Spooky Business (The Spectral Files #3) - S.E. Harmon Page 0,48

In the right hands, it can amplify your power and counterattack the sender.”

“I’m not Harry Potter,” I said tartly. “Generally, I don’t get into many wizard battles.”

She let out a put-upon sigh. Then, she went back in the bag and pulled out a large, flat medallion. “This magnetite is pretty powerful. How would you feel about wearing something like this?”

“Who am I, Flavor Flav?”

She put it back in the bag and pulled out another stone, this one in the shape of a pentagon. “Any objections to this one?”

I frowned. “Aren’t pentagons evil or something?”

“That’s pentagrams. And no.”

“Still.”

She stared at me without speaking. Her mouth moved silently, and I figured she was counting. She put the pentagon-shaped stone in my palm, and when I opened my mouth, she sent me a warning look. “I’d like you to remember I have another one of you, and I’m willing to make do with just my first-born.”

I closed my mouth and put the stones in my pocket.

One of the other patrons in the store held up a hand, and she bustled off to help. I browsed to pass the time, nosing around the glittering crystals and beautiful stones in the brightly stocked display cases. The depth and variation in color were amazing—spheres of deep, metallic blue and turquoise, alongside shimmering pink prisms, and white-veined green shards of crystal.

Despite the practical rainforest of vibrant, glittering color before me, I found myself drawn to what was arguably the most boring one. The stone was solid onyx and about the size and shape of a penny. Using the key my mother left, I opened the case and plucked the stone from its velvet nest.

The surface was glossy as though it had been dipped in oil, and it was smooth and cool to the touch. There was a small hole at the top, like it was meant to be worn on a chain. My thumb caught on an inscription on the back. I turned it over and tried to make out the faded letters, but I could only read the first word. Et.

“That’s the one I was looking for.” My mother came up behind me, a thin necklace of braided leather dangling from her hand. She gave me a curious look. “How did you find it?”

The damned thing had all but called out to me, but I certainly wasn’t going to tell her that. “What is it?”

“Black tourmaline.” When she made a beckoning motion with her palm, I placed it in her hand. She began to thread the braided leather through the hole in the stone. “It can protect you from harmful frequencies and create an electric forcefield around your aura. It’s a grounding stone for strength without boundaries or limitations. Psychic debris will bounce off you.”

“That would be nice. Because right now, it’s sort of crashing right through me.”

“It’s a very old, potent stone, Rainstorm. I think it’ll help you connect to the ancient warrior that dwells inside.”

Currently, the only thing dwelling inside was a bowl of Special K, copious amounts of gas station coffee, and a questionable burrito I’d gotten from a food truck. “Err,” I began.

“Open mind, closed mouth,” she reminded me. She gestured for me to bend and placed the necklace over my head. I looked down as it settled around my neck. The cool stone was suddenly quite warm for some reason.

“Why didn’t you give me any of this before?” I asked.

“I never knew you needed it. You’re as cagey as a sphinx.”

“So now it contains energy?”

“When you give it to the stone, it will.”

Of course, just give it to the stone. I stared at the tourmaline moodily. Why would any of this medium business be easy?

She laughed softly, I assumed at the expression on my face. “You’ll figure it out, I promise.”

I sighed. “Thanks.”

Before I left, she filled two bags with products for Danny and me to test—from an all-natural botanical wrap to a pear berry candle. She’d also included something called a bath bomb, which sounded interesting. I told her we didn’t have a tub, but she wasn’t deterred.

I hefted the bags in one hand. “Thanks for everything.”

“I just hope it helps.”

I felt a strange sort of tug in my chest that was more than just familial love. If I had to put words to it, it was almost like… a kind of belonging. Growing up, I always felt like the straight man—no pun intended—to their offbeat show. In a strange sort of irony, being a medium made me stand out