“All things must change to something new, to something strange.” — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

________________

I. THIRTEEN

I used to feel like my side of the story needed to be told to keep the facts right. Now I don’t care what others choose to believe. I intended to follow the non-disclosure agreement but feel the need to warn others entertaining the idea of taking a job at Tabula Rasa Ranch because the company chose not to disclose the true inner workings. As far as I know, the owner remains the same and hires on employees because there’s a quick turn over due to quitting or untimely demise.

Dense mountain common junipers surrounded a vast modern farmhouse covered in white wooden panels. The dilapidated house I’d seen in countless photographs of Northern Utah was gone. Heavy, unnatural energy I’d encountered upon driving through the protected land grew stronger. Bluish berry-like fruits preparing for hibernation surrounded the edge of the house. They crunched under my steel-toed boots as I approached a tinted glass of the front door. I plucked a white blossom from one of the unbranched deathcamas cozied up around the steps. I slipped it through a bobby pin holding the right side of my hair back for luck.

I turned away from the door to withdraw a pale blue flask from my purse to take a long swig. I used a cinnamon breath mint and a spray of perfume over my clothes for extra measure. The house vibrated with leftover energy bouncing off the interior, unfortunately enhanced with the extra swig of vodka. I shook my gloved hands in an attempt to relax, inhaled and rang the doorbell. The door opened a few beats later, yet the dark tint shielded the interior. I smoothed my right hand over my black and white plaid dress pants. Someone cleared their throat from the dark screen separating us. A long silence evaded before the security door swung open to reveal a tall man standing aside in a wide foyer. He wore a white button-up shirt underneath an expensive gray vest and perfectly ironed matching slacks. I entered the air-conditioned house, although every cell in my body encouraged me to flee.

“Luna Luster?” the man asked, closing the door behind us. His smile was sardonic as he held out his hand to shake. “Is your mother a hippie misplaced in time or did you change your name yourself?”

I tilted my head and tried my best not to let my face sour. I stared at his waiting hand instead because his rude remark made it easier to evade contact. His cologne was earthy and expensive, full of hidden motives with notes of sandalwood. “So original.”

“I take it you get the question a lot. I’m the vice president of Tabula Rasa Ranch, Ambrose Reed.”

He dropped his hand after an awkward pause. “Please follow me to the office. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

“Uh, sure.”

I trailed behind him through a narrow hallway. We turned left into a room before the hall opened to a spacious kitchen. The office was white and void of personal photographs or sentimental items. Five abstract framed paintings graced the walls. Ambrose stopped at a flimsy plastic table with a fancy coffee machine and condiments next to the door. I stood on the pristine white carpet and knotted my fingers together.

“Have a seat. How do you like your coffee?”

“Black. Two sugars.”

The side of a cherry wood desk rested against the wall with a plush chair underneath it. An open laptop, clunky landline phone, and two coasters were on the desk. I sat on a white plastic chair across the desk. I shifted in the chair in an attempt to distract myself before the interrogation began. Ambrose placed a white mug on a coaster on the desk, then seated himself in the swivel chair.

“Thank you,” I said, but didn’t pick up the mug.
“Why are you wearing gloves?”
“Off the record? I’m a germaphobe.”

He nodded, seeming to accept the answer and took a stack of papers from a drawer. He began with typical interview questions that blurred together in a flurry. What was your first job? What do you consider your strengths and weaknesses? Can you tell me about a time you had to deal with a difficult person? So forth and so on. All the questions I’d heard since I’d started working at sixteen years old whirled by until a red flag arose.

“Tell me a little about yourself.”

I stared at him. “I’d rather not, but I kinda need this job.”

He didn’t respond for nearly a minute and stared at the computer screen with a deep frown. “What can you tell me about the gaps in your employment history?”

“Pardon me?”

“You didn’t include your paid work on the side with the Salt Lake City Police Department. You cited government work as a forensic botanist before some unlisted department work.” Ambrose paused to gauge my expression. His wide-set eyes focused on the laptop screen. “We were very thorough before offering a follow-up interview.”

“If you consider a faceless phone call an interview.”

