Something To Dream On
(Visionary Fantasy / Metaphysical Fiction / Urban Fantasy / Paranormal Romance)
If a painting in the home of your perfect man reflects your dreams of doom, do you run, or do you dare to embrace love?
While Lizetta lives a life of compassion, childhood bullying over a few extra pounds have caused this sparky woman to lose sight of the beauty of her soul. Jensen’s recent past is filled with substance abuse, shady morals, and loose women. A brutal wake up call forced him to find his way back to the gentle soul he once was; however, there are some whose futures depend on the return of the demon.
Souls can heal, but how long can they fight the forces that seek to destroy them? If one of those forces is the person who shattered your self-image, and she is determined to take down the one you love, could you still believe that everyone deserves a second chance?
“The emotion that radiates throughout the pages of this book grabbed at my heart… I don’t believe I’ve ever, and I mean EVER read a book that made me look at myself and realize that I too can be a better person.” – USA Today Bestselling Author, Jennifer Theriot
Read the prologue of
Something To Dream On
ONE YEAR BEFORE DESTINY
Tuesday, April 5
If a psychic yanks you by the arm, forces you into a seat, and states that you “arrived just in time”—all without even looking at you—should you panic? That just happened to me, and I am a little weirded out.
Griffin made this appointment so he could get advice on his stinky love life. Since I am just tagging along, the experience is now all kinds of freaky. Plus, the psychic looks like Angela Lansbury on Murder, She Wrote and calls herself The Amazing Zolta. This can’t possibly go well.
Zolta clasps her hands together. The widening of her eyes complements the broadening of her smile. Does she always get this excited over roping people into readings? Just how much is this going to cost?
“Take five cards from anywhere in the deck. Place them before you on the table, anyway you want.” Her fingers dance above a red tablecloth, encouraging me to scatter the cards. Her liveliness reminds me of a Bugs Bunny cartoon.
Griffin and I exchange smiles. Part of me has always felt psychics are full of malarkey. However, I do believe that there is more to the universe than what we see. That is why I am so weirded out over Zolta’s sense of urgency to get me in this chair and actually hope it is just a scam.
From the one-third mark, I cut the deck and grab a stack of cards off the top. I set three of them like the points of a triangle. That seems off, so I use the two left in my hand to turn it into an arrow. Griffin tilts his head. He’s right; it still feels wrong. I slide the two cards on the side down to form a diamond with one card in the center.
“Why did you make the change?” Zolta asks.
“I don’t know. Instinct, maybe?”
“Good, good, good.” She studies the spread with raised brows.
The card at the top of the diamond is called The Star. A cluster of little stars, along with a blinding yellow one, hover above a woman pouring water. It’s a peaceful scene, and I know this interpretation is totally wrong, but I can’t help but feel sorry for the poor woman who is being hit in the head and is seeing sparks.
On the sides of my diamond are two other women. One of them is upside down and has a bird on her wrist while the other sits on a throne. Am I the one with the bird? That would make sense since I’m a vet tech and live in a farmhouse where I am Mom to a pen of chickens, two dogs, and a pig. The one on the throne has a rabbit at her feet though.
A hand holding a coin dominates the bottom card, but I am more drawn to the garden in its background. It reminds me of that recurring dream.
Oh, no way.
In the center of it all, lightning strikes a building, causing people to plummet to their deaths. Once I absorb the power the card depicts, my stomach drops with the victims.
“Fascinating …” Zolta utters. She reminds me of how concerned my mother sounded when my scrawny brother announced he wanted to join the football team. Where did all of Zolta’s excitement go? ”Something is going to happen that will shake up your world. This Star,” she taps on the top card, “it is a card of hope but …” Her attention turns to The Tower. She raises a finger to her pursed lips and taps. “Sometimes glory can only come through loss. Some kind of battle is going to happen. These two women on the sides hold the key to the outcome. The reversed Nine of Pentacles shows someone who is lacking, while the Queen of Pentacles represents a person of true compassion.” Her eyes meet mine, and I am certain that I look like a cartoon ghost—sheet white with black voids for eyes. Zolta pats my arm. Why do I sense she is offering comfort? “Fear not, dear girl. This Ace of Pentacles at the bottom is the best card in the deck.”
The two women, the grass, and the star above—I know this picture all too well. “My dream,” I utter.
Her curiosity sparks. “Dream? You’ve had a dream about this? Tell me about it.”
“It ends with me flying into the stars.”
“Hmm …” Zolta muses. The tightening of her brow concerns me. “Grab another card and set it off to the side.”
With that Tower wildly freaking me out, I pray for a better card. My nerves make me sloppy, and the top few cards in the deck fall aside. I go to the ones that stayed behind.
Ice creeps down my neck and into my arms when I see the word Death. I drop the card like it’s about to bite. It lands next to The Tower, and my lungs forget how to work. I can’t die! I’m only twenty-four. What will happen to my babies at home? My brother can’t care for himself let alone a pen of chickens. What if they—
Zolta again pats my arm. The rapidness of her thunks shows she can’t hide how uncomfortable she is. “Don’t be scared. The Death card means change. While it can mean physical death, it rarely ever does.”
