Chapter 18: Ezra - Entities to Lovers

It’s midafternoon when we finally arrive at Dawn Ridge.

It’s a tiny community up a hill on a gravelly road a little ways from town. It’s sheltered by a forest, some trees skeletal and bare early, and others still hanging on to their golden, orange, and red leaves. New England is full of artsy little communities like this. Colorful cabins, wind chimes bedecking the full-length porches, and lots of recycled scrap metal art. As we pull up to the central loop, my phone loses service.

“Do you remember the way back?” Rory asks.

I shrug. “Just drive straight until I find a road?”

“Good enough.”

“Now, how do we find this woman? I doubt Lettie has her name on her house in big letters.”

A community this small makes me think of how easy it was to come and go back in the day. People disappeared with no way of ever finding them; someone could jaunt into a village and tell everyone he was a lost prince, and people would believe him. There were so few ways to fact-check anybody. I feel like this is the kind of place where that might still happen in the modern day.

“Pull up to that general store, and we’ll ask inside.”

I do as Rory asks and park in front of the store. It’s a pale blue cabin with peeling paint and a sign reading The Needs in Papyrus.

It’s colder than Boston up here, and the frigid rain isn’t helping the cause. The plus side is Rory looks particularly adorable all bundled up. Today, she’s in a pair of jeans, a black turtleneck sweater with a little woven vest over the top, and her parka. Her hair hangs down in twin braids, stopping at her shoulders.

“Well, we made it to Maine in one piece,” I say as we climb the steps.

“Don’t jinx it. I’m begging you.”

Rory’s trying to play the stern game, but I catch her smiling. As she reaches the spring-screen door, I shoot out and open it for her. Rory jumps back. I worried what three hours in the car would do to me, and I have my answer: It had me baring my ultimate fears and weaknesses to a girl who I thought hated me.

But in fact, she doesn’t hate me at all. She admires me.

I severely underestimated how good it would make me feel to hear her say those words.

“Thanks.”

I nod. “After you.”

The inside of The Needs smells a lot like the inside of Ye Olde Spirit Shop, patchouli and cedar, but is far more…lighthearted than our shop. The walls are a pale pine, nothing like the deep purple damask wallpaper in the store, and instead of skulls, taxidermy, and jarred specimens, the display tables show off handmade jewelry, natural salves, and other local artisan crafts. Rory and I are like a dark rain cloud on a sunny day.

Rory approaches the counter, and I’m promptly distracted by a box of vintage photos for a quarter each. I flip through them and lose myself in a grainy photograph of a house, then one of a few old cars for my dad, and a faded Polaroid of an eighties arcade I’ll bring home for Micah. I grab a final one, dated 1947, of a man in a suit, suspenders, and trilby hat walking down the street, to make it an even dollar. I step toward Rory with my spoils, flip them over, and spread them out like tarot cards for her to see.

“Pick a card.”

“Ha,” she fake laughs, but her smile and the blush in her cheeks is undoubtedly real. “Let’s see…”

She grabs the photo of the house and shivers.

“What?” I ask.

“The energy on this picture is not great,” she says. “Full-body chills.”

“What does that mean?” I ask her.

“There’s a haunted house in your future?”

“Very helpful, thank you,” I joke. “I’m getting all of them.”

“Welcome!” the woman at the counter says. She’s small and willowy, wearing an earthy-colored tie-dye shawl over her sweater. “Can I help you with anything?”

“Yeah,” Rory replies. “We’re from out of town, but we’re looking for someone who lives here.”

“Who might that be?”

“Lettie Morgan. She’s an old friend of my mom’s.”

The woman nods. “Oh, of course. We know Lettie. She makes those jams in the corner.”

“Where can we find her? It’s really important we speak with her.”

She beckons us over and pushes open the door to the store. We peer out together.

I find it a little wild she’s telling us where Lettie lives, as if there’s zero chance we’re serial killers, traveling salespeople, or worse. I’ll choose to believe it’s a sign of how welcoming and lovely this place is, and not a sign this woman doxxes her neighbors to whoever asks.

“That pale brown house right there,” she says, pointing to another small cabin across the clearing. “You’ll find Lettie there.”

“Excellent, thank you so much,” Rory says. I pay for my photos, slip them into my jacket pocket, and meet Rory outside. She grabs my arm and guides me toward Lettie’s cabin. I’m full of anticipation. We could break this curse right now if Lettie tells us what we need to hear.

Breaking it means the freedom to go about my life as normal again. I’d get to go back to my bed—no disrespect to Rory’s couch. But it also means Rory and I might go back to what we were a few days ago: Rivals. Acquaintances. Coworkers. She could pretend this never happened and ignore me forever, even though I’ve opened up to her in ways I rarely do. She’ll give up on me like everyone else does, when she realizes we’re not paranormally handcuffed together.

“Here goes nothing,” Rory mutters and knocks on the door.

