Page 43 of Chasing the Flame
“Oh, Mom, I could’ve helped you with that. You didn’t need to do it alone.” I chastise, feeling like a shitty daughter for not being there to help.
“You’re hours away,” she challenges. “Besides, I’m a big girl. They’re tears of happiness,really. I didn’t realize all the little things your father kept over the years.”
Speaking of my father reminds me of the reason I wanted to talk to her to sigh, “Mom, speaking of Dad… I’ve been tracing our lineage. I have his side of the chart filled out, but…”
“Oh?” She says absentmindedly, and I can practically picture her sorting through all the boxes in the attic.
I pause, unsure of what to say next. Mom has always been extremely private, and I don’t think she’s ever talked about her life before Dad. I’ve only ever met my grandparents on my father’s side.
Granted, it’s always over video chat, and now I talk to them twice a year. They still live in Ireland, in a small town outside of Dublin. I’ve always wanted to visit, but I’m not sure when I’ll be able to. In the end, I finally say, “I guess what I’m asking is how come you’ve never talked about your life before, Dad? I searched your maiden name but couldn’t find anything on the website. It’s like Kathryn St. Clair doesn’t exist.”
A clatter of noise is in the background, like she’s dropped something. She doesn’t say anything for several moments, her breathing labored. It’s like she’s terrified, and I have this distinct feeling of needing to protect flooding through me. But… Protectwhat? “Mom, are you still there?”
“Yeah,” she sighs. “I’m still here. There’s nothing to tell. My parents died when I was little, and I was raised in the system. That’s probably why you didn’t find anything.”
The statement rings false in my ears, “Mom—” She cuts me off, her voice cracking a little.
“I’d appreciate it if you’d let it go. I’m glad you’re connecting with your heritage, and I hate to disappoint you, but I came from nothing. Iwasnothing. Your dad gave meeverything, Averie.”
I sigh, frustrated with the way she’s shutting me down. She doesn’t give me time to object, and instead rushes to get off the phone. “I’ve got to go now, there’s so much left to do. I love you, honey, I’ll call you Sunday.”
With a click, the line goes dead. My mind is spinning, the wheels turning and grinding until an idea forms. I swipe up on my phone and type out two text messages—one to Jettson, explaining that we need to talk and inviting him to the house tomorrow.
I sent the other one to my friend. If my mom won’t help, perhaps this person has a way to get the information I need. With that thought in mind, I placed my phone on the counter and returned to cleaning.
I’m determined to get to the truth, no matter how I have to do it.
The next day, I wake up early and jog the length of my driveway, trying to clear my head. My mysterious friend has chosen to meet us at the diner outside of town, which unnerves me for some reason. Maybe, I’m just ready to get this over with.
I can’t explain why I’m so antsy, but dread has expanded in my chest, making it hard to think clearly. Meditation isn’t working, so I run faster. I sprint up the lane until I’m panting and out of breath.
Still, I don’t stop.
I push myself harder, running faster than I’ve ever run before. My lungs are burning from the exertion, my legs quaking with every pounding step. Yet, I keep going. I don’t stop until I’m back in front of my house, and practically throw myself in the grass.
I’m heaving, my chest rising and falling as I suck in breath after breath. The sky is dark this morning, like a storm is about to hit. I lay there for a while, catching my breath and watching the clouds roll by. For a moment, everything is still.
My head isn’t raging with all the worried thoughts, and my heart isn’t clenching painfully. I can breathe freely and soak up every bit of the light I’m feeling. It’s like a cleansing has taken place, andtruthfully? Maybe it has.
I shoot up a silent prayer of thanks to my ancestors, to the Morrighan, and to anyone else that might be listening. A breeze tickles my face, sending my hair flying and the grass swaying. It feels like a confirmation. Of what? I can’t be certain, but I’ll take it all the same.
With that thought in mind, I head back to the house and jump in the shower. I take my time, using the water to cleanse my mind, body, and soul. When I’m finished, I take it a step further, wrapping myself in a silk robe and head down the hall to my office.
When I enter the room, I move toward my altar, lighting the candles I’ve dedicated to the Morrighan. Grabbing hold of my smudge stick, I light the end and waft the smoke in the air, waving the stick around myself. I bring it back up my body, and over my head, flowing back down again. I do this twice, then head out of the room and into the rest of the house.
I go from room to room, saging every corner with a single intention. Protection. My hands shake as I wander through the house, my body vibrating with energy when I reach the space upstairs. Stepping into the room that houses Luke’s nightmarish altar, I waft the stick in the air.
With every step I take, nausea churns in my gut. It’s a violent reaction, hitting me in waves. I feel like any minute I’m going to expel the contents of my stomach, and it almost has me running from the room. I grit my teeth, push through the discomfort, and finish the job. I bolt from the room and back down the steps when I'm done.
Feeling satisfied, I return to my office and place my smudge stick back in its appropriate spot. I grab some pillows off the bench, lay them on the floor before my altar, sit, and cross my legs.
Reaching for my deck, I take the cards in my hands and knock three times. Taking a deep breath, I clear my mind and begin shuffling the cards.
I’m unsure what answers I seek, but it’s not up to me; the cards pop out independently. They’re called jumper cards, and I believe my ancestors and spirit guides are responsible for sending the message I need to hear.
When I flip them over, I gasp, my hands sweating as I trace the edges of the cards. The first card is the three of swords. A bleeding heart sits in the middle of the card with three swords pushed through it. It’s gruesome and often symbolizes heartbreak and betrayal. Fitting, considering my husband is cheating on me, and I’ve decided to leave him.
The next card is the two of swords, which means a decision needs to be made. A woman sits on a throne, her eyes blindfolded, holding two swords. There are two paths, two options, two destinies that have the potential to collide.
