Page 13 of Solstice

“Maybe that part of your journey is done, Dori. You lived in a big city, you experienced big money, big success, learned whatever it was you were supposed to learn from all that.

Maybe this is a new phase for you. A new journey. Maybe you’re not supposed to know why just yet. Maybe there isn’t any why. Maybe it just is because it is. And maybe if you’d stop fighting it so hard, you could enjoy it a little.”

She sat there staring at him. He might claim he hadn’t changed, but he clearly had. “What have you been doing the past ten years, Jason, studying with a Tibetan monk?”

He shrugged. “You didn’t lose as much as you think you did,” he said. “You still have a home. You still have a car. You still have a job. Change your perception a little. I know you Wiccans are all into being in control of your own lives, but fate isn’t gonna be cheated out of playing a role. Can’t you take a page from another book? Let go and let Goddess or something?”

“Five minutes are up,” Mort called. “C’mon, Dori, you have customers.”

Dori got to her feet, though she felt her head spinning. Five minutes with a small-town cop, and suddenly she was questioning everything.

Everything.

“Here’s a tip for you, Dori,” he said. “At the craft fair, bring something to sell. Mark it up the same amount you usually charge for a reading and give a free reading away with every purchase.”

She frowned at him. “So I wouldn’t be charging for the readings.”

“And you wouldn’t have to use the disclaimer.” He gave her a wink, picked up his sandwich and dug in.

Tilting her head, she studied him. She had never seen this side of him before. Open-minded, accepting, even…spiritual, though she doubted he would call it that. “Thank you, Jason.”

“My pleasure. Now, go. Mort’s glaring at you.”

She glanced at her employer, sighed and got back to work.

Jason finished his sandwich and left, but his words stayed with her all day. She had been fighting this; he was right about that. But since when did a small-town cop spout wisdom like a spiritual guru? It was as if he’d looked right inside her soul and diagnosed the problem. Was it possible she’d missed something so simple?

And God, he had kept her letter. She must have meant so much more to him than she had ever realized. And she’d walked away, left him with barely an explanation. He should hate her for that. But he didn’t.

When her shift ended, she stepped out of the diner and into the cold air. Christmas carols wafted from every store and business she passed. Sister Krissie’s Bar and Grill, the best restaurant in town, was filling up with hungry customers, and every time the door opened, strains from Manheim Steamroller wafted out into the streets. As she passed BK’s Grocery, a stream of bundled children came out with foil-wrapped chocolate Santas in their mittened hands, as their harried mom tried to herd them toward the car while juggling grocery bags.

Dori hurried across the street and down the block to where she’d left her car. She swept off the snow, started up the engine, and sat behind the wheel rubbing her hands while it warmed up.

“A car is a car,” she said softly, trying hard to see things from a new perspective, as Jason had suggested. And this wasn’t a bad one. Only two years old, with a good heater and working AC, and Bluetooth. It wasn’t rusty and it ran well. It even had studded snow tires and front-wheel drive.

She didn’t want just a car, though. She wanted her Mercedes.

She sighed, pulled into the road, and began the drive back to her cabin, only to find that the road out of town was blocked by road crews hoisting holiday lights. Damn. A small detour sign pointed left onto Evergreen. Dori turned and realized she’d rarely been on this side street. It meandered among small homes and a handful of shops.

Then out of the blue, her car—which she was working very hard on believing was as good as a Mercedes—spit and sputtered and quit.

“No.” She turned the wheel, coasting to a spot near the curb, then put it in park and tried twisting the key. Nothing. Dead. And no onboard assistance button to push for help. No cell signal out here, either.

“Damn.” Her mood—which had been improving—took a nosedive. She wrenched open the door, got out and looked around.

The building in front of her, nestled on the corner of Evergreen and Hope streets, looked for all the world like a haven. White lights in the windows surrounded the words Burning Bright. The window display had candles of every imaginable shape and color. And the sign on the door read Open.

Well, she was going to have to use a landline somewhere. Call a garage. A tow truck. Something.

She opened the door and a bell jingled as she walked inside.

And then she just paused and breathed. The place smelled of sandalwood incense, and dragon’s blood oil, and the hot melted-wax smell that always transported her. It smelled like a sacred circle. It smelled like her religion and her craft. It smelled like magic, and the scents hit her hard, like a fist to the gut. Tears burned in her eyes, and she wasn’t sure why.

“Well, hello, dear.”

Dori looked up, startled because she had thought the place empty. But it wasn’t empty at all. A woman stood there, an old woman with a face that was craggy and lined and beautiful. Her eyes were huge and ebony, and her jet-black hair was streaked with vivid white and hanging loose, halfway down her back. She wore a black caftan, printed with rich gold swirls, that reached to the floor, long dangling earrings that were silver spirals, and a strand of huge beads around her neck, amber and jet.

Amber and jet!

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