Chapter Three
The gunshot rang out through her childhood home and then silence.
Her brother, her protector. He had shot their dad dead.
In mere moments, he was in the mudroom stalking her. A wicked smile and green cat eyes shimmering in the darkness.
Clay trained the rifle on her, and she screamed, wetting herself.
The shot never came.
Her brother lowered the rifle and clutched at his forehead, grunting and straining.
Then he fled.
Lost forever in the blizzard.
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Her cellphone chimed with the alarm set to wake her up and she jolted out of her restless slumber, relieved to be rooted in reality. The same nightmare. Again.
Sixteen years since that night. A father and two brothers. Gone in an instant.
Eddie hung her feet over the edge of her queen bed as she sat up, her face buried in her hands. For the longest time, she gave up on trying to talk about it. Nobody believed her. Until she met her online support group, that is. They were knowledgeable about the paranormal and witchcraft. It helped if only a little. It’s just that lately some of them had stopped logging in a few months ago, not showing up on their other socials either.
She padded along the floor of her one-bedroom in her pink bunny slippers, petite, tomboyish, and clad in her black band t-shirt and the grey gym shorts she’d slept in.
Eddie began brushing her teeth, looking at her weary self in the mirror. She looked like shit. The dark circles were back and her short blonde hair was a mess. She needed breakfast and coffee. The young woman spit her toothpaste down the sink and rinsed it away while cupping and splashing cold water on her face. Better.
“Eden, dear!” An elderly woman called out from the kitchen. “I’ve toasted your bagel and made your coffee, sweetie!”
She shuffled down the hall and out into the open-concept living space of the industrial, loft-style condo with exposed concrete. Her paintings and plants covered most of the area, lending a bohemian and witchy vibe to the home. The view looked out onto Jasper Avenue as city traffic went about its usual hustle and bustle on the streets below.
“Thanks, Cynthia,” Eddie said as she took her seat at the small table and smiled at the grandmotherly figure in her blue eye shadow, thick lashes, ruby red lipstick, lacquered nails and her late 80s camp drag queen aesthetic. She had to be in her late sixties, but Eddie was too afraid to ask.
Eddie munched on her buttered cinnamon raisin bagel and sipped on her coffee sweetened with the perfect ratio of cream and stevia.
Her mom bought the condo for her to live in while she went to school here because she didn’t want her to live in a dorm surrounded by roommates and parties.
In theory, living alone would have been awesome, but Cynthia didn’t take up much space even if she never paid rent. That, of course, had never bothered Eddie since Cynthia was kinda murdered in 1992, right here in this room. A robbery gone awry, Cynthia had said once before. She wore a bright nylon outfit when she died, and she’d wear it forever. One thing she always told Eddie was to always look her best, just in case she died and would be stuck wearing that forever.
Eddie was the first living person she liked. Something about how her presence and energy made her feel the most alive she had since she, well, died. She had haunted the others until they sold the condo in haste, and the cycle would begin anew. Cynthia even cooked and cleaned as long as Eddie supplied her with books to read and cable TV so she could catch up on her stories. Apparently, a lot had happened since the last time she watched her soaps. They had tried to make Netflix work, but Cynthia just couldn’t learn it.
“Did you get me some smokes, dear?”
Eddie bristled, her hazel eyes sharpening into a scowl. “Since you smoked inside last time? No.”
“Eden, dear, you know I can’t go out on the balcony!” Cynthia said in protest.
“I have weed, Cynthia! Smoke that. I hate cigarettes.” Eddie finished her bagel and washed it down with her coffee. “And they’re expensive as fuck now, anyway.”
“Cursing and suggesting I smoke the devil’s lettuce? What’s gotten into you, child?” Cynthia asked in mock horror, fluttering her lashes as she made a pearl-clutching gesture.
“You lived through the 60s.” Eddie cocked her eyebrow and Cynthia fetched her a playful grin, dropping the act. They both knew Eddie was a chronic and swore like a trooper. It was a Weston thing, she often said.
“Well, if you won’t let me do that, I’ve written a list of things you can get me off of that internet, dear.”
