uncle a few years ago when everything went to your grandmother except for the business which went to Nic. He lost then. He’ll lose again. And, they had more ammunition back then since your uncle worked in the business for so many years.” He set a packet of papers in front of each of us. “Time to sign and make this all legal. Then, Ms. Cayce, you can spend the money anyway you want to.”

I started to sign. Without looking up, I said, “I’m going to buy an antique shop. Do you know any brokers that specialize in that type of business? I’d love to acquire one on Royal if possible.”

He drummed his fingers on the desk. Then he opened a drawer and pulled out a card. He slid it across the desk toward her. “I don’t know any that are currently for sale, but I hear rumors. Call Daniella. She’s the best in town. She’ll find you a shop.”

4

Two weeks later, I found myself sitting at Café Du Monde waiting for Danielle LaCrosse once again. I was beginning to think it might be months, maybe years, before the right shop came available at a price I wanted to pay. Yes, I had the money to buy the two overpriced shops I’d seen so far, but that was the problem. People in the New Orleans area saw my name and added a couple of zeros to the price before I walked in the door. And that was with me using my grandmother’s maiden name. The Ardronic/Cayce name dripped power and money in this town. Unfortunately, I wasn’t ready to spend money like my aunts and uncles did. Sue me for being practical.

And there was the little thing about accepting Grandma’s Andrew’s powers. Now, everywhere I went, a ghost wanted to chat or file a grievance about their afterlife. Like I could control the fact that the current residents of a local French Quarter building were tearing out the wallpaper and painting the living area black. Design wise, I agreed with the ghost I’d met on yesterday’s walk on the lack of class for the change. Practically, there was nothing I could do to make the new, living, owners’ change their mind. Except drop off a card with my design company website and phone number.

I informed the ghost that if they called, I would try to guide them away from the changes, but that was all I could do. The woman had disappeared in a huff and I hadn’t received a call from the misguided homeowners.

Today, a ghost sat next to me at my table while I waited for Danielle to arrive. I was trying to read as I let my coffee cool from the just short of surface of the sun temperature the café served it to almost drinkable. The ghost was enjoying the smells and trying to get me to order beignets.

“Just one.” The older woman in aI Love Nolat-shirt suggested. She’d told me her name was Helen and she’d been hanging around the café for the last year. “I didn’t even get to eat one when Frank and I came here on vacation. I had a heart attack before the food was even served.”

I looked up from the book, a thriller from an author I loved. “If the waitress comes by before Danielle gets here, I’ll order one. But please, let me read.”

She clapped her hands in joy and the breeze from her excitement blew a napkin off my table and onto the next table crowded nearby. The man at the table grabbed it and handed it back to me. “That’s the first puff of wind I’ve felt since I sat down in this tent.”

“Thanks, it was probably from the fans.” I took the napkin and pointed upward to the fans that were slowly circulating but not making much of an effort to cool down the overcrowded tent.

He looked upward and frowned, but then nodded and went back to chatting with the woman next to him.

I frowned at my table companion, and she laughed. “Sorry, I forget that not everyone can see me. How come you can see me? Are you related to Marie LaBoo?” The ghost continued to chatter. “I did get to see her tomb in St Louis Cemetery #1. We went there the morning I died. Maybe I got heat stroke.”

“It’s Marie Laveau you’re thinking of. According to legend, she was the voodoo queen of New Orleans in the 1800’s. She was also an herbalist and midwife. Basically, she served as the local doctor of the times, but everyone puts supernatural powers on things they don’t understand. Especially when a woman is healing sick people.” I pointed to my earbud as the man from the other table stared at me for talking to myself. He nodded and smiled. At least with modern technology I didn’t look like I was talking to voices when I got into a public discussion with a ghost.

Danielle arrived before the waitress much to Helen’s dismay. I tucked the book away and picked up my still hot cup of coffee and went to meet her. “I’m ready if you are.”

The business consultant gave me a quick hug and nodded to my cup. “The last time I had coffee here, I burned my tongue and couldn’t taste anything for three days.”

“It’s still hot and I’ve been here since nine.” Which had been our agreed upon meeting time. Now it was twenty minutes later. Things moved slower in the South. We had ten minutes to walk to the antique shop.

“I called Matty Goldstein and told him we might be a little late. He’s fine with it. Of course, I need to warn you. He puts the place up for sale every few years and gets offers, but he never sells. I think he uses the offers to support his bank financing. I hear the place is overextended on its loans. So maybe this time, he really wants to sell. But I wouldn’t bet on it.” Danielle walked on the sidewalk and through the crowd of tourists moving toward Jackson Square. “We can walk faster to the shop than try to find a cab.”

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