Her colors, which had been so bright moments before, were now diffused. No longer a blue sky, but one with the dreary gray cast of a squall. In contrast, the man’s energy was brilliant and pure white. No other colors at all. His aura was a massive white cloud, swallowing her storm.
Nothing in my investigations explained this. White was only ever described as the color of great spiritual masters. A cleansing light. Angelic light. I struggled for a rational explanation. Perhaps Mrs. Oberman knew him. Maybe he was giving her bad news and that was why she looked so stricken.
His gaze flickered my way, and I quickly pulled my head back, praying he hadn’t seen me. I glanced up at the tilted mirrors on the edge of the ceiling and cursed myself. All he’d have to do is look up, and he’d see me in the mirror as well. But my heart dropped when I saw in the reflection that Mrs. Oberman now stood alone. He wasn’t there.
Instead, he towered in front of me.
I gripped the handle of my shopping basket, adrenaline surging. “Leave me alone,” I said through a clenched jaw. My silver aura flared out from my body.
The man inhaled pleasurably like he could smell it, leaned in close to my ear, and said, “If I could have you, she wouldn’t have to die.”
Eleven
The man strolled away—casual, normal—as if he hadn’t whispered menacing words about death in my ear. I was shaking violently when I tried to pull out my phone to call my dad, and it slipped from my trembling hand. Seconds later I heard a sound like a sack of potatoes dropped on the ground. Someone gasped.
Mrs. Oberman lay still on the polished floor.
I ran over, sliding onto my knees next to her.
I wrapped my hand around her papery arm and called her name. Her eyes were fixed open. The man with the white aura did this, I knew it. But how? I recalled her distressed expression, her dimmed aura, his glaring pure white one, his simpering smile in the face of her fear. If I could have you, she wouldn’t have to die. Fear slipped an icy hand around my spine, shaking me.
Someone called an ambulance. I stayed with Mrs. Oberman until the paramedics came and they rolled her away on the gurney. Her body looked so small under the blanket, like without her soul she took up less space.
After I called my dad, he rushed into the store and gathered me up to go home. In the car, I warred with myself about how much to tell him. To any observer, the man had simply spoken briefly to Mrs. Oberman, spoken to me, and left. Who would believe my theory that he was somehow responsible for her death? My dad didn’t even believe I saw auras. He was quiet and distant as we drove. I crossed my arms; his indifference ignited a fire of antagonism inside me. I wanted him to react.
“Someone died right in front of my eyes, and you’re a million miles away! What? Is it your precious work? Are the mysteries of the universe more important than your own daughter’s emotionally scarring experience?”
Dad tilted his head and gave me a strained look. “No, of course not. There’s nothing in this world more important to me than you.” He set his hand briefly over mine, his tone softening. “Maybe if you believed that, you’d be a bit more understanding about the things I do to protect you, including my work.”
I wanted to believe him. He’d taken a sample of my blood because he was investigating mysterious deaths. Mrs. Oberman’s death was certainly mysterious. Were they related? I was about to question him, press him to explain how his work was protecting me, when he loosened his tie and said, “Tell me everything that happened back there. But slow down this time.” His eyes shone with sincerity. “I want to know every detail.”
“Okay.” I sighed, reassured by his interest. “But I’m warning you, if you dismiss what I’m about to tell you because it involves seeing auras, I won’t say another word.”
At home, Janelle made me chocolate-hazelnut tea and biscotti and coddled me as though Mrs. Oberman were a relative. It was the first time I let myself relax into a hug with Janelle without pulling away. It felt good to be hugged. There was something honeyed about mom hugs, even if she wasn’t my real mother.
The whole event left me out of sorts, cold, and scared. I was beginning to regret telling my father the story after seeing the effect it had on him. His eyes were spooked as he stuttered through placating responses. Then he remained quiet for the rest of the ride home. I’d be lucky if he ever let me leave the house again. I purposely didn’t mention the man had been following me or what he had said. Between my father’s fear, Faye’s ominous warnings, and Mrs. Oberman, the world was conspiring to make me a prisoner in my own home.
I dipped biscotti into my tea and settled back against my pillow with my Ireland scrapbook. Ireland was my someday obsession, the only connection I had with my mother. Finn had ratcheted up my interest, and I needed something to divert me from the memory of that man whispering in my ear. I shuddered again and scooted deeper into the pillows.
Pulling out the pocket map of Ireland, I traced my fingers over County Kildare, where I’d been born. I had a recurring fantasy that someday I’d go back to Ireland, to some quaint town with cobblestone streets and rock walls around thatched cottages. I would turn a corner and come face-to-face with my mother. In my fantasies, I’d recognize her, even though there was no way I could. Dad claimed all pictures of her were lost. But in my fantasy, she and I would stop. Stare. She wouldn’t know me because I was grown, but she’d give me a long, searching look, like I was a secret the wind whispered in her ear. One of her ghosts.
I glanced at County Meath—Finn’s home—and smiled. I flipped through pages of pictures I’d collected over the years of impossibly green meadows, seaside port villages, the imposing Cliffs of Moher, and the ancient megalithic site, Newgrange.
For years, I had been putting my name into the annual lottery to visit the burial chamber at Newgrange on the winter solstice. Tens of thousands of people put their name in each year just to see that event. The mysterious, unknown, ancient people who built the site were sophisticated enough to construct the chamber in such a way that on one magical day, the winter solstice, the sun would sear through an opening above the entryway and shine its light deep into the burial chamber. If I won, I reasoned, it would be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Dad would have to let me go. Next to the picture of the tomb, I came across a black-and-white photo: the carving of the triple spiral. Finn’s tattoo did look like it had been traced from the three spirals. I’d forgotten to ask him about it.
My bedroom door flung open, and Mari blew in with only the top of her head visible above all the clothes she carried. I’d forgotten she was coming over with a pile of her own clothes to tutor me on fashion. Apparently, it takes serious effort and planning to look casually, accidentally adorable. “The key is to look stylish while still looking like you,” she proclaimed, tossing the mound of fabric on top of me.
I unburied myself and gave her the eye. “I totally forgot about you coming over after—”
“Yeah, Janelle filled me in. That’s totally macabre. I say we need to shake you out of this funk. Get up. It’s fashion-show time. It’ll be a good distraction.”
“I don’t think it’s a good time.”
She put her hands on her hips. “You almost died in the hospital. Someone died right in front of you today. You gonna lie there and act like you’re dead, too, or live your life like you’re glad to have it?”
She was so damn pushy! And she was right. I stuffed my scrapbook under my pillow and climbed out of bed, agreeing to try on a couple of options she’d assembled for me, things I never would have thought to put together. I slipped off one pair of her jeans that made my thighs look like kielbasa and then put on my favorite capris as an act of defeat. “I just ran out of give a crap.”