She finished her coffee and stared blankly at her ghostly roommate. “Still a broke college student.”
Cynthia sauntered by and patted her on the shoulder as she made her way to the sofa to watch TV. “Sell pictures of your feet to the perverts on that internet then.”
That had crossed her mind, admittedly.
Cynthia plopped down onto the brown faux leather sofa and sighed as she fumbled with the remotes to get the TV and cable box going. “I miss tube TVs.”
Eddie didn’t really remember those that well, either. She rose from the table and set her dishes in the sink. On her way past Cynthia, she bent down and kissed her roommate on the forehead. “I appreciate you.”
“And I you, dear,” Cynthia said, leaning around Eddie to see the TV. “Now hurry along and get ready for work or you’ll be late.”
Cynthia was right. She forgot she worked today. Her afternoon shift started in less than an hour. So much for that Saturday off. Eddie scurried off to the bathroom to have her shower. “Shit-shit-shit-shit!”
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Eddie would never have made it to work on time were it not for the aggressive Uber driver who pretty much cut off all the other drivers on their harrowing journey out of Downtown across the North Saskatchewan River into Old Strathcona. Five stars for Geraldine.
When she first found this quaint little locally owned coffee shop nestled somewhere along Whyte Avenue, she fell in love. So much so that she dropped a resume off every month for her entire freshman semester when she first got to Edmonton. Before long, Eddie had become a barista at Tall, Dark, and Coffee. Persistence was kind of her thing.
The ivy vines sprawled across the interior brick walls and the bookshelves for used books. This often charmed the customers who wandered in from the busy street. Tall, Dark, and Coffee was dead at the moment as the Lo-Fi music played softly. The ebb and flow of customers had kept Eddie busy for the better part of her shift. It would be a lull for a little while now, hopefully.
The door opened and the chimes above signified his arrival.
Eddie looked up from the counter to see a well-groomed, musclebound man with spiked red hair and a skin fade haircut paused at the doorway, scanning the shop as all first-timers did. He wore a tight dark green tank top that hugged his broad chest and dark blue jeans with a brown leather belt. The jeans hugged his tree trunk thighs and left little to the imagination. The dude was yoked.
She was judging him a little as he sauntered over, praying she wasn’t about to get hit on again. Eddie might as well have worn that facial expression like a big, bright neon sign.
When the massive bearded redhead with a chiselled jaw approached the counter and smiled, eyeing her from behind his aviator sunglasses, she braced herself for it.
“Oh my, god! They let a little kid back there! You’re so cute with your little apron! Are you here with your mommy or daddy?”
He wasn’t exactly effeminate in the way he spoke, as his voice was low and gravelly, though his presence seemed animated and flamboyant.
“I’m twenty-one, sir.”
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The corner of his mouth tugged into a crooked, mischievous smile.
“Oh,” He chuckled. “My bad, sweetie. I guess I’m really hungover. I’ll get an iced coffee with two pumps of vanilla, thanks.”
A sassy muscle bear, who likely read her judgmental expression and then read her. Neat. Eddie realized it would be for the best to let it go lest she be on the receiving end of the sharp and scathing tongue of a gay man without his iced coffee.
“Fun night?” Eddie asked with a playful smile, grabbing a plastic cup and a marker.
“A killer Friday,” said the man, matching her energy. “Best nights are always a little messy.”
“I guess so.” Whatever he was getting at went over her head, but she assumed he was talking about drugs and unprotected sex. He was not. Little did she know, yet he wasn’t above such vices, either. “Your name?”
“Clay.”
Eddie’s breath hitched, but she caught herself in front of her customer. Her mind raced. No, not possible. Her brother was dead. The police said so. Though they never found his body, they accepted he succumbed to the elements and his remains got scavenged by the wildlife, leaving no trace of him. The case closed years ago and there was never any closure for Mom. Every Halloween, she was inconsolable. His birthday.
The nightmare was to blame for him being on her mind at all. It was just an odd coincidence that she met a man with the same name and red hair today. Eddie had been only five when he went missing. She remembered little of him. This man just stirred a vague memory.
Her brother was gone. They both were.
“Long day?” Clay asked, casting her a measuring glance.