“A mere formality. I was against requesting a callback, but the owner wanted an interview for some reason. He greased a few wheels to find out why you didn’t include your work in the achievements of your resume.”
“It didn’t seem relevant,” I said, smoothing my hands over my pants to keep from wringing them together. Mentioning being able to see lingering spirits would end the job interview. Most of Roosevelt already thought I lived in cloudcuckooland. I knew it was because of my unwanted gifts. Revealing the information would make a fresh start redundant.

Most people in Roosevelt were kind enough to gossip when I was out of earshot, but it didn’t stop others who spun tales composed of a few gems. Newcomers eventually thought of me as the crack baby abandoned by her mother, raised by her grandmother and aunt at two years old. Spooky Little Luna knew details about strangers and revealed their thoughts in an effort to ostracize herself from them. No one spread the news about my perfect grades or talent with art but spoke of my brittle and barbed tongue. It didn’t deter my friend, Byeol, from spending every free moment with me from the fourth grade on up. Only her recent death parted us. I’d been forced to move back to Roosevelt after several dead-end jobs in the city. Still, it didn’t look good for Spooky Luna to live with her aunt without a job. It made people chatter and wonder after each local job didn’t work out and my paper trail of employment didn’t help.

“A thorough background check revealed a few things. You became an independent consultant without any prior experience with investigating. The owner wanted to know the duties you performed during your brief stint at the department. It would make more sense if you were working as a forensic botanist with your degree.”

“I am unable to provide the information you want. I signed a non-disclosure document.”

He didn’t need to know I’d lowered myself and passed myself off as a psychic to the Salt Lake City Police Department. There were plenty of photos in the newspaper with me in the background of police officers. I was gracefully enlisted as a consultant on the books. The department only used my services when they were backed into a corner or if I approached them with details I’d gleaned off of spirits or things I’d noticed with my extra keen eye. It was easier to pass my gifts off in the guise of a psychic than telling the truth. No one wanted to hire a woman who claimed to see fragments of the dead. If I divulged my other gift, I knew Ambrose would have written me off as crazy and end the interview.

“Which is something my employer values.”
At a loss for a response, I leaned forward and picked up the steaming hot mug from the desk. The familiar beverage soothed my nerves with each careful sip. Ambrose shuffled through the papers. He studied a paper before resuming.

“What do you know about this location?”

“Almost everyone is familiar with stories and news coverage. I’m from Roosevelt, after all.”

It was true that rumors of the ranch had been rampant since the first articles about the Shermans hit the newsstands. I froze, waiting to see if the blatant lie had weight or not. No need to tell him about the unusual experience I had as a teenager. Besides, it was questionable due to the substances my friends and I had been on. Ambrose leaned back in the chair and watched the screen for a long time.

“What have the new rumors said?”

I hesitated. “I heard about the new owner taking more of an interest in the ranch because of increased activity after Bigelow sold the land. Also that the land has been bought past the ridge.”

His face remained blank and unreadable as he assessed my response.
I set the coffee back down, picked up my purse and stood up. “Look, I’m sorry I wasted your-”

“How do you feel about being recorded on a daily basis for liability purposes?” Ambrose interrupted.

“Are you recording now?”

“The founder is on a one-way voice chat to give his input. The recording is for future records, should you pass the final interview.”

“Wait, if I take the job, I’m going to under surveillance at all times?” I asked, sitting back down.

“For liability purposes.”

“The salary Miss Giles offered on the phone would make recording worth it.” I paused before continuing. “Listen, am I under surveillance for my history with the police department? Or for forensic botany? Or-”
The landline phone rang once and Ambrose picked it up.
“Are you sure?”

He paused for a long time. “Yes, sir. I understand. Thank you,” Ambrose responded. He hung the phone up with a tight smile. “It seems you’re hired, Miss Luster.”

I couldn’t conceal my smile. “When do I start?”

“Monday. You need to move in by tomorrow afternoon so you have the weekend to get settled. Stop by the office with your belongings. The living quarters are fully furnished due to depth. I’ll have your bunker assignment along with some clearance badges you’ll need for your first day. You’ll be shadowing Ava Fleming during your first week here. She’ll have your work schedule. Your job will initially consist of watching live, unrecorded security footage and taking notes until you’re familiar with the protocol.” He paused, looking me over. “The dress code is casual, within reason, of course.”

“Do you like it here?”

