Page 4 of Haunted Desires
When I moved back, I thought I’d keep the apartment for six months and look for a house during that time, but nothing ever called to me. There wasn’t any reason to get a bigger house when the shop’s inventory could stay in the house and there was no one else to share the space with. I added my modern art prints covering most of the walls with splashes of color in antique frames. I think cozy eclectic would describe the small place. As I step back I try to imagine a leather chaise and it simply wouldn’t fit.
Perhaps it is time to move. When you have a desire, you must make room for it in your life. Show the universe that you are ready.
I take off my coat and hang up my bag, looking into my place with fresh eyes. It’s neat and clean with tidy secondhand furniture, most of which I got from estate sales. I’ve made it into a home, but it’s a home that’s starting to look like it could be packed up any second.
I’m getting way ahead of myself. Time to take a step back and sit on a cushion I keep near my balcony window. It’s too cold to crack the window but I can just barely hear the soothing breeze.
I replay everything that happened in the library, with an intent on simply observing.
For some reason, I keep imagining it from the far corner of the aisle, behind my table. That’s where that sound came from, didn’t it? I’d swear on my life I heard a gasp.
Maybe it wasn’t a gasp. Maybe it was an echoed whisper from another person in the library, traveling along the shelves until it got to me.
But I can’t stop picturing me and Finley from that distance, as if I was also leaning over the table, holding my breath as I watched.
We were so close together.
If I’d stumbled or leaned, I’d have leaned right into him.
I picture Finley’s face as he held his breath. That’s when he must’ve started blushing, because his cheeks were pink when our hands touched. I swear they were. And the memory stirs a warmth within me.
And there’s me, staring up at him in awe. In my memory, the energy between us was palpable. A force pulling us together. I can still feel it now. I close my eyes relishing it.
From this mysterious viewpoint, it seems that way, too. I’m leaning into it, starting to lift my heels from the floor, and Finley exhales and leans toward me, and then?—
A shiver rushes across my shoulders. It’s closer to a cold breath than a gust of wind, but my skin prickles all over my body, and I leap up from the cushion.
“There was something there,” I say to my apartment. The white mushroom lamp on my side table turns on, startling me, but it’s fine—I have it on a timer so it’ll be on when I get home. I’m only here early tonight because Finley touched me. And then he invited me to look at the library’s collection of rare books and records.
That’s definitely something.
I just know that tonight was important. It couldn’t be clearer if somebody had written it in lipstick on my bathroom mirror. It’s time to cast my own spell.
And as if I knew it would be needed, there’s a candle sitting out on my countertop on a small black plate.
My heart ticks up. I’d been meaning to set intentions for the transition into winter, but for whatever reason, I didn’t get around to it. I left my box of matches out, too. The box of matches is nearly empty and it’s then that I smirk at the design on the two sides. One being the death tarot card and the other the lovers. How fitting.
Before snatching the candle, I reach under the sink cabinet and tear off a bit of paper from a brown bag.
“You’ll do,” I whisper.
Goosebumps brush down my shoulders as I stand straighter. My little apartment kitchen is alive with energy, like I’m standing in the center of a circle made up of coven members, all of them sending their energy into me.
It’s completely possible that they met here hundreds of years ago, and their intentions were so powerful and focused that I can still feel the echoes of them, even now. Perhaps they are my guides. I know not every detail of what lies on the other side, but at this moment I feel as if it’s meant to happen. The calm power is a bright white light that surrounds me.
I take the candle and matches and paper back out to my living room and bring my cushion over to my coffee table. The table is set up with a small stack of books, a chunk of clear quartz sitting proudly on top. And a little selenite bowl of small crystals. Quickly, I snag the rose quartz and slip it into my bra. Casting spells never looks as dramatic as it does in the movies, but my heart pounds anyway. The chill of the rock against my heated skin does nothing to calm the adrenaline racing through me.
I cross my legs on the cushion and close my eyes again. With my left hand over the crystal, my right still holds the candle and I move it back and forth between my thumb and forefingers.
Casting spells is something I take seriously. The only thing more serious is casting a spell meant to directly influence another person. I avoid that whenever possible, because you can never fully control the impact of a spell on others. You don’t know their life’s purpose or the details of what they’ve been through. The spell can twist and turn in ways you never imagined, and the wrong spell could come back on you in a form you didn’t predict. I decided long ago that I would rather avoid spells for those who do not consent.
As I concentrate, though, the answer comes into my mind, clear as a bell.
Cast on Finley. It is him you crave, and the energy running through this town is far more dangerous to influence.
I ask myself whether this is true three times, leaving plenty of time for a feeling of dread or foreboding to come over me, and it never does. Perhaps I can word it in a way where it is to show me. Center myself.
Finally, I’m settled enough to reach for a pen on the shelf underneath the coffee table.
