Free Sleep Stalker (Ghosts Beyond the Grove Book 1) by Joy Elbel Page B

I was near tears.  “What’s wrong, girl?  And don’t try tellin’ me that you’re only tired.  Tired don’t bring tears.”
         Knowing that Addie lost both of her parents at a relatively young age made me realize that she would probably understand why I was thinking about my mother so much lately.  So I told her the truth—at least the part about my family. 
         “My mother died when I was four.  I don’t even remember her.  Not one single thing.  But I got to see her briefly on prom night.  Ever since then, I’ve been trying to find out more about her—more about the grandparents who disowned her when she was pregnant with me.”
         With no new customers waiting to be served, Addie plopped down at the table nearest to the counter and motioned for me to join her. 
         “So what about your dad?  Can’t he fill in the blanks for you?”
         When I meet someone new, it usually takes me awhile to decide whether or not to open up to them—and I mean really open up to them.  There’s typically a defining moment—something they’ve said or done that makes me realize whether or not telling them the whole truth is a good idea.  This was Addie’s moment.  It was the fact that she listened to me say that I saw my dead mother’s ghost on prom night yet didn’t see that as the most important piece of information.  I decided there was definitely room for one more person in my loop of weirdness. 
         “Not really.  He didn’t know a lot about her himself.  He said that she was mysterious and that he liked her that way.  Zach and I visited the dance company in Philadelphia where she used to work, but she was there so long ago.  No one knew who she was.  I’m starting to wonder if she had some seriously messed up skeletons in her closet.  Jail time maybe?  I don’t know.  I tried searching the internet for information but all I found were a few archive photos of her and her fellow dancers.  I don’t even know where she was from.”
         Addie’s eyes flashed with what appeared to be a spark of genius.  “Hold that thought!” she said as she leapt from her chair and disappeared behind the counter. 
         She was only gone a moment then returned carrying her purse, a leopard print nylon bag with pink skull-shaped studs gracing the handles.  Seeing her bag alone would have been enough to convince me to see that we were kindred spirits at least fashion-wise.  However, what she pulled out of that freakishly delightful accessory frightened me.  And scaring me wasn’t a job for amateurs.
         “Pick one, then we will consume its contents,” she instructed as she placed several small clay pots onto the table in front of me. 
         The pots were all brightly painted in a kaleidoscope of earth tone colors, each bearing a different symbol on its lid.  For some reason, I found them all to be creepy.  Under normal circumstances, they would be bad enough as it was.  But the fact that they were being offered to me by the granddaughter of a voodoo queen, the possibilities for what they contained were downright grim.  And consuming what was inside?  I think not.
         As I protested her offer, she laughed.  “I know what you’re thinkin’, Ruby.  You’re thinkin’ there’s some weird voodoo powders in them—powdered goat livers or somethin’ stereotypical that like.  But you’re wrong.  Tea.  Normal, mundane tea is all that’s inside them.  Pick one and we’ll drink it.”
         If she had known the situation I was in when I was last offered tea, she would have understood that in retrospect, powdered goat livers may have been a better choice for me.  I hated tea to begin with but I found that my aversion to it grew exponentially after a serial killer force fed it to me while holding me captive.  I shook my head no again with the explanation that I hated tea but she still insisted.
         “Just pick one!