A month had passed since Abagail’s encounter with Brutus. Work had been fruitful, though she had had to invest many extra hours into keeping her shop, Spiritual Gifts, heading in the right direction. Clare had been sick for two weeks straight. Roper had been sick too. But that always happened when he ate too much. Her phone rang.

  "Hello, Spiritual Gifts, Abagail speaking..."

  "Don’t look now," said Rupert in her ear. "But isn’t that Wilbur Warburton at your door?"

  Abagail raised her eyes quickly to see Wilbur reading her opening-hours sign.

  "What’s he doing here?" demanded Abagail, astounded.

  "Maybe he wants to talk to you about that levitating experience a while back, or maybe... you are about to find out," said Rupert with a chuckle as he disconnected.

  The doorbell tinkled as Wilbur strode into the shop with a look of uncertainty that didn’t match his confident stride. Abagail watched him with intrepidation. She waited for his glamorous eyes to pierce through hers. Instead, Wilbur detoured sharply to his left to study the horoscope chart on the wall. Two other customers ambled in and browsed about. Soon Wilbur sidestepped over to the display cabinet in front of Abagail. He briefly flashed his eyes upon her with a quick hello, then continued to look aimlessly upon her expensive silver jewellery and display trinkets.

  As Abagail watched him squirming with uncertainty she could take it no more. She had to know.

  "Do you like my sunflower?" asked Abagail.

  A slightly annoyed expression passed over Wilbur’s strong face as he looked upon the wilted sunflower. A black cloth materialised over it in a flash. Briskly it was whipped away to reveal a vibrant replacement. Wilbur’s strong mouth gripped into a respectful smirk as he slowly raised his eyes to meet Abagail’s. They looked upon each other a long moment before Wilbur stood upright at six foot two and stretched out his tanned long arm to gently hold Abagail’s hand.

  "It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Wilbur. Wilbur Warburton. Have we met?" Expectation rested on Wilbur’s words.

  "Abagail Abercrombie... I’m the owner of this little shop, Mr. Warburton. No, we haven’t met."

  "Please, call me Wilbur, Abagail. It’s exquisite... really charming," he continued, still holding her hand. "And the shop..."

  They shared a polite short laugh. At this point Abagail decided to withdraw her hand. Possibly she had overdone it with her sunflower trick. She looked at his eyes again then back down. She had to stay professional even though a part of her was annoyed for letting go of the hand of the man she had fancied for over four years now.

  "Thank you, Wilbur. How may I help you today?"

  A vacant expression passed over Wilbur’s face as he remembered why he was here.

  "Ah... I was hoping you could help me in regards to booking an appointment with your medium?"

  "Of course, Wilbur," Abagail replied happily. "A Tarot reading?"

  "Possibly... um... does your medium just do consultations? I have a pressing matter I wish to discuss. Possibly this Thursday at eleven am?"

  Abagail scratched out Penny, her regular, and placed her into the twelve o’clock column. In the eleven o’clock time slot she now wrote: Wilbur Warburton.

  "Done. Eleven it is," said Abagail, giving a brief smile.

  "Excellent. I hope to meet you again too, Miss Abercrombie?"

  "Please, call me Abagail. I know we will, because I am the medium here as well, Wilbur."

  Wilbur Warburton flashed a complete smile over Abagail, flicked his fingers up in a departing manner, turned about and headed for the door.

  *

  Wednesday night saw Abagail lying in bed at the end of the day. The moon shone gently into her room. The constellations spread out above. A dim light was all she needed as she tried to concentrate on the video she was watching. But... her upcoming appointment with Wilbur Warburton was front and center of her thoughts. She ditched her black silk nightie and pulled her chocolate silk sheet up over her cool tired body. As much as she wanted to dismiss it, Wilbur was holding her in his arms. Stroking her hair, brushing her cheek. Their lips moving ever closer together...

  Abagail jumped as the doorbell tinkled and in walked Wilbur Warburton dressed in dark slacks, shoes, and a light green shirt with white polka Dots. He carried a large old brown mismatching suitcase. His rich curly dark brown hair bounced along with his confident stride as he reached the counter.

  "Good morning, Wilbur," greeted Abagail with a smile.

  "Good morning, Abagail," nodded Wilbur.

  "Would you like a tea?" asked Abagail.

  "Ginger and lemon?" enquired Wilbur.

  Straight away Abagail could sense that there was tension in his reserved engagement. Three ladies all walked in at once as Clare appeared from the change-room to greet them.

  "Here for the special ladies?" asked Clare brightly.

  "Yes, we are," they replied.

  "This way please, Wilbur," suggested Abagail, leading him into a small room draped in mystical materials, posters, and a black ceiling with plastic stars and planets abound. The Medium Room.

  Abagail sat down purposely into one of the red studded leather chairs and pointed to the other. Wilbur followed her direction and slowly seated himself. He crossed his legs and looked about. There was an old worn black wooden table between them, higher than a coffee table. Abagail took a deep breath and lit some incense beside her on an elegant wooden elephant’s trunk.

