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head. “Someday, you’re going to find an honorable man. A man willing to place your happiness above his own. A man willing to sacrifice everything for your benefit. A man willing to lay down his very life, to protect you.”
    “ Where am I gonna find a man like that?”
    “ I have no idea.” Aunt Wisdom picked up her lantern then wrapped an arm around Channie’s waist. She guided her back towards the clearing — taking a large detour away from the barn. “But I do know this much … he won’t be from around here.”
     
     

    Learn more about Charlotte Abel and The Channie Series at: www.CharlotteAbel.com

Down the Rabbit Hole  By Charlotte Abel

Jonathan glanced at the address scribbled on the back of Dr. Harrison’s card then at the tiny cottage across the street. What sort of therapist worked out of a house painted eggplant purple? The kind that claimed they could cure phantom pain with hypnosis; that’s what kind. What was he expecting? A high-rise office building?
    He gritted his teeth against the pins and needles sensation in his left hand — or what his nervous system still believed was his left hand. Pain meds helped, but not enough. That’s why he was here, knocking on the Pepto-Bismol pink door of Bluestar Morninglory’s Holistic House of Healing.
    The door creaked open. A mangy, black and white striped cat darted between Jonathan’s feet. He spun around and grabbed it before it jumped off the front porch. The crazy cat howled and dug its claws into his forearm. He gritted his teeth and turned around to find a middle-aged woman standing in the doorway. She looked pretty good for an old broad. Her faded jeans and work out Bolder-Boulder t-shirt from 2009 hugged her curvy body, but her tanned-leather face and grey streaked hair ruined the effect.
    She took the hissing cat and tossed it inside without a word.
    Jonathan blotted his bleeding arm on his t-shirt. “You should keep an eye on that thing. He won’t last long outside with the coyotes.”
    “ What do you want?”
    “ I’m looking for a hypnotherapist.”
    She narrowed her eyes. “Why?”
    Jonathan held out his left arm and rotated his myoelectric hand. The tiny gears and servos of the robotic device hummed as he manipulated it. “The phantom pain never goes away. My doc said hypnosis might help.”
    The woman’s eyes softened as she lifted her gaze from Jonathan’s prosthesis to his face. “All right. Come on in. But next time, call first and make an appointment.”
    “ I can come back later if it’s more convenient.”
    “ You’re here now. My name’s Bluestar, but everyone calls me Blue.” She motioned for Jonathan to enter with a sweep of her arm. “The first session is free, after that, it’s a hundred dollars an hour.”
    Jonathan doubted he’d be back as he followed Blue into a small, windowless room illuminated by candlelight. The cloyingly sweet scent of patchouli gave Jonathan an instant headache. Floor to ceiling shelves held an assortment of rocks, crystals and … animal bones? Maybe the cat would be safer outside with the coyotes.
    And maybe the main qualification for a hypnotherapist shouldn’t be how close they were to the Dillon Dam Brewery. Jonathan’s mouth watered as he thought of the giant cheeseburger waiting for him when he was done with this woo-woo business.
    Blue nodded at a worn out recliner. “Have a seat and get comfortable while I go brew you some tea.”
    “ Uh … that’s okay. I’m not much of a tea drinker.” The pins and needles sensation in Jonathan’s missing hand intensified. In a few minutes it would be the smashing-his-hand-in-a-vise sensation. Phantom pain, my ass. There’s nothing phantom about it.
    When Blue returned, she handed Jonathan a steaming mug.
    He took a whiff of it and frowned.
    Blue rolled her eyes. “It’s all natural, brewed from organic plants I grow myself. It’ll help you relax.”
    He took a sip. It tasted like mint and dirt but with a ton of honey. He