Airion: Carrie: A Magical Psychic Series, #1

L.M. Halls

––––––––

WILL YOU BE READY WHEN THE WATERS RISE?

GET YOUR FREE DOWNLOAD OF

THE CHANGE: THE NEW NORMAL BOOK I

Your Free Copy is Waiting...

In this taut post-apocalyptic thriller, the results of climate change are here, now. Follow on a journey for survival of the body and our concept of humanity when everything that makes us human is gone.

Compelling, phenomenal and intriguing

Get your free copy of The Change

when you sign up to my VIP mailing list.

Get started here:

https://www.lmhalls.com/email.html

Copywright L.M. Halls 2015

––––––––

Special thanks to

my partner for his belief and love,

my parents for their boundless support of their crazy child,

and my wonderful friends, I love you.

1

Spring was coming, finally. Carrie could feel it in the air. There might be patches of snow here and there, but the Earth pulsated with the energy of buds ready to push to the surface.

I’m ready too, she said to the ground beneath her long, slim hand.

After a winter of setbacks, Carrie hoped that she would emerge from this forced hibernation about to bloom. She was not so sure; a fellow psychic and mentor had given her a reading just a few weeks earlier to guide her through what was to come. Jasmine was a blessing and kind to a fault. She tried to be gentle and optimistic, but Carrie could read the cards as well as anyone. They said her greatest asset moving forward would be her strength. This card of major life change indicated that more great challenges were ahead.

Um, Jasmine hesitated, you will a change in your career, and that can be exciting. 

No, said Carrie, it’s not.

Something was pushing her out of her job, and she hated it. For years, she had tried to find her 'place,' and now she finally felt that she was living her life’s mission. Every job had its ups and downs, but she had spent long hours establishing herself, and she was happy. Or had been. New employees came to the store and brought with them something that objected to her. Month by month she felt her accomplishments slipping away, and she felt powerless to fight. Would this spring bring her renewed energy to re-establish herself? She did not want to shrink off in desperation with only her strength to sustain her as she recreated herself yet again. Birds landed on the fence and stared at her, waiting. 

How did you know what I was thinking? Yes, there will be lots of seed today. 

She smelled the air, looking for a sign of what was to come, and ran her fingers through the damp brown grass. She knelt for a moment more over the soft ground, feeling the solid power beneath. She lived over a ley line, that sacred magical vein in the Earth that helped her connect to other worlds. In a few months, the activity of the dead would be palpable from the porch. Today she had to hold her hand close to feel the messages from her guides on the other side.

I will never leave this land, she thought.

She saw times in the future when developers would want to build in this part of town. She brushed those visions aside; this little chunk of land was separate from everything. She had nurtured and blessed everything within her fence, and when she sat out there, she could feel the presence of things others could not see.

Perhaps that was why she never felt alone, in fact, she preferred isolation from others. Just her, her animals, plants, and the spirit world were more than enough company to keep her fulfilled and happy. It was a habit that she had learned early on and, despite her best efforts to be social, she rarely left the house unless going to work.

Her childhood was lonely, and her imagination served as her friend and refuge as her family moved to some new forgotten county each year. She always found a space outside, away from others, to find joy and peace.

She could not blame her introversion solely on her transient upbringing. Carrie, like her grandmother, experienced the world in ways different from others. They had gifts that made them quiet, mysterious, and uncanny in their timing, but they came at a cost. In crowds, external emotions and knowledge flooded into their minds, making relationships difficult and, in some cases, unmanageable. One-on-one, however, the gifts showed their real power as understanding led to comfort and healing for those who they focused on.

Carrie’s family taught her how to hone her skills at an early age. They did not hide their anger and, even when they tried, her senses always revealed their bitter unhappiness. As years passed, she would search for the source of surface emotions, always to find pain, fear, and betrayal. Well, not always, she thought with a shiver; there were those whose lack of regret, whose stony lack of compassion, chilled her.

After many years of struggling to be ‘normal’ in Corporate America, she finally accepted her gifts as intrinsic and unchangeable as her green eyes. Since feeling other’s pain was her lot in life, she might as well get paid for it. Because she had been in a coven for years and knew the right people in the witchy field, the transition was seamless for her, the White Witch, the tricksy pixie.

She made her living at an occult bookstore that had been in the area for thirty years. If you were going to follow a metaphysical career path, the store was the place to do it. They called her a psychic, a loaded term that made her feel like a carny or a freak show act. She had college friends who were literally rocket scientists. They all had successful careers and made their parents proud. Her parents told friends that she was an entertainer, a term she liked less than psychic.

