“Ohh, that was good wine! Yes, bring that, but nothing else is necessary. When are you going to the barn?”
I look at the clock, suddenly panicked that I don’t even know what time it is. I let out a small sigh when I see that I didn’t sleep through my lesson. “In like an hour or so.”
“If you want to drop Hunter off here on your way, you can. Buster needs someone to play with. That dog is driving me crazy.”
“Probably because you let Dad name him Buster.”
Mom laughs. “It’s not the most original name, I’ll side with you there.”
“I’ll get dressed and will head over now.”
“I’ll see you soon then, honey. Love you.”
“Love you too,” I say and end the call. Sighing, I get up, raking my fingers through my messy hair as I walk into my bedroom. I change into boots and breaches, feed Romeo, and grab Hunter’s harness and leash.
My parents’ house is halfway between my little rented house and the barn, which is another point Mom has brought up a few times. I’d save on gas and time if I relented and moved back home. They live in an expensive neighborhood with gossipy neighbors who no doubt know me as the weird girl who talks about ghosts.
My phone buzzes with a text on my way over, but I don’t check it until I’m parked in the driveway. It’s from Mom, saying one of her patients is in the ER and she’s going to check on them. Hunter and I go inside through the backdoor, and I let him out into the fenced-in yard with my parents’ golden retriever, Buster. The dogs love each other and start wrestling and running around right away.
I go inside and head into the kitchen to find something to eat. A large cardboard box sits on the island counter, and I know it’s from my great-aunt Estelle as soon as I see the shipping label. Her tiny cursive handwriting is hard to read, and it always surprises me anyone was able to read it and get the box delivered to the right house.
I grab a knife from the block on the counter and slice open the packaging tape. There are messily wrapped presents inside the box, with bits of what looks like cat fur stuck to the tape. The presents for Harrison are always wrapped in green paper, and mine are in yellow. I set his aside and grab the smallest yellow package, ripping it open and revealing a deck of well-used tarot cards. In the middle of the cards, between the Three of Wands and The Lovers is a handwritten note. I have to hold it close to my face to be able to discern what Aunt Estelle wrote. I have no idea how anyone is able to write so small.
Anora-
Put these under your pillow on the first night of the full moon phase. Leave them there for seven days. Then they’ll be yours.
That’s a little strange and might be uncomfortable, but I plan to do it anyway. I set the cards on the counter and reach into the box, pulling out the next present, which is a pretty jewelry box. Like the cards, it’s old and worn. Stars and swirls are engraved in the dark wood, smoothed from years of being opened and closed. This just might be the most practical thing Aunt Estelle has ever given me. I open the box to see if the tarot cards will fit.
There’s a necklace inside, with a round silver pendant hanging off a delicate silver chain. A triple-moon is engraved into the middle of the pendant, and some sort of foreign language is etched around it. The symbol is familiar, though I have no idea why.
I stare at it for another moment, trying to place where I’ve seen this before. Giving up, I put the necklace on, tucking the pendant into my shirt and reach into the box, taking out the last present wrapped in yellow paper. I tear it open and tip my head. What the heck? It’s a Mason jar full of white powder. There’s no way this is a jar full of cocaine…right? Maybe it’s baking soda or powdered sugar, and I’ll find a recipe in the bottom of the box.
Carefully, I unscrew the lid and smell the powder. Definitely not sugar. It has a salty smell, which confuses me even more. I have no idea what cocaine smells like, and I’m not sure if I can trust a Google search to tell me one way or another.
“Whatever,” I mumble and screw the lid back on the jar. I set it on the counter and peer into the large box, looking at the last gift. It’s not wrapped in yellow paper, yet somehow I know it’s for me. I pick up whatever it is and slowly unwrap it from a shimmery blue scarf.
“The fuck?” I whisper, when the scarf falls to the ground and I’m left holding a dagger. Swallowing hard, I slowly pull the dagger from it’s sheath. Something that looks mysteriously like blood is splattered along the tip of the blade, and the same triple-moon symbol that’s on the pendent is etched into the blade right below the handle, which is plain, with a single Tiger’s Eye gemstone set into the pommel. I wrap my fingers around the hilt and turn the dagger over.
I hold my hand out, watching the sunlight flash across the shiny metal. I can’t explain it, but holding the dagger feels right. Inhaling, I turn it back over, staring at the triple-moon symbol engraved into the blade. Why is this so familiar? And why do I feel confident in wielding this thing? I can hardly cut an avocado in half without risking all five of my fingers. And speaking of fingers…I put one against the tip of the dagger, testing out just how sharp it really is. It would take little effort to break the skin.
The garage door that leads into the mudroom right off the kitchen opens, startling me. I feel the blade slice open my skin as I turn and see my brother walk into the kitchen. I bring my hand back, curling my finger into my palm to hide the blood. Harrison stops in his tracks, looking at the weapon in my hand. He raises his eyebrows and shakes his head, and then takes his shoes off and comes inside.
“I won’t ask,” he says and immediately goes to the fridge.
I bring my hand forward to inspect the damage. There’s no blood. No wound. I thought for sure I cut myself.
I put the dagger back in its sheath and set it on the counter. “Aunt Estelle sent it. You got presents too.”
“Yay,” he says unenthusiastically and pulls out the leftover spaghetti from last night. “More crap to throw away.”
“It’s not always crap. Though speaking of crap—hang on.” I grab the jar of white powder and unscrew the lid. “Any idea what this is?”
Harrison takes the jar, looking at it with consideration for a second before taking a pinch and rubbing it between his fingers. He brings it to his mouth and I grab his hand.
“You’re seriously about to lick that?”
“I’m trying to figure out what it is, right?”
I roll my eyes. “Sometimes I wonder how you’ve lived so long. It could be rat poison for all we know.”
Harrison nods. “True enough.” He wipes his hand on his pants and goes back to the food.
“It’s weird, isn’t it?” I start and put my presents from Aunt Estelle back in the box. “That she never forgets our birthday yet we’ve never even met her.”
“We’ve met her.”
“No, we haven’t.”
Harrison looks at me incredulously. “She used to babysit us.”
“No, she didn’t,” I insist.
“Yeah,” he replies slowly. “She did, back when we were still living in Michigan. Mom was finishing her residency and Dad had just started teaching at MSU.”
I stare at Harrison for a few seconds, waiting for him to laugh and tell me he’s joking. Because I have no memory of this.