Read Unraveled Visions (A Shaman Mystery) for Free Online Page B

Ivan … I’ve been wary …” I broke off, out of breath.
    “Don’t let one bad experience put you off.”
    “I’m not desperate to have a man in my life.”
    “Oh, come on. I can’t believe there isn’t someone out there who’s perfect for you.”
    A laugh gibbered out of me. “Sound advice, I’ll bear it in mind.”
    Rey squeezed my arm in a goodbye gesture. “See you, then.”
    “See you.” I tried not to make it a question. The glowing, sparkling sensations that had erupted inside me as we’d talked were distorting into hard lumps in my stomach. I watched him go, re-establishing in my mind the shape of his body, the way he walked.
    “See you,” I repeated, whispering the words like a wish.

four
    That went well. Months without seeing Rey, and in the space of one murky, undrunk coffee I’d called him a) an idiot, b) a bean brain, and c) an impudent wretch. To reinforce my position, I’d also told him I didn’t need a man. However hard I tried to re-imagine the conversation, it still ended up with Rey suggesting I find someone else … i.e., not him .
    Anyhow, I didn’t need a man. I would never want a man in my life just for the sake of having one. It would have to be someone I was unable to live without. Sadly for me, Rey was growing into just that person. It had been a slow but steady process. It had started when I opened the door to him one day and found him … interesting.
    My hands shook as I unchained Hermes. Hermes was my fancy new mode of transport. He got me round Bridgwater traffic for far less dosh than my Mini, but being a butch yellow mountain bike, he didn’t do it with quite the same level of weather protection. I’d called him Hermes in the hope that he’d give my feet wings.
    I swung onto the saddle and swore all the way home— bugger-bugger-bugger —a swirl of buggers —which is a great approach to cycling if you plan to end up under some wheels.
    By the time I’d let myself into the house and poured a glass of water, I was convinced. I would do well to avoid Rey. He had archaic attitudes and overassertive body language, and had proved himself capable of using others indiscriminately (e.g., me). It would be better if I never saw him again.
    I strayed into my therapy room. I didn’t have clients booked for the day—any further clients, that was—and I didn’t need to leave for work at the Curate’s Egg until around six. I should finish what I’d started with Drea. I took a quick shower and changed into my long black dress. The transformation was almost instant; from gibbering love-sick fool to shaman.
    In the therapy room, I used my rattle—stiff calfskin filled with dried beans—to alert myself to the subtle energies Drea had left behind, then settled on the floor cushions. I draped a scarf over my eyes. I was aiming for a light trance state. To enter the otherworld, I have to let go—the more I think about it, the more I struggle, the harder it becomes to leave the outer world and reach my spirit portal. It’s a bit like weeing. You’ve got to let it … flow.
    The constant beat of the bodhran, a Celtic hand drum, thudded from the CD into my body. A single note rose above the beat; the skin of the drum, vibrating as it was struck. The singing note filled my head. My mind relaxed. I saw the rushing brook where Trendle lived. It grew in my mind until it took full shape; the distant hills, the flower meadows, the river bank, sun-dappled. Heather tickled the soles of my feet. Such a deep purple with such a rich scent, my head buzzed from it. No, not my head. The bees buzzed from it, moving with intent from one nectar-laden bud to the next. Bzzzzzz …
    Trendle splashed up from some deep otterly place. “Greetings Sabbie.”
    “Hi, Trendle.”
    I lay on my stomach and reached down into the stream. My palm fitted over the soft, damp crown of Trendle’s head. His spiky whiskers twitched. He smelt of river fish. In fact, I thought I spotted a droop of tail fin in the