Bone Dry_ A Soul Shamans Novel - Cady Vance Page 0,2
ran my fingers over the cold metal bandings and leather handles. It was one of two trunks that had been handed down to each generation of women in our family for what seemed like forever. And it was the only thing I had of my grandmother besides the shaman power running through my veins.
I always felt a hint of reverence when I looked at this trunk. So many shaman women over the years had used it to store their candles, their rune books, their sage leaves. At one point in time, it had been a symbol of a girl fully coming into her powers, her tenth birthday when she began learning how to astral project and speak with spirits. But my mom never wanted me to know more than how to just protect myself, so when the trunk was finally mine, I was fourteen. My grandmother had left it to me in her will, and my mom didn’t have the heart to keep it from me.
After lifting the silver-chained key over my head, I unlocked the trunk and pulled open the lid. The only thing inside other than the sharp scent of pinewood was my thick file of answers and questions.
Once I grabbed the folder, I padded through my open bedroom door and down the short hallway to our kitchen. I paused at the curtain of brown beads hanging down at the entrance, ran my fingers along their rough surface and listened to the clink of the wood knocking against each other. It had been Mom’s compensation the time she’d assisted shamans in Chile. When I touched the mystical beads and closed my eyes, I could hear the distant sound of wind howling through the Andes Mountains.
I slid through the beads and sat down at the kitchen table where I usually did my homework. Mom wouldn’t be happy if she knew what I was doing, but she probably assumed I was studying for a quiz. If she assumed anything at all.
I flipped open the file and looked at each sheet carefully, just like I did every day. Some of it was my own scribbling. Things I remembered from the month before her attack. Others were papers I’d found in her room about cases she’d done last year. An itemized account of her expenses in Budapest. A short description of an unnamed person’s spirit problem in California. I figured if I read the words enough times, something would finally click. I’d find a new lead, put the pieces of the puzzle together, finally find the shaman who did this to my mom. It was the only way to get her back.
After half an hour of examining the familiar contents, I flipped the folder shut. I was getting nowhere. I needed something new. What I had was leading me to the same dead end over and over. I needed a name, someone connected to all this. But maybe next time I looked at these pages, I’d find something. Maybe tomorrow would be different. I had to keep believing things could change. Maybe if I believed it hard enough, they would.
I heard the clicking of the knitting needles as I stood from the table. I’d never been able to figure out why she did that. There was no material there for her to knit. Sometimes I thought she was trying to remind herself of the shaman she’d once been. Sometimes I thought she was trying to use the bones to pull herself back into this world, knit herself back into the fabric of reality.
After putting the file away, I grabbed my backpack of shaman supplies and made sure I had everything I needed for Kylie’s case. Mom didn’t even blink when I went into the living room to drop a kiss on her forehead.
“I have to go see a friend. I’ll be back in a little while for dinner.”
The bone needles never stopped clicking, and I swore I could hear them well after I’d backed out of the driveway.
CHAPTER 2
The door swung open to reveal Mr. Fisher, who towered over me like everyone other than Mom. I’d inherited my measly five feet of height from her.
“Come on in, Holly. Laura’s in her room,” he said. “Still riding your bicycle everywhere, I see.”
“As much as I can,” I said, kicking off my flip flops and pushing them with my toes into the designated guest-shoe-spot. “I like the exercise.” And the lack of a gas tank.