  "We can begin now," said Abagail seriously.

  "Well, there’s been two things troubling me of late, Abagail."

  "Yes," replied Abagail, sitting back with her legs crossed. Without drawing attention she adjusted her revealing black skirt a little lower, her flat-bottom dark pumps built for comfort.

  Wilbur chuckled a little.

  "I am still mystified by what happened at the Dawn Theatre last month. I think I’ve picked up some extra power of some kind."

  Abagail felt disappointed. She thought it was a ghost. A past deceased loved one. The ghost of a season’s past. Anything but this. Abagail sighed. Wilbur noticed this. His face tightened as he lifted the old suitcase onto the table, flicked back the latches, and threw open the lid.

  "But this is my main trouble," muttered Wilbur.

  Abagail leaned forward and looked into the large old brown suitcase. Within it lay a puppet-like doll. It lay on a soft silky black cushion with a small red silk pillow.

  "What’s this?" asked Abagail, looking up quickly to meet the full force of Wilbur’s deathly stare.

  "Heather."

  Abagail studied its features. Dark straight shoulder-length hair cut with a very straight fringe. Large attractive dark eyes. Porcelain white skin. The slightest hint of red on her cheeks. Highlight. Dark red lips. The doll’s face looked older than a teenager’s.

  "So, I see... okay... this is something I didn’t expect," admitted Abagail. "I’ve never seen one up close. Huh... she’s very cute."

  "She comes alive," said Wilbur without warning. "She’s possessive. Powerful. Clever... let me tell you a story."

  He took a sip of his ginger and lemon tea.

  "I used to use Heather a lot in the past. It was fun." He didn’t smile. "I sat her on my lap during shows... a few jokes... a few remarks to the audience to engage and fill time. Then it changed one night..."

  Wilbur took a big mouthful.

  "A heckler launched into a tirade about what a boring showman I was. Heather started to respond through me. That’s the only way I can describe it. Light at first. Then... words came out of my mouth that weren’t mine. Stinging, vicious, calculated so intensely that the woman left crying and the audience were left laughing in stitches. After that, if anyone dared criticise me she took me over, Abagail. I heard my words. I saw me say it. But it wasn’t me. The story about my doll started getting around and people would say things just to get a reaction from Heather. On the third night Heather screamed and the man belittling me clutched at his chest and fell over gasping for breath. The audience scattered. The manager nearly fired me that night. ‘No more Heather!’ he insisted. ‘Stick to the magic.’ I did just that."

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Wilbur coughed and took another long sip. The eggshell China cup returned to the table, followed by a quick brush of his fingers through his curls before he continued. Abagail concentrated not to imagine herself running her hands through those curly locks.

  "Do you believe what I’m saying, Abagail?" he asked.

  "I do believe you," replied Abagail plainly.

  "I woke the next morning to find Heather sitting in my chair looking sad. She turned to look at me. Terrified, I went to leave but I managed only a few steps before being stopped. I was forced to pick her up and sit her on my lap. I couldn’t move as her deep croaky sweet mischievous voice insisted not to let her go. We would never part. I was hers. Hers, Abagail! That hasn’t happened in a long time—"

  "But you always seem so happy and confident, Wilbur. I’ve been at your shows. You don’t use her."

  "Heather... when the case is open refer to her as Heather... please," begged Wilbur.

  Abagail nodded slowly. "Heather."

  "No, I don’t, that’s true. For I sent her away. Far away across the sea. But last week I woke in the night. She was sitting on the bottom of my bed watching me. God knows how she came back. I need help. I need—"

  Abagail and Wilbur looked on in dismay as Heather slowly sat up from the suitcase. She looked cute and harmless as she studied Abagail. Wilbur now picked Heather up and slowly sat down with her on his knee. Abagail could see that Wilbur was possessed. Still there, still here, but in a complete trance.

  "Hello Abagail," whispered Heather quietly. "You seem nice. I hope we can be friends..."

  Abagail didn’t answer. This time the voice was coming from Heather. Wilbur looked on, expressionless.

  "Please don’t try to break Wilbur and I up. I need him... he needs me. I would never hurt Wilbur. I know you like Wilbur too... I can see it in you. As long as you’re nice to Wilbur I will let you see him. Wilbur always forgets all of these moments. There’s some things Wilbur does for me that he never recollects."

  "Wilbur doesn’t seem to have a choice," said Abagail. "He came here to tell me something that was upsetting him. You are that something."

  Even though Abagail was terrified, she had faith in her backup team, whom she hoped were soon to appear. She needed support.

  "Hmm. I’m sorry. I like him too much to let him leave me. It’s important you know this. You have now met me. I—"

  Abagail watched as Heather looked around, starting to sense something. Slowly her head turned back to watch Abagail in silence. Her head snapped to the side with a clink.

  "You’re with them!" accused Heather, her hand slowly rising to point at Abagail. Heather laughed. "Te he he he he he... oh... I am more impressed with you now, Abagail... much more."

  "Who’s them?" asked Abagail, testing Heather’s abilities.