She can say what she wants, but those Death and Tower cards are freaking the sugar out of me. Maybe it’s a warning about my weight. The doctor did say that I should dump a ton. Unlike some people with true medical issues, this weight is all me. I need to stop making excuses.
Zolta sweeps up the cards in haste while avoiding eye contact. Does she not want me to ask questions, or is something turning her blood into a Slurpee, too? “Some type of … incident is going to happen. Something will shake your world, like lightning has struck you in the head. In the end, it will bring you the ultimate joy.”
The ultimate joy? Isn’t that what they call Heaven? Unless someone changed the rules, you only get there by dying. “When will this happen?”
She scoffs. “The cards do not know any more than the universe does. Time only matters to us because we limit our minds so that our days here are all that exist.”
That’s it. I hear the exit calling. “Thank you for your time.” I grab my purse and start to head out. My fluttering nerves turn both of my feet into left ones and my hip smacks into the table, causing a stack of cards to slide off and spill onto the ground. The card that falls dead into the middle of the heap has a giant wheel on it. It spins to the left so that it lands with the top numbers pointing down. My mind reels along with it.
Griffin rubs my shoulder. “It’s okay, Baby Cakes. Catch your breath. Remember, she’s saying you will get the prize.” I shudder as he says it and then grab a swift inhale. No wonder why I am dizzy. My freak out has stolen my ability to breathe. “Whatever happens, it’s finally going to explain everything.”
Griffin is right. My dream is going to come true, whatever the bejesus it means.
This bitch has lost it. Seriously, who the fuck does she think she is?
“Jensen, what has happened to you? You used to be such a wonderful person and now …” She sobs while mumbling something to herself. I guess it’s to herself. Shit. I don’t know. Women are weird. They only seem to be good for one thing, so why am I bothering with this one?
I take another swig from my friend, Mr. Jack Daniels. The crazy woman drops her head into her hands and the waterworks come on stronger. It’s a hell of a show. Let’s see what happens when I chug.
They must be making this stuff weaker because the three shots worth go down like water.
The bitch screams at me. Like she lets loose as if she wants fucking China to hear. Then she has the balls to try to steal my buddy. She pulls at the bottle, and I laugh at her feebleness. She yanks and fails to get it, so she yanks again and again. I have to give her a little credit for effort.
Finally, I’ve had enough, so I let her have it; not the bottle, but a lesson in the form of a body check against the wall. “Baby, please stop,” she begs.
She’s right. I should back off and give the old broad a break. I step back and laugh before taking another swig. She actually has the nerve to go for the bottle again. Fine, if she wants it so badly, she can have it. I toss the thing at her. Actually, it’s more of a calculated throw that is intended to scare her. Instead, I graze her enough for it to give a little bounce off of her temple. The thing reminds me of rubber, like I am in a cartoon. It’s the funniest fucking thing in the world, and I can’t stop laughing as she pulls her hand away from the spot I hit, checking for blood. It’s too bad there isn’t any. It would make a great pattern on the floor with the way she’s shaking her head.
“Get out!” she yells, again like she wants to be heard on Mars. “Get out, and don’t come back!”
Yeah, right. We’ve been through this before.
“Get out!” I’m shoved, hard, towards the door once, then twice. On the third time, I’m done and rid myself of the control freak. I’ve got better places to be. “I mean it, Jensen. Don’t come back!”
I wave her off and head to my car. Whatever. She’ll be sweet as punch in the morning.
Dawn is cracking open as I return home. With my guitar strapped onto my back, I lug an amp up the walk and step on something soft. A T-shirt? Then I almost trip over a shoe. “The hell?”
The walkway is littered with clothes—my clothes! “That whore!” My feet hit the ground like thunder as I make for the door and fumble for the right key. I try to jam the thing into the lock, but I’m so fuming I have to try slamming it in three times before finding it won’t turn.
“Son of a bitch!” I yank the key out and stare, then draw the thing closer to bring it into focus so I can be certain. Yeah, that’s the right one. This time I brace on the door with my free hand and get the key in on the first shot. I try to turn it with so much force that my fingers hurt from the pressure when the lock refuses to budge.
“Shit!” I rattle the fuck out of the door. There is no way she’d have the balls to lock me out, so I start pounding. That’s when I notice the note taped above the bell.
If you want your stuff, you can come for it on Thursday. Uncle Rob will be here to help you. Do not contact me again until you are clean for at least ninety days. I know you can do it. Until then, we are done.
The thing gets ripped down and then crumbled into a tight wad. How fucking dare she? My own mother! Moms are supposed to always have faith in you and thus put up with your shit. What kind of lame-ass mom turns her back on her fucked-up kid? Doesn’t she know she’s the only real family I have left?
The paper gets slammed down onto the porch. In a flash I’m driving off without looking back. Screw picking up my stuff on Thursday, and screw grabbing my stuff that she threw on the lawn like it’s crap. I don’t want to bother to even look at the mess she made because—
Because looking at it will be too much like looking at myself.