Page 23 of Saving Saul

I type his name—Saul Mensah—into the search bar, combing through the results. I get his net worth, rugby stats, and a placeholder for a restaurant he planned to open,Gold Coast. But nothing about his life now. No social media, no updates, nothing tangible.

As I search, my gaze drifts to the cabinet in the corner of my living room. Mama’s pearls gleam faintly in the dark, nestled alongside my father’s saxophone and other family heirlooms. The memory of her words from the dream plays in my mind:The path to love is within.

Maybe it’s time to lean into the stories Grandmère used to tell, the ones about faith, love, and ancestral power.

I refuse to let another person vanish on me without answers. My mother’s haunting is enough; I don’t need another.

It’s time to call in reinforcements.

Walking back to the counter, I pick up my phone and sip my tea before speaking, “Hey Siri, call Carissa.”

A VISIT WITH THE ANCESTORS

TESSA

Café Amaretto isground zero when Carissa and I need to devise a plan.

It’s our spot—a place where everything feels possible, even when the rest of the world is falling apart. When I called her and said I needed to find Saul, she didn’t hesitate.

“Meet me at Amaretto when they open,” she said, her voice steady but laced with concern. She didn’t ask for details, and I was grateful for that.

At 7:00 am, I push open the café door, and the scent of roasted coffee and cinnamon wraps around me, momentarily easing the tension in my chest. But the reprieve doesn’t last. My nerves are shot, my mind is racing, and my body is running on fumes. I’m barely holding myself together, like a frayed rope about to snap.

Carissa’s already there, sitting in our usual corner by the window. Her smile is as steady as the Mississippi, but her brows knit together in worry when she spots me.

“Hey, girl,” she greets, standing to pull me into a hug. Her arms feel strong and grounding, but I can tell she’s assessing me, taking in the dark circles under my eyes and the jittery way I’m gripping my purse strap.

“Hey,” I mumble, sliding into the chair across from her. My smile feels stiff, forced, and entirely unconvincing. My hands won’t stop trembling, so I tuck them into my lap, hoping she doesn’t notice.

Carissa sits back down, her latte cradled between her palms. Her dark eyes are sharp as they scan my face, and I know there’s no hiding from her. “All right, spill it, Tessa. What’s got you looking like you haven’t slept in a week?”

I laugh weakly, the sound hollow even to my ears. “Because I haven’t,” I admit, running a hand through my tangled curls. “Every night, it’s the same. Saul’s in my dreams, and I think he’s in trouble, Carissa. He might need me.”

Her expression shifts, her brows drawing together in both confusion and concern. “Need you how? Tessa, we’ve talked about this. Saul stood you up. He’s gone. You don’t owe him anything.” Her tone is firm, but there’s a softness in her eyes, a warmth that reminds me she’s here because she cares.

I shake my head, the motion too quick, too frantic. “It’s not about owing him, Carissa. These dreams... they’re not just dreams. They feel real. Like he’s reaching out to me, begging me to help him. And then there’s Mama. She’s in them too, telling me I have the power to save him.”

Carissa’s eyes widen, and she leans forward, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “Tessa, you’re not making any sense. You’re exhausted, girl. You look like you’re about to drop. When was the last time you ate? Or slept for more than an hour at a time?”

I press my palms against the table, trying to keep them steady. “I’m fine, Carissa,” I lie, even though we both know it’s not true. “I just... I need to figure out what these dreams mean. I need to find Saul.”

Her lips press into a thin line, and she sighs heavily. “Tessa, listen to me. You’re running yourself ragged over a man who leftyou. And now you’re talking about dreams like they’re gospel truth. I’m worried about you, girl. Why don’t you come to stay with me tonight and then go with me to a party at Crescent Hall on Saturday? You need to get out of your head for a bit. It’s the British Comicon’s afterparty. You know we love all things British. Bridgerton, Bond. Bronte.”

Tears prick at the corners of my eyes, but I blink them and chuckle.That we do.“I’ll think about it.” I take a deep sigh and tap my fingers on the table.”You think I’m nuts, don’t you?”

“No,” she says immediately, her voice softening. She grabs my hands to stop the tapping. “I think you’re overwhelmed. And I think you’re chasing answers because you’re trying to make sense of everything that’s happened. But you can’t keep running on empty, Tessa. You need to stop this obsession with him; it’s unhealthy.”

“I can’t,” I whisper, my voice breaking. I pick at the pearls around my neck and note how warm they are. “Not until I know he’s okay. I feel it, Carissa. He’s out there, and something is wrong. The dreams are so dark. I can’t just ignore that.”

Carissa’s eyes land on the necklace around my throat. Her expression softens, and her voice drops. “Your mother’s pearls,” she murmurs. “You always said it was just an old family story.”

“Maybe it’s more than that.” My fingers find the familiar beads, tracing their smooth surface. “Daddy used to say the women in Mama’s bloodline were priestesses. Protectors. He swore these pearls carried power—gris-gris from the holy. I always thought it was a myth, but now... I don’t know. It’s like they led me to Saul and want to lead me again.”

Carissa frowns. “How does an old necklace do that?”

I swallow, rubbing my thumb over the center pearl, feeling how it hums. “They react,” I say slowly, thinking back to every time the warmth has flared against my skin. “Whenever I need to make a decision about Saul, or when I can’t stop thinking abouthim, they heat up—sometimes just a little, sometimes enough to feel like fire.”

Carissa tilts her head, observing me. “Fire? Girl, are you saying your pearls burn you if they don’t like your choices?”

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