Still, her clients knew her and trusted her. Her classes attracted brilliant and beautiful students. This was enough. She was a spiritual counselor, helping people move forward in life. Helping people find peace; it was a good enough job for her. The owner renovated her room to her tastes with Kwan Yin, flowers, and purple covering the wall. They even let her put Hecate’s wheel on the wall. Purple, the color of spiritual connection, soothed her, and her careful placement of fabrics, crystals, and incense made the room a second home.

It’s so cool that you make sure people have, like, a transformational experience, a client once said.

What the fuck else are you paying for? Carrie answered. She handed the client the homework that would become his roadmap to happiness.

She did not miss the corporate events and razzmatazz. If people thought a psychic was a snake oil salesman, they hadn’t spent quality time with a CEO. She remembered the fancy cocktail parties with community leaders. They smiled and made small talk, while she saw their depression, infidelities, and insecurity. Rich, poor, successful, miserable—humans are all the same scared people inside. The coping mechanisms determined the veneer.

She might not have dental but, for the most part, she was her own boss, an independent contractor renting a room. She controlled her world, and she was happy. Her immersion into metaphysical circles exposed her to conversations that would have been inconceivable anywhere else. Diving into eclectic topics to teach in her classes helped her to understand who she was and what she was meant to be.

When she was younger, she was convinced that the universe had made a mistake. She couldn’t be a human being; it was clear to her how different she was. She would follow lights in the woods searching for the secret lair of the faeries, hoping that they would take her back. On summer solstices, she hid until late in the night waiting to see the fae on parade and follow them to the world where she belonged.

It amused her know to think about it, but the longing was not gone. She was pragmatic enough to know that a need to belong somewhere was her isolation and insecurity. Knowing this did not diminish her need for connection and, so far, she mainly felt that comfort in nature. She guessed that feeling out of place was the cost of being a psychic and a witch.

She had Ryan, and he was wonderful. Her lover and best friend, they had spent years making each other laugh. But he was both a scientist and an atheist; much of her world-view was fantastical in his eyes and her inner most thoughts were kept to herself.

As ridiculous as her childhood of chasing faeries was her belief that there was another man in her life. He was a ghost, a spirit, or something even more. Whatever he was, he followed her just out of her line of vision, always present, but always elusive. Still, there were those dreams at night and, sometimes, even in meditation, he dared to come closer. Even if she could not see the details of his face, she could see him, and she knew him from another life, another plane, something. Sometimes she even saw him reaching for her. The rational side of her said that this was her brain creating answers to subconscious issues. Still, another side of her could feel him calling out to her sometimes, just a veil away...

Laughing at her silliness, she ran her hands through the grass again and celebrated the coming spring. As she spread birdseed around the yard, she planned a meditation that she should have shared with her evening’s class. It was not her job anymore to spread seeds of love to bloom in the self and in the world.

Now there were no more classes. It still hurt to say it. The decision to stop teaching a few months ago was difficult; she missed her students, and they missed her. The new free time was a welcome change though, and she enjoyed rituals and meditations for herself alone. The pressure of monitoring students' experiences and sharing messages from the other side was draining. Worth it though, she thought. Even if she missed her classes, the activity in the store had given her no choice.

2

The previous fall had been intense, particularly October. Yes, the veils between the worlds were always thin this time of year, but that was not what had disturbed her. The owner forced her to move her classes from an empty, dedicated space into the center of the store. It too was on the ley line. One night, as she placed her hand on the floor in the middle of a ritual, she felt it shake from the energies swirling through her circle. She had tried to fumigate the store with different herbs before each class, but it became more and more difficult as shoppers lingered later and store staff tracked her movements. As her time to clean the energy of the space before her rituals grew razor thin, she fought the fear that something dark was coming through to join her sacred circles.

She was a Wiccan, dedicated to the Goddess and protected by angels. She had felt the presence of evil before, even worked with clients who embraced their dark side to a dangerous degree. But she had always felt safe in her skills and practices, strong enough to deflect the energy of others.

In November, everything changed. One morning she entered the store to find the manager in an irritable state. Abbie was not a warm, fuzzy person on the best of days, but today she was ready for a battle. Carrie called ‘good morning’ with warmth and went into her reading room to set up her crystals, fabric, and incense. As she started some meditation music playing, Abbie began the interrogation.

You must have had quite a class last night.

Oh, it was wonderful. They are such a beautiful group of people, Carrie answered carefully.