There’s movement on the other side, and seconds later, a petite silver-haired woman opens it. Lettie must be in her mid-fifties. She wears a loose pair of linen pants, a knit shrug, and a pair of clogs with thick socks. Her hair is clipped in a messy bun that shows off the dangling butterfly earrings hanging from her ears.

“Can I help you?” she asks.

“Hi,” Rory begins. “My name’s Rory Woods, and my mom—”

“Oh!” she chirps. “You’re Delia’s daughter.”

“I am. She sent me to find you because my, uh”—she looks to me—“friend and I are in a little bit of a situation, and she said you might be able to help.”

Friend. That is an unexpected upgrade.

Lettie’s easy expression tightens—with equal parts sympathy and fear, something like a bad memory.

“Come on in from the cold,” she offers. “I just lit a fire and put the kettle on.”

Lettie’s house is the woodsy version of Rory’s place and Delia’s apartment above the shop. There’s no TV or signs of any modern technology. Even the kitchen is dated and the fridge has seen better days.

Right as we enter, the rain unleashes. The breeze sweeps through the drafty, uneven windows and nudges us both closer to the fire. The living room contains an old couch, a reclaimed wood coffee table, and a bookshelf packed to the gills with metaphysical learning books.

“Take a seat, you two. Tea?”

“Sure,” I say, sliding onto the couch beside Rory. Lettie brings over two cups of tea in handcrafted clay mugs. Instead of taking a sip right away, I clasp the cup and use it to warm my hands up. Rory glances over and gives me a tiny smile. Lettie sits across from us in a papasan chair with a moose blanket draped over the edge. She wears a claddagh ring on her right hand with the heart facing inward.

“So, what brings you here?”

I nod for Rory to proceed. She knows this world much better than I do. “My mom told me you ran into trouble with Temperance Talbot some time ago, and I’m afraid we’ve suffered the same fate.”

“Oh dear,” she sighs. “I sure did.”

“Could you tell us a little bit about what happened?” I ask, leaning forward.

“It was…” Lettie thinks, squinting one of her eyes. “Fifteen years ago now? I used to be a curator there, organizing the exhibits, arranging tours. I loved that job. Too much, maybe. At the time, I was one of the only ones working at the house, and the hours were long. One night, I was working well past closing time, and I bumped into one of Temperance’s vases. I might have caught it if I had my wits about me, but I didn’t, and it shattered.”

Well, at least what we broke was a fake apothecary bottle from a thrift store, not an actual antique. If Lettie escaped that curse, there might be hope for us still.

“Didn’t take long for her to unleash her wrath,” Lettie laughs. “Temperance is a fickle woman, even from beyond the grave.”

“What did she do to you?” Rory inquires.

“Everything I touched broke.”

“Sounds a lot like what we’re dealing with,” I tell her.

“It wasn’t simply that it broke. Everything was a close call. Always slipping out of my fingers. My reflexes were inhibited, like when you’ve been drinking. You’re just one second too slow.”

“What’d you do?” Rory asks.

“I realized it wasn’t just clumsiness or bad reflexes. These were mistakes. And I didn’t only have Temperance Talbot to blame. It didn’t stop until I’d caused so many issues that I broke my wrist on the job after slipping down those stairs in the foyer. I had to go on leave. Then I noticed it was the first day off I’d had in years.”

“A blessing in disguise, huh?” I remark.

“You can say that again,” Lettie continues. “I did things for myself. I caught up on movies I wanted to see. Books I wanted to read. Temperance forced me to stop. Because I was working myself to death. I wasn’t doing good work. I was careless because I was exhausted.”

For a moment, I’m jealous. Why couldn’t we have gotten a curse that was helping us? Instead, it’s making both of our lives chaos. The rules don’t feel so cut-and-dried to me, and that’s what bothers me most. If we were supposed to stick together, we’ve done that. Both of us have things on the line in the near future. We have to break this curse.

“How did you break the curse?” I probe.

“I quit.”

“Your job?”

“Sure did. I adored that job, but it’d become such a chore that the love was gone, and I’d let myself fall to the wayside. So, I quit. I left and sought out a simpler life up here. I connected with nature, with myself. It’s different, I’ll tell you that much.”

“But it’s better?”

“Not better,” she replies. “It was what I needed. Once I put in that notice, I swear something in the air changed. There was no big flashing light telling me I’d done it and won a prize, but I felt free. That was how I knew.”

“Are you happy?” Rory asks.

“I am,” she says with a smile. “I discovered a lot of things about myself in the past decade or so. I’m good with plants—I make the jams and jellies in the store—”

“We saw,” I tell her. I finally try the tea now that it’s cooled. It’s a hearty and earthy cardamom and vanilla blend. I bet Rory could make something like this, if not better. “They looked excellent.”

“The more I focused on myself, the more I realized all the gifts I had. I could see people’s auras and energies. I could understand and help them. I learned to read cards and made time to meditate. I found someone who likes those things, too. I wouldn’t have if it hadn’t been for Temperance and that damn curse.”

