Page 57 of The Spirit Key
“Mom had me read books about the Romani and the persecution they suffered in years past and continue to deal with today. I didn’t know I was one of them, though. Guess it makes sense, seeing as she was so insistent about me learning it.”
“I’ve heard the Romani have an affinity for magic.”
He scowled. “No, that’s superstition, meant to turn people against them. They spoke of the evil eye of the gypsies and how it could lure young men and women away from their families. Though Cher overemphasized things, she wasn’t wrong. They were called thieves and wrongly punished for things they didn’t do. In World War II, hundreds of thousands died, but you rarely hear about that.”
“So if there’s no magic, what do you call what I can do?”
He grinned and leaned over to kiss me on the forehead. “The Romani are more in tune with the world around them. Their travels have exposed them to truths from every corner of the globe. And from the way Mom spoke, I don’t think all Romani have this ability.”
I loved hearing him tell me these things. “What else do you know?”
“The Romani are a nomadic culture. They’re believed to have originated in India during the Middle Ages. There are legends—especially among non-Romani—that say certain Romani have passive psychic powers, such as empathy, precognition, retrocognition, or psychometry. Other writings include claims that they have the ability to levitate, travel through astral projection by way of meditation, invoke curses or blessings, conjure or channel spirits, and are skilled with illusion-casting.”
“Wow.”
“I always thought they were myths, but maybe some of them can do those things. I don’t know. I mean, what you can do could be a form of retrocognition. There’s no way you could know about these people, but they’re still drawn to you.”
“Us. They’re coming to us because you’re my lock, my guardian.”
He sat back and looked at me. “How can you accept this so easily?”
That made me laugh. “Easily? My whole life I thought I was some kind of freak. I mean, I saw ghosts, was attacked by one. Most kids we grew up with ignored me, at best. Do you know how lonely I was?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Really?”
Too late, I realized what I’d said. “No! You were, and still are, the only friend I’ve ever had. Without you, I… I’m not sure I would have made it.”
“You would have, I’m sure. And you know why? Because you are such a strong person. I know you’re going to try to argue with me, but think about it. For years you saw things that scared you, made you question whether or not there was something wrong with you. But still, you persisted. If that’s not strength, what is?”
Before I could answer, he leaned in and kissed me. I think I moaned, but maybe it was him. I’d been with three people before Tim, and not one of them had ever made me whimper with just a kiss. Hell, Tim could do it with nothing more than a heated glance. My body craved his touch, when the bastard gave it, and rejoiced to the heavens when he let me have what I wanted. Him.
Always him.
He was the reason I could never think about another person, even though I’d tried. And now I understood why. His mother had told us both. We were destined to be together, joined heart and soul.
God, listen to me. I was being a total sap. I didn’t care, though, because coming home had answered so many questions I’d had and shown me a future that was mine for the taking.
And for the first time in my life, it was a future I wanted more than anything, because it had Tim in it.
Chapter Fourteen
WE TRIEDfor two weeks to get me into the state where I’d be able to see… something we both thought was missing. Each of us believed our shared dream had meaning of some sort, and if we were going to move forward, we needed to know everything we could. Tim—butch, loving bastard that he was—insisted that before he’d sign off on more dealing with ghosts, he had to be certain I was safe. I protested, but secretly the fact he cared so much warmed my heart.
We tried massage, sitting quietly in a dark room, and several other things, but none of them worked. Finally Tim came to me one day and said he wanted to try meditation. He said he would walk me through it, if I allowed him. I, of course, agreed.
When we stepped into the spare bedroom, I noticed Tim had drawn the curtains, leaving the room in darkness except for two small candles that flickered on the table. Somewhere he’d gotten some incense that gave the air a light, pleasing patchouli scent. We sat, and he started with the age-old wisdom of “close your eyes.”
“Breathe deeply through your nose, and blow out the breath through your mouth.”
I tried for the better part of an hour. “Where the hell did you get this?”
“Online. I found it on a site for meditation, and this was one of the most popular posts.”
I gave him the side-eye stare. “Really?”
He huffed an obviously frustrated breath, then blew out the candles. “Where do you think I should look?”
Fine, I concede he had a point. “Isn’t there a Romani website you could search?”