  "Come, Wilbur darling sugar sugar," said Heather. "Time to go home."

  Wilbur stood in a trance and placed Heather into the suitcase.

  "No! Wilbur, wake up!" pleaded Abagail.

  Heather sat bolt upright and raised her chin. Abagail was flung back into her chair. Fairly quickly she was placed into the same trance as Wilbur. Heather climbed down from the suitcase and jumped up onto Abagail’s lap. She gently stroked her thigh and smiled at Wilbur.

  "Wouldn’t you like this one, Wilbur darling sugar sugar...? Her hair’s dark. She wears black. She has hmm... should we take her home with us? I’m sure you’d like her to help keep us fed and wash us and clean and... it would be nice... potential," she murmured, tapping Abagail’s bare knee with one porcelain finger. "But you’re not ready, poor lonely Abagail. Not yet."

  Wilbur quickly picked up Heather and held Heather and Abagail in a vacant embrace. Abagail slowly placed her arms around Wilbur.

  "She’s very tall too, Wilbur. Just like you, darling sugar sugar."

  The rain fell outside, tapping in a dull roar over the roof of the shop. Creeks and pops echoed around the room from the rain tumbling as it subsided. Heather looked at both of them with interest and fondness.

  "Should we take her home now, Wilbur...? You have so much to do at home. You need help. And fun together. I will enjoy watching you both."

  "Ah... how much discount can I give Michelle on this dress, Abagail?" asked Clare, as Abagail led Wilbur towards the front door of Spiritual Gifts.

  Abagail stopped and turned about.

  "Not on that dress. It’s too pretty for a discount," replied Abagail, heading out the door, leaving Clare and her customers in surprise.

  "Looks like she has other things on her mind," said Michelle with a giggle. "It is pretty. Should I take it?"

  "I’m sorry," said Wilbur in a mumble to Abagail, as they walked across the street, stopping traffic as they headed to the old woods. Abagail could hear Wilbur, yet she couldn’t talk. The path was well kept with old trees turning and twisting amongst the stones and bracken as they entered ever deeper.

  A rabbit hopped out and stood looking at Wilbur who led the way. The rabbit sat upright as Wilbur, still in a trance, was about to step on it. Wilbur’s leg stopped dead still. In fact they became both this way like two statues.

  Astar appeared and entered Abagail’s body. Abagail turned around and walked back to her shop.

  Rupert, dressed this time as a Purple Wizard, waved a purple crystal over the suitcase. Wilbur fell in a heap to the forest floor, unconscious. Rupert flipped open the suitcase but it was empty.

  "Huh!" said Rupert happily. "You’ve picked up some new tricks, Heather."

  "There!" said Tibbar.

  "Ah yes," agreed Rupert, pulling a dark crystal from within his robe. He extended his arm and made circular figure-eight motions towards an area just off the path.

  Heather appeared in a dark cloak with gold inlay.

  "You look almost human-like, Heather. Still as cute as ever. Why be so shy?" Rupert smiled.

  "I like my privacy, Rupert Richardson... You don’t like my choice of a new companion for Wilbur?"

  Rupert sensed greater power within Heather than he had encountered before.

  "Not Abagail... she’s already been chosen by us as our new companion. You see, it’s first in first served, first come, best dressed..." Rupert took a big breath. "The early bird gets the worm, dear Heather."

  "I would treat her better than a yucky worm... Wilbur’s house is a fine dwelling," said Heather, smiling happily.

  "Ah..." Rupert cleared his throat. "No."

  "We could share her," insisted Heather.

  "Not for sale, rent, hire or pre-order, dearest Heather."

  "I want her!" snapped Heather. "Wilbur wants her!"

  A giant white owl as big as a bull came crashing through the thin high branches to rest on a low thick branch a short distance away.

  "So even the guardian owls of Fariddion have come to like Abagail too. You know I don’t like the owls, Tibbar. They bite and scratch... and tear... their talons crack you!"

  "We don’t want to upset you, Heather," said Tibbar. "This encounter has gone far enough. Leave. Leave Abagail to us. Last chance."

  "Oh well, te he he he he," laughed Heather. "Chances!"

  She wiggled her fingers goodbye and disappeared.

  "Well, we’ll have to find you some extra big grubs tonight for dinner then," said Rupert to one of the guardian owls of Fariddion, as it shook its massive feathery mane.

  "Her power has grown most impressively," said Tibbar, hopping about to face Rupert.

  "Hmm..." agreed Rupert with concern.

  Once inside the shop Astar left Abagail.

  "Bye Abagail," waved Astar, disappearing.

  "Are you sure I can’t have a little bit off the dress?" begged Michelle.

  "This dress?" asked Abagail, turning to notice her friendly customers’ faces. It suddenly dawned on her that Wilbur and Heather were gone. She turned and headed for the Medium Room.

  "Abagail!" called out Clare. "What about the dress?"

  "Thirty percent off too," she said, walking quickly on.

  "That’s a change of tune," laughed the ladies. "Must’ve had a quick bite to eat."

  They laughed.