Digging around Abbie’s brain, Carrie struggled to find the source of the issue. She remembered her kind students cleaning the floor, why did Abbie feel that they had left a mess?

Did you use any of the store’s books last night? Abbie asked with a knowing smile.

No, just my own that I bring to class. Why do you ask?

Abbie and the owner often used aggressive tactics to get employees to admit some policy violation. Carrie preferred to address direct questions and avoid the game of cat and mouse. If she had done something wrong, she wanted Abbie tell to her so that she could apologize and adjust her behavior. She looked at Abbie pleading for her to get to the point.

Well, when I came in this morning all the books from the cases were on the floor. Abbie looked at her for a flicker of guilt. Instead, Carrie ran back into the store to look at the floor.

Oh, I already put them back up. There is nothing to clean up. Abbie was still looking for some sign of wrongdoing.

We did a meditation for peace last night. We even vacuumed the floor to make sure we didn’t leave cookie crumbs... Carrie stammered, and her fear was palpable. Her mind went immediately to the Dark Wizard’s rumored deal with evil that had somehow included the store, but she shut her mouth.

Carrie’s fear reinforced Abbie’s sense of authority, and she seemed surprised when Carrie suggested that they review the security cameras to see what happened. Abbie, satisfied, shrugged the incident off.

Well, it was just our ghost then, Abbie said laughing. Sometimes things just fall over or move in the night.

Carrie could not hide her discomfort, but Abbie knew that ghosts did not frighten Carrie.

You know we’re built on the ley line, Abbie added. Maybe there was some kind of tremor last night.

Yes, there was, thought Carrie, remembering the way her hand quivered on the floor. In silence, and with intent, she saged the store and then burned an unusual amount of frankincense.

Odd girl, thought Abbie. Nice enough, though.

When Carrie settled back in her room, she burned more incense and an Archangel Michael candle. Sure, there were coincidences, but the sense of unease from the previous night grew. She had some time before her first appointment and retreated into meditations of peace, not answers. She would get those soon enough, but right now she needed to be able to focus on clients.

As the day went on, it became clear that last night’s class would be Carrie’s last.

Regular clients came and went. Though the work was mentally tiring, she found joy in watching people grow stronger and happier. During a lull, Carrie retreated again into meditation to recharge her batteries and center. She found herself in her sacred spot and felt the peace of the stream, the trees, and birds. She sat down on the soft grass and enjoyed herself. She soon felt that she was not alone and recognized familiar presences that were sacred and she loved. For her, angels were messengers of the Divine and not confined to any specific religious practice. She smiled and turned to face Archangels Michael and Ariel. As she took their hands, she felt a pull in her solar plexus lifting her up to the clouds. This was unusual. When the clouds appeared to have a solid surface, she hoisted herself up so that she could stand with them.

We had to bring you here, Michael said before she could speak. There is no time. You must get out of the store now.

She opened her eyes, looked around her reading room, and heard a whistling in the distance that gave her chills. Without a word, she moved through the store, not pausing to look at who was whistling. She went to a safe spot she had made in a hidden corner of the parking lot. She could feel her heart racing. She stared up at the sun and focused on her breath to calm herself. It had been six months since she had received a similar warning. Who was the threat? She tried to remember the people in the store, but her gut told her it was best that she had not made eye contact.

An occult shop attracts all kinds of practitioners and, generally, she knew whom to avoid. If anyone particularly dark approached her, she called on Michael to protect her, and the customer left her alone. Since she had embraced her gifts, fear was not something she often felt for herself; she did not like it. She charged up her shields and walked back to the corner to look at the store. When she felt secure, she walked back and, as she got to the door, she passed a customer leaving. He looked at her, and from his dark, challenging smile, Carrie knew that he was the whistler. She said ‘hello’ and looked down as she glided past him back into the store and the safety of her room.

The rest of the day passed without incident and, when her shift was over, she was eager to get home. She needed the comfort of her apothecary. Usually she was not opposed to using a coffee grinder, but today was a day for the mortar and pestle. Her whole body pressed as she ground herbs for a protection incense. The variety of smells and textures soothed her nerves, and she knew here she was completely safe. She charged each herb in her palm, focusing on its unique powers, joining it with her own. She mixed them in her large wooden bowl, noticing the mosaic blues, browns, and grays. As she burned the fresh batch, she enjoyed the unique scents that would change as it went through the curing process. It would never smell like this again. Soon the oils and herbs would blend, forming a stronger, but less diverse, presence. While trying to detect individual odors in