“Y-yeah,” Eddie said, falling out of her reverie and sheepish about it as she wrote his name. “Sorry.”
Farhan, her relief, came in through the back, having finished up his break. He was a tall, lean, dark-skinned young man who went to the same school. They didn’t interact beyond work. “Iced coffee? Want me to make it?”
Eddie shook her head. “No, I got it. I’ll go on break after, though.”
Clay said nothing, having pulled his phone from his jeans and moved on to that while he waited. While Eddie made the drink, Farhan called him over because Eddie forgot to ring the order in. She cursed under her breath, feeling knocked off balance and like a disaster today.
Once she finished and handed the drink over to Clay, she politely excused herself and fetched her leather messenger bag. When she crossed the distance and sat at her usual table, a sunny spot beneath the shop window, she sighed and pulled out a large selenite crystal that she set on the table to charge its energy while she drew on its power for mental clarity.
Clay sat a few tables away, watching her as she fished her tarot deck from the bag and got to work shuffling it. “Whatcha doing?”
Eddie looked up, a bit startled. She didn’t think he’d still be here. “Oh, uh, just having my break and doing some tarot.”
He got up from his table and brought his drink with him, spinning the chair and straddling it as he sat across from her. “Oh, wow! Can I join?”
Clay rested his forearms on the back of the chair and sipped his iced coffee.
“Sure,” she said, feeling the question had been rhetorical, hiding her annoyance with him. “I can do yours if you want me to.”
“At your own risk,” he teased. “What do we do?”
Laughing uncertainly, Eddie handed over the deck. He set the iced coffee down and took the cards, looking at her through his lenses.
“I need you to shuffle the deck and pour yourself into it.”
“But we just met.” Clay shuffled the cards, smirking as Eddie pretended not to hear him. His thick arms rippled and bulged with every movement as his deft hands made quick work of the deck.
“Set it down.”
He set it down.
“Cut the deck.”
He cut the deck.
“Spread them.”
Clay giggled, and Eddie ignored him.
“Take five cards without looking at them and lay out four corners, put one in the centre, all face down,” she said, instructing and watching him do as she told. Eddie snatched up the cards he didn’t use and tidied them. “The top left card represents your present.”
“Can I?” Clay asked, picking up his drink, looking at her with expectation and a little curious anticipation.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Eddie said, giving him permission.
Clay flipped the first card and revealed it. The Wheel.
“What were you thinking about when you shuffled?”
“If the girl across the table can read me through a deck of cards,” he said, flashing a white, sly smile.
Eddie paused a moment, pondering this. “There’s a strong connection to fate surrounding you. A lot of luck, for sure, neither good nor bad. But a lot of luck?”
He said nothing and flipped the top right card. King of Swords, reversed.
“Hm,” Eddie cocked her head to the side. “That’s interesting. Someone hurt you, someone really cruel. It still influences your choices.”
“Exes, am I right?” He teased.
She couldn’t see his gaze sharpening behind the glasses. He flipped the bottom left corner. Knight of Wands in reverse.
“So if that’s representing your challenges,” Eddie began, raising her hazel eyes to meet his gaze. She couldn’t sense him or his emotions. It might have been because he hid his eyes behind those glasses. She briefly wondered if it was intentional. “You have an anger problem, a massive one. You’re probably also reckless and impulsive by nature. I’m guessing most people think you’re an asshole.”
“I knew it,” a calm voice interrupted, startling Eddie. “He’s a hot mess.”
“I’m a Scorpio,” Clay said, deadpan, sipping through his straw.
“You’re a lot of things,” said Duncan, who came to stand behind Clay.
Eddie noticed he was a much shorter man than Clay, though impressively muscular as his dress clothes flattered his form. He wore a white button-up shirt with a collar, his sleeves rolled up to really his hairy, sinewy forearms, and black slacks held up by black leather suspenders. A dark brown flat cap covered his shaved head, and he sported a thick yet trimmed black beard. He was classically handsome if Eddie’s opinion mattered. His piercing blue gaze studied her, and she sensed an inquisitive soul, though a hidden danger behind those eyes, too.
