I fled London. There wasn’t any other way to phrase it, or sell it even. My mother had been in attendance at the gala and was furious that not only had I managed to effectively avoid both her and Andrew, I had also left without bidding her farewell.
And, the very next morning, before I could even be summoned to breakfast with Emily Rand, I had boarded a plane back to Manhattan. My mother was furious. But not furious enough to actually get on a plane and follow me home, because, naturally, she had high society plans that just couldn’t be cancelled.
For once I wasn’t actually bitter. It meant that I could arrange my travel to New Orleans without hindrance from her.
Our Manhattan apartment was sprawling and silent, but even in the silence, it was imposing, as if my very presence in the place was somehow too much. That I didn’t belong here - didn’t fit. I sat beneath the bright overhead lights at the kitchen island, allowing my own anxiety to settle as I sipped on a large cup of coffee. I was tired, but I clutched the mug more for comfort than anything else, willing the heat from the cup to ease the knot of tension that had settled between my shoulder blades since I had walked out on Charl the night before.
I forced the air around me to accept me - the apartment to accept me. When the walls felt like they were closing in, the very air in the room pressing upon me, I simply pushed back, hell bent on being the dominant force.
It’s just energy- Charl’s soothing voice was unlocked from the hidden crevices of my memories, presenting itself at both opportune and inopportune times. Carefully, I rinsed out my mug, my legs twitching with the need to move. I wasn’t channeling the right type of energy for what I was about to do, but to sit around and do nothing but wait until I boarded a plane to New Orleans just seemed absurd.
My legs were moving before I had even mentally issued the command, and suddenly I was on the first floor of the apartment, standing in my room, the pristine white rugs taunting me with their very cleanliness.
The huffing of my breath was reverberating in my ear drums and I willed my racing heart to slow down. Charl had sold our services to the fucking mob, and I wanted to have faith in him and the Club, I really did, but I couldn’t help but feel as if I were replaceable, if something happened to me, that someone shinier could come along and slide into the Club.
My hands shook as I slid out the pink briefcase from beneath my bathroom vanity, my fingers searching for the rose quartz within. I found it without really needing to look, pulling it by the delicate silver chain it was attached to. The feel of the stone in my palm was soothing, slowing my rapid heart beat, halting my anxiety as it grew to overwhelming levels.
I didn’t even move into a more comfortable location, instead I sat on the cool tiles of the bathroom floor, holding the rose quartz pendulum by its chain. It swayed gently over the palm of my hand that I held beneath it, and I stilled my mind as I waited for it to settle. It was an act of meditation because you couldn’t think of everything on your to-do list, or anything else that may distract you from the task at hand, you could only think about your question.
My eyelids grew heavy as I shut them against my invading thoughts in a bid to eliminate all other distractions. It was just me, the pendulum, and my breath.
My first question formed solidly in my mind as I channeled all my energy in receiving answers to it.
Should I take this contract with the Bratva.
My breathing was steady, my eyelids refusing to cooperate and lift themselves so I could see what my pendulum was doing. My lids pried themselves open, but shuttered against the light. I had been meditating for longer than I had realised, the light harsh in contrast to the darkness of my eyelids.
The pendulum was rotating in circles above my palm - a resounding yes. I couldn’t even pretend otherwise.
I shut my eyes, shaking my mind free of any further thoughts as I summoned my next question.
What is Charl’s endgame?
The pendulum starts circling my palm and then halts its progress, instead, swinging back and forth before once more resuming the circular motion. Because that’s what happened when you didn’t ask it a direct yes or no question.
My breath burnt my nostrils as I huffed out in frustration. Fine. Shutting my eyes once more, willing a simpler question to formulate in my mind.
Is Charl being honest about his intentions with the Bratva?
I held my eyes shut, afraid to see the answer - scared of the confirmation that the pendulum would present.
I eventually opened my eyes, my hands cramping from holding the pendulum’s chain in it’s precise position. I had remained motionless for far longer than I had initially intended.
The pendulum was swinging in sure back and forth motion. For me, and my connection, that meant that the answer was a solid no. No, Charl was not being honest about his intentions - but was he ever?
Sometimes Charl’s dishonesty was calculated, resulting in the optimum outcome for The Club and its members, and sometimes it was rooted in the very fact that Charl walked the thin line of madness, dipping into different worlds, communicating with Demons, entities, and spirits alike. Often he, himself, couldn’t determine his truth from those he was communing with. The lines blurred, worlds melded, truth became subjective. That was Charl for you. He was enigmatic, but also very, very dangerous.
My exhale caught me by surprise. No good would come from me sitting on my bathroom floor, pendulum in hand. I had received the only answer that mattered - I should take on this new client.
“We need rules,” Max vocalised what we had all been thinking.
“We can’t just accept clients under the pretense of this Club of yours without basic rules and guidelines - I mean what if we’re sent into a perv’s house to read cards for him? What are the guidelines for that sort of experience?”
Max was now pacing up and down, walking a clear path into the faded brown carpet as she implored Charl to consider our safety before The Club.
I pulled my knees tighter to my chest, my breasts hindering my ability to pull them flush against me as I sat on that awful carpet and listened. Charl had called us together to announce the evolution of the Club - he wanted to monetize our abilities, shop out our talents. My stomach pooled with dread. How was I even going to wrangle this with my parents constantly breathing down my throat?
“You, little bird,” Charl answered Max with a grin, “will simply let everything tumble down around them should they even try anything with you.”