He was taken aback by my query and searched my face before responding. “The gig pays well. The employees are a colorful bunch and you’ll never be bored.” Ambrose opened a draw, set a stack of a stapled of papers and pushed them across the desk in my direction. “Look over the pages before signing, please.”

The first page consisted of a non-disclosure agreement. I skimmed over it and the contents burned in my mind before I signed at the bottom. The next page was a suspicious injury waiver but promised an on-site emergency center. I signed it after saving an image of the document. Health care kicked in immediately, instead of the standard ninety days most jobs required and gave me a brief pause. Nothing to lose and everything to gain.

Ambrose stood up and crossed over to me. I joined him, unsure of where it was going. He reached for my hand, enveloping his warm one with mine and I could smell the cologne wafting off him. Worst of all, the gloves failed to do their job and his thoughts came flooding in with the forced handshake. “Welcome to Tabula Rasa Ranch, Miss Luster.”

I don’t know what Gabriel is thinking about hiring her. Are you kidding me? She communed with spirits and helped the police department? What a load of bullshit. She has to be some kind of hack or fraud. I bet she falsified her so-called degree in forensic botany. Ambrose’s thoughts were a mix of Korean and English. I’d learned from my best friend growing up so we could have a language our peers couldn’t break. It rarely came in handy in Utah, but it ensured an unbreakable code.

“Cheer up fuckface. You might like me in due time.” I twisted my hand away from his. Ambrose’s face warped in surprise, but I picked up my purse before he could get the last word in and headed for the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I exited the farmhouse cursing under my breath. I retreated to my old but trusty black Dodge 1971 Charger. I tossed my purse on the passenger seat, fired up and a song by The Damned filled the speakers. I screamed in frustration over picking up on his thoughts. Fucking gloves didn’t do their job. It was always hit or miss if the gloves were thick enough to keep inner thoughts from invading my space. I opened my purse, took out the flask and took a five-second gulp of vodka. The burn almost pushed away Ambrose’s toxic thoughts. Keyword being almost. Dirt misted behind the car as I drove, turning up the music.

It took a five-minute drive through unpaved roads until I reached a long-bearded man in the security booth. He exited the booth, opened the gate and waved as I left. Another thirty minutes later, I stopped in front of a two-story house on the outskirts of Roosevelt. I smiled at the sight of the youthful fifty-year-old woman sitting on the steps.

“How did it go?” Aunt Chloe asked, standing up and offering a warm smile.

“I got it!”

We went inside and Aunt Chloe busied herself with brewing coffee as I secretly took a long swig of vodka. I filled her in on the information Ambrose gave me but kept out hearing his thoughts. She caught me up on her day while making two turkey and tomato sandwiches with chips for an early dinner.

I retreated to the basement to begin packing for the next day. My blue pitbull, Poppy, barked when I opened the door. Flora marked my legs and meowed once Poppy finished greeting me. I spent half an hour paying attention to the fur babies before starting to pack. It took three hours to pack everything I wanted to take to the ranch. A few iced down screwdrivers helped sleep arrive. In no time I fell asleep by Poppy and Flora.

It was around noon by the time I finished loading the trailer attached to my car with boxes and small furniture with Aunt Chloe’s help. We were pushing the last heavy box into the trailer when something thudded loudly on the tin-top several times. My aunt exited the trailer to explore. I shrugged it off and resumed stacking the smaller boxes around furniture in a more stable order.

“Luna. You need to see this.”

She warned me to watch my step and held a hand out to ensure a stable landing. Several dead crows with their wings visibly broken and bent unnaturally were splayed out around the car. Small pools of blood leaked out their beaks and nearly half of their feathers were scattered around them. The stench was reminiscent of roadkill roasted on the side of the road for at least a week. We backed away from the trailer to see how far around the dead birds went. I counted thirteen birds in a circle around the car and trailer.

“Luna, we need to go see Gracie before you hit the road. She said she had a dream about you the other night. I don’t think your taking the job is a good idea.”

“And live off your pension? Even the local deli rejected my request for an interview. I was lucky to land this job and it pays well.”

“Sometimes it isn’t worth it. You can find a legitimate job online and work from home. Maybe you can find someone in town hiring. Have you gone through your savings?”

“I tried that. There’s no such thing as pennies from heaven. Besides, I tried locally and no one will hire me because they think I’m too spooky. I have enough bread to live comfortably until I die, but only if I die next Friday.”