“Gonna sit down?” Clay asked, not looking back. “It’s getting good.”
He took the seat next to Clay, sitting properly, and watched with interest. Clay revealed the last corner.
The Tower.
Clay’s brow furrowed. “So, what does that mean?”
Eddie studied the card in context with the others and shook her head. “A lot, honestly. The Tower when upright, can mean disaster, chaos, trauma, or just change altogether. Its meaning depends on other things, but in your case, I think some serious shit is about to go down in your life that’s gonna change you.”
“The Tower,” Clay repeated, his gaze lingering on it as he fidgeted with his cup and rattled the ice cubes. “Let’s do the last one before I lose interest.”
He flipped the one in the centre and revealed the Ten of Cups in reverse.
She gasped, unable to temper her reaction. The flow of emotional anguish swept over her like the tide, threatening to drag her away to oblivion if she wasn’t cautious. The feeling that gripped her almost tore her breath from her very lungs. Clay and Duncan both noticed, but waited for an explanation. Eddie gathered herself, trying to shake the feeling off.
“A long time ago, something shattered you and you never knew how to put yourself back together. I feel you’ve lost loved ones or have seen people die. Both, even. You blame yourself for it all, but you shouldn’t. Did you serve in the military?” Eddie asked, trailing off as she realized too late that her insight was beyond simple tarot reading and that she put her foot in her mouth.
Duncan kept a poker face while Clay did not look amused as he set the drink down.
“Say, kid,” he said, raising his shades to reveal hardened brown eyes as his stare bore into her soul. His ditzy queen act suddenly dropped. She did not know how leonine of a man he was, or freckled until he’d lifted the sunglasses. “You a witch or something?”
Eddie folded her hands in her lap, massaging her palms.
The aura of malicious intent emanating from him was ominous and overpowering. So vast and staggering. It wasn’t until she looked into his eyes that she saw him, truly saw him, and she was terrified.
“N-no,” she lied, “just a broke college kid.”
Clay smiled without mirth, unsettling her as she felt sized up. “Good. That’d be bad.”
“It would?”
“Yup. I’d have to kill you.”
Eddie swallowed hard and wondered if she was about to piss herself. This wasn’t a joke. He meant good on that threat.
“Okay, that’s enough of your gallows humour, mister. We’ve talked about this,” Duncan cut in, standing up and urging Clay to follow him. “You’re hangry. Let’s go.”
The tension in the room vanished, and she realized she’d been holding her breath. Eddie reminded herself to breathe.
“Be good, little witch,” Clay said, standing up with Duncan, lowering his aviators to cover his face again–his broad grin arrogant and lupine.
“Ignore him,” Duncan said, nudging Clay towards the door. “He’s a pussycat, I promise.”
They left before Eddy could react. She sat in her chair, grabbing her selenite crystal and clasping it in her hands. It was hard for her to breathe.
“Hunters,” she whispered to herself.
She stood up, frantically stuffing her things back into her bag.
“Hey, Eddie,” Farhan called out from the counter. “That GigaChad never tipped.”
Eddie said nothing and made a beeline for the ladies’ room, locking the door behind her and hanging her bag on the hook. She sat down on the toilet lid and hunched forward, burying her hands in her face, her breathing rapid and shallow.
Hunters. They existed. They actually existed.
Her online friends talked about them in group chats, but she was a skeptic through and through. It was a creepypasta on message boards like the SCP Foundation, she’d say. Those same friends who told her about magic and how to cast low-level spells. Friends whom she confided in about the ghosts she that she could see since childhood. They had cautioned her about hunters and their prejudice towards witches. It was those same friends who ghosted and hadn’t logged into their socials for some time.
“Oh no,” she exhaled. “Oh no, oh no, oh no.”
Could someone have hunted those friends?
She realized as those fierce brown eyes lingered on her memory, burned there. The way Duncan looked at her, too. Those men were both hunters and profiling her.
Eddie did not know what to do next. Should she run? Leave town and lie low?
Farhan knocked at the door. Her break was over.
Unable to parse her thoughts of paranoia from rational self-preservation, she sighed and told him she’d be right out.
A girl still had to work.