My dearest confidante,

 

The day has been met with so many twists and turns I nearly have whiplash. I suspect Brady of cheating with the quite literal girl next door. A cute little werewolf, whose name I don’t care to recall. I came home early from the shop today, expecting him to be in the apartment, but the faint giggles and what I know is his voice coming from the apartment next door quickly proved me wrong. I stood just outside the apartment door long enough to hear the wet smack of a kiss. My blood is still boiling. I didn’t stick around much longer after that but once I’ve collected myself, I fully intend to confront him. 

 

But that’s not even the worst… or weirdest occurrence of the day.

 

I decided to head back to the shop and collect myself. As you know, dear confidante, cleaning helps me clear my head and I was elbow deep in dust when I heard a faint knock. My sign clearly says closed, so I waited. The knocking persisted, slightly harder than before. Tossing my cloth to the side, I went to see who could possibly be knocking at such a time.

 

I didn’t realize it had begun to rain over the music, but when I opened the door a tall, at least six-foot, Roman god of a man stood drenched in my doorway. His long, black hair was plastered to his forehead, and he peered at me through soaked strands that obscured his amber eyes. His black, cotton shirt clung to every ridge of his biceps and ripple of his abs. I stood, holding the doorknob until it felt like a white-hot ember in my hand. The sensation was enough to jolt my nervous system back to life. 

 

“I’m closed.” I said stupidly. I’m still kicking myself for that. 

 

He looked a bit taken aback but responded with an urgency in his voice, “I’m terribly sorry but I’ve heard you’re the only one who can do this.” 

 

Well, I’d be lying if I said that didn’t pique my interest entirely. My senses came flooding back and I sheepishly moved aside to allow him in. He waved his hand in a swift, fluid gesture and the constant drip from his clothing and hair ceased. I know the look on my face was one of question because he simply smiled. 

 

Okay, so he’s a spellcaster. What could he possibly need me for?

 

“Thanks for not getting my rugs wet.” I joked, sure to convey my knowing. A few moments passed before he finally broke the awkward silence between us. 

 

“My name is Antonin, I’m not from around here but I need to contact someone.” In my line of work that’s a pretty broad request. I quirked a brow. “Someone who isn’t… on this side,” he continued, his feet shuffling. I could tell this was his first time asking someone to telephone a spirit. 

 

He was partially correct. I am the only known medium for hundreds of miles. Madame Zelda, the voodoo priestess of Sulani has a steep price for her services, which often require blood rather than money. But that’s just speculation. At any rate, most people don’t take chances unless their needs are dire. 

 

“Who do you need to contact and why?” I asked outright, having a very strict policy on not disturbing the dead for petty bullshit. “There are rules and reasons as to why I won’t do this. Speak your need carefully,” I warned. 

 

The man drew a long, steadying breath, closed his eyes and seemed to really consider his words carefully. “My mother… I need to contact my mother.” He stopped there, his eyes still closed, and drew another deep breath. “She’s haunting me and I need to know why.”

 

I stood in the wake of his monumental silence and steadied myself, feeling each ripple of his words. “Come downstairs.” 

 

I left no room for objection and led him through the hidden entrance and down the cold, stone steps where I motioned to the table in the corner. “Have a seat, please, and clear your mind entirely.” After he was seated, I asked him if he had anything of his mother’s. To which he responded by taking a necklace from his pocket and laying it on the table. Radiant emeralds sparkled under the dazzling candlelight. I counted at least twelve of varying sizes and shades of green. I stifled my gasp, but I know he saw the look of utter amazement in my eyes as they darted between the bejeweled necklace and his gaze. 

 

“It was a gift from an emperor. One of my mother's most prized possessions. She left it to me after she was… after she died.” His eyes betrayed him before his mouth did and I knew in that moment I didn’t know everything. However, noting how his emerald eyes seemed to glow like red hot magma, I didn’t press my observation. Instead, I gently took his hand.

 

And let me fucking tell you, dear confidante, that’s when things got even weirder. 

 

Both of us recoiled in the same instant our skin touched, a look of shock, partial horror and wonder etched deep into our features. I know because I could see my own reflection in one of the many mirrors around the seancè table. I opened my mouth to speak as I looked down at my hand, half expecting it to catch aflame. 

 

He found his words before I did. “What the fuck was that?” Okay, so I’m not totally insane and he definitely felt it, too. “You felt that, right? That… that shock?” He struggled regulating his tone and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. Is that part of the ritual?” 

 

I don’t know what possessed me in that moment, but I lied. “Yes, it can sometimes happen if the connection is strong. It must be the necklace.” He seemed convinced and I was actually pretty surprised at how well I managed to convince myself. The truth was, no, this had absolutely never happened before. I was slightly scared but oddly thrilled, so I pressed on. Extending my hand to him once more, I took a deep breath.

 

It was like my blood had been replaced with pure electricity. Every nerve in my body hummed, my skin tingling with warmth. I felt his hand try to pull away but I held his grip tighter, determined to find the origin of this sensation. “Think of your mother,” I whispered, fighting my own urge to let go. “Find her and hold her in your mind.” I let the sensation wash over me as I closed my eyes, finally able to see. “Her name is Eleanor and she’s here.” 

 

And she was. She was a presence like none I had ever felt before and not certain I wanted to feel again. Overpowering and suffocating, so little of the warmth her son provided. “What do you need to know?” My voice was not my own. Antonin’s expression read he knew exactly to whom it belonged. 

 

“Mother. You’re here,” breathless, he fought to find the words before blurting, “did he murder you?”