Aunt Chloe tucked her brunette hair behind her ears and sighed, knowing it was a fight she couldn’t win. We let Poppy loose and carried Flora’s crate back into the house.

My aunt drove us to Gracie’s in her faded black truck in about ten minutes. ‘Gracie’s Apothecary’ was lit up in cursive neon letters on top of the small store and stood out in the unusually dim afternoon. Our footsteps echoed on the steel steps to the wooden door with the name embellished on the clear window. The familiar tinkle of the bell did little to set my mind at ease, but the strong scent of lavender incense helped. The apothecary was a slender ten by ten space with a beaded curtain leading to more merchandise in the back of the store. Bright yellow walls had shelves lined labeled wire baskets and pegged supplies hung below them.

The little woman in her late sixties with long, curly white hair greeted us with a bright smile and inquiries of how we were doing. Aunt Chloe told her about the dead crows, picking up a mesh shopping basket along the way.

“That is troubling. Are you sure you want to take the job? You could work here part-time.” Gracie said, frowning. “The dream I had didn’t indicate anything about the job being a bad choice. At least from the context of it.”

“I need to do something. I’ve been going stir-crazy. You don’t want to hire me and drive away people, trust me.”

“Nettie?” Gracie called back into the office behind her. “I need you to take over while I help Chloe and Luna.”

A thin, dark-haired teenager popped her head out and stood behind the register with a nod. Gracie led us to a section with a variety of sage bundles in baskets on one of the tables below the shelves. Aunt Chloe collected large bundles of white, blue and black sage. She set the bundles in the shopping basket and asked if Gracie had any other suggestions. Gracie’s wrinkled forehead pinched together in thought before she picked up a light brown, medium bundle of sage that smelled a bit peppery.

“Desert sage is used for cleansing and purifying, protection and inner strength. It’s said to draw in pleasant thoughts and relieve headaches and anxiety,” she explained, handing Aunt Chloe the bundle.
“Is there anything else for protection?”

Gracie picked up a greenish-brown bundle with a woodsy and fresh scent. “Cedar recalls ancient forests and invokes their protection and wisdom. Smudging this carries a medicine of protection. You should cleanse your new home upon moving in to invite unwanted spirits to leave. It can help protect you, the place and objects from unwanted influences. It’s the most aggressive cleansing smudge.”

She invited us to sit and talk over a cup of tea. We passed through purple wooden beads concealing an archway to the back section of the store. We seated ourselves as Gracie started up a pot of loose leaf tea on a hot plate on a counter nearby the small table in the corner of the room.

“I thought it was unusual that you showed up in my dreams last night,” she said, sitting down and facing me. “You were sitting on the bench in the front, drawing on a sketchpad while I was working. You came to show me the exterior sketches of the shop for a new launch of the website. I didn’t see anything ominous.”

I frowned deeply.

“Nothing symbolic in what Luna was wearing?” Aunt Chloe asked, leaning forward.

“She wore a black band shirt and had on Gemma’s necklace. Luna didn’t have anything on out of the ordinary.”

“Other than smudging, what can we do to protect her?”

“I can find some talismans, charmed stones and candles after we have our tea. There isn’t much else I can do because I’m not sure what the threat is. What did the land feel like?”

The kettle whistled and Gracie prepared a tray. I tried my best to describe the heavy aura of the land, only to be met with another frown. She carried the tray with three cups of tea on saucers, cream, and sugar to the table. She placed our cups on saucers in front of each of us. I fiddled with the dark purple tassels on the edge of the table cloth as Aunt Chloe insisted that my taking the job was a bad idea.

The broken and bloodied wings of the crows scratched at the back of my mind until my aunt touched my arm gently and brought me back to earth. Gracie pointed out the tea was cool enough to drink. I stirred in mostly clear, tinted green tea soothed my throat as the pair caught up on town gossip. I traced the golden rim of the painted floral teacup, then peered down at the vortex of swirling tea leaves, falling to the bottom. Aunt Chloe nudged me after the conversation fell silent.

“I have a bad feeling about everything, but doing nothing is making me feel worse,” I said. I took a few more sips of tea until I tasted bitter tea grits.