“That’s really nice,” Rory says, picking at her nails. “I think we’re both struggling to see the positive in our situation. We’ve been plagued by the worst luck imaginable. Everything that can go wrong does go wrong. At first, we thought it was because we had to be close together, but we’re realizing that isn’t the only rule.”

“Interesting,” Lettie ponders, stirring her tea with a tiny spoon. “What were you doing when you got cursed?”

“Arguing,” I admit. “We were doing a tour at Talbot House and we were bickering, like usual, and we knocked over her altar.”

“All right…and what about when you’ve had those flare-ups?”

“We were…oh,” I trail off.

“You were arguing, weren’t you?” Lettie says.

“Yeah.”

“If I didn’t know any better, Temperance is telling you to play nice.”

“But we have,” I insist. “It’s a big pivot from even a few days ago. We drove all the way up here with only minor bickering.”

“It was playful, mostly.” Rory quiets and shifts in her seat before treading forward. “I can speak to spirits. That night, she told me I’ll show you, and when I tried to commune with her again, all she told me was to be afraid. I have no idea what I’m supposed to see.”

“Temperance isn’t a mother putting two naughty kids on time-out. There’s something you need to learn from this.”

I can think of many things Temperance might want us to learn. She might want to punish us for messing around in her space. She might want us to learn to play nice and see the positive in one another, but we are. What are we going to have to do to flip the switch and release us from her grasp?

“You’re going to have to look inward,” Lettie muses. “No one but you two truly can find the answer.”

I’m fully aware I’m a flawed person, but I don’t see how tripping over sidewalks is supposed to heal my deep character wounds.

I sigh and lean back on the couch. “Okay…do you know of anyone else who has been cursed? It might be helpful to get a second approach.”

“Sure,” Lettie agrees. “Temperance rarely pulls the same act. I know a man—he lives in Boston.”

Lettie reaches for a small pad of paper and writes down a name—Eddie Hartman. “He used to be a security guard. I don’t have a number or way to contact him, but if he’s still alive, he might be able to talk to you.”

If he’s still alive…That’s always promising. However, maybe Rory could do another séance if worse comes to worst. It’s more than we had an hour ago.

“Thank you. We’ll track him down when we get back.”

“Did that help you?” she asks.

It isn’t the best answer, but it’s at least a step. We drove all this way, and Lettie did what she could, but we’re still tangled in this catastrophe with some apparent soul-searching to do. At least we’ll have a long car ride home to brainstorm. I’m beginning to suspect we’re looking for the easy way out, when Temperance wants us to work for our freedom.

“It did,” I tell her. “Thanks, Lettie. And for the tea.”

“I want to give you a jam before you go! Leave your teacups there, I’ve got it,” she offers, setting her cup down and scurrying toward the tiny kitchen. She procures two jars of red jam and passes them to us.

Lettie pauses in front of us and smiles. “I don’t want to intrude, but…”

“Yes?” Rory says.

“I wonder if that curse of yours might have something to do with the two of you being twin flames.”

“Twin…flames,” I say slowly, chewing over the words.

I’ve heard of the concept before, and know it’s something like soulmates. Two people who are meant for one another, who burn in the same ways. I’ve always suspected Rory and I have more in common than we’ve ever been comfortable admitting, but the word “soulmates” never crossed my mind.

When I picture me and my soulmate, there’s this blurred face of a woman in my head. Whoever she is, she’s someone I feel safe with and who fights for me, especially when my armor cracks. I’ve always been afraid that person doesn’t exist for me. As I get older, the thought of being alone petrifies me, not because I love being in relationships or really need to get laid. If I’m alone, it means there’s something about me that will never measure up. The loneliness is a perpetual reminder.

But for a split second, when I think about Rory being that person? It feels good. And maybe even correct.

Rory, however, is horrified. Tears bloom in her eyes and her cheeks redden, like she’s embarrassed or hurt. While I thought we were making progress, while the lovesick idiot in me thinks I might be falling for her, she clearly doesn’t feel the same. Something about the idea of being my twin flame revolts her, if her expression tells me anything.

I don’t know why I’m shocked. I shouldn’t be. This is how love is for me.

“Excuse me?” she stutters.

“I see it all over you two. The moment you walked in. There was something connected about you.”

“We’re not…” I laugh because I’m nervous. Terrified, actually. “We’re just coworkers. There’s no way we’re like…soulmates or something.”

“I need to…” Rory mutters to herself, and then she flees. She’s out the door and back into the rain before I can stop her.

“Shit,” I sigh. “Thank you for everything.”

Lettie smiles and looks to the open door Rory left through. Lettie clears her throat, grabbing my attention.

“Twin flames are like two sides of the same coin. It represents a binding between two souls with hurdles they need to heal and overcome. These are often challenging relationships, not always easy, but worthwhile.”

“Thanks,” I say. “We’ll…consider that.”

Now I have a twin flame to chase.