Gracie’s eyes narrowed on my hand holding the teacup. “Are you right-handed?”

“Yeah, why?”

“In the dream, you were drawing with your left hand.”

“I don’t know how to draw with that hand.”

I drained the cup and handed it to Gracie. She turned the cup upside down on the saucer I was using and studied the leaves. Reading my tea leaves was a redundant task because I knew how to read my own, but it seemed to thrill the old woman. Damp tea leaves surrounded a bird with spread wings.

“I don’t know if there’s anything I can do to help you,” Gracie admitted slowly, unable to take her eyes off the grim omen on the saucer.

“What does it mean?” Aunt Chloe leaned forward.

“It’s a deadly omen, sometimes attached to death. It isn’t too surprising with what happened this morning.”

A chill ran over my body as I rose to my feet. I excused myself, explained that I needed a few more supplies and left the room with the shopping basket. I selected a few bottles of essential oils, more sage, and some stones. A bar of protective soap with black pepper, cedarwood, cypress, and lavender went into the basket as well. The duo joined me and we walked to the register. Gracie applied the family discount and saw us out the door. She hugged me for a long moment and requested an email every so often. I promised.

We stopped by the grocery store for a cooler and enough food to last me for at least two weeks. We made our way back to the house shortly after. Half an hour later, the sky was filled with dark clouds over the sun and Aunt Chloe begged me to stay. She didn’t let me leave until I wore Grandma Gemma’s dark emerald stone in an oval pendant on a thick golden cord that rested just below my chest. I’d hated the eyesore since I was thirteen and was occasionally forced to wear it for extra protection. I loaded my cat and dog into kennels, leaving despite my aunt’s pleas.

___

It started raining heavily as we made the thirty-minute journey to the entrance of the ranch. Grey clouds covered the sky to the point where it was more like night. The shadow in the tinted booth at the entrance opened the chain-link gate after I waited for a minute for them to clear me. A tall athletic man waited under an umbrella by the front steps of the main house. He wore a shirt advertising The Pie in Salt Lake City with an unzipped basic gray hoodie, above a pair of worn black jeans. His age was indeterminate, somewhere between twenty-five to thirty-five. I turned off the car lights and engine, unrolling the window. His stride was quick and purposeful to my unrolled window. He leaned down, flashing a bright set of teeth. “You must be Luna Luster.”

“Indeed.”

“Ambrose had to leave the office for an emergency,” he explained. He paused to study my face and burst out in a chuckle. “You didn’t get off on the right foot with him, did you?”

I grimaced. “Is it that obvious? He wasn’t very welcoming, to say the least.”

“Give it time. He’ll loosen up once he sees your value. Sorry, I’ve been rude. I’m Orion Rist.”

I shook his extended hand. The gloves kept his unwelcome thoughts out.

“So, your access badge is on the way and we’ll take a photo once it arrives. My bunker is right next to yours. Can I hitch a ride?”

“If you don’t mind holding a cat crate.” I motioned to the passenger seat.
With a nod, he circled around the car, opened the door and lifted Flora’s crate. He put a tote bag down on the middle console, sat down with the crate and buckled in. I started the engine and music flooded the car. I reached to turn it off, but he stopped me. His bright eyes met mine.

“I don’t mind The Stooges.” He directed me down a small muddy road west of the farmhouse and urged me to stop after half a mile. “Did Ambrose tell you anything about the living quarters?”

“Nope.”

“Subterranean bunkers. We’re safer underground. You’re in bunker thirteen and I’m to the right in fourteen. Come on.”

Orion picked up the tote bag and exited. He set the crate back on the seat and ran to my side with the umbrella out. I joined him, walking through the mud until we reached a concrete path down to a steel door built out of place in elevated land covered by bushes and trees. Orion held the umbrella over us as he punched a code into the security pad beside the door. The open door exposed stone steps illuminated by bright bare bulbs in a concrete ceiling. Orion folded the umbrella, hung it up on a hook on the wall by the door and encouraged me to follow him. We descended down the stairs at least twenty feet before arriving at another steel door with a security pad.

“I’ll write the code down for you,” he said, punching the code in again.
Fluttering mixed with frantic flaps accompanied the blackbirds that filed out of my new home. Wonderful. The flurry of birds went by too quickly to count. And odds are, there had to be thirteen.