Page 50 of Don’t Let Me Go

I’m no expert on witches, but based on every Disney movie I’ve ever seen, I’m pretty sure that if one invites you in for a

snack, you’re supposed to run for the hills. Not Riley and me, though. We’re seated at a table with a platter of multicolored

macarons in front of us waiting for our witch to finish making a pot of tea in her suite’s kitchenette.

“So, what did you think of my little show?” Jocasta asks as the kettle whistles shrilly. She lifts it off the stovetop and

brings it over to our table, where she proceeds to fill our cups with a murky brown liquid.

Riley and I exchange a nervous glance. In the span of two minutes, our hostess has gone from belligerent to welcoming, which

is frankly more disturbing. Neither of us touches our tea.

“It was interesting ,” Riley replies diplomatically.

Jocasta or Ulfhild—I’m not sure what to call her—laughs.

“It’s embarrassing, I know.” She shakes her head and takes a seat across from us. “But what I can do? We’ve all got to make

a living.”

“So it is a scam?” I ask.

“Of course it’s a scam. You think Oscar Wilde, Cleopatra, and Napoleon are all hanging out in Florida ?” She sips her tea. “Years ago, when I was first starting out, I tried to use my gifts to help people without all the hocus-pocus

nonsense. I’d see someone with a problem and give them incredibly profound—not to mention practical —advice, and nine times out of ten, do you know what they’d do? Ignore me! Or, worse, they’d go off and do the exact opposite.”

Jocasta lets out a rueful chuckle. “It didn’t take me long to realize that if I wanted to be taken seriously, I’d have to

embellish my routine. Now I still give customers sound advice, only first I put on a little show for them. I weave stories

about their past lives, about the great, important people they used to be. That’s crucial .

“You’ve got to flatter their egos if you want them to listen to you. It’s like hiding your dog’s medicine in peanut butter.

You give the customer a treat, you make them feel special, like you and only you can see their true potential, and voilà . Suddenly they’re willing to listen to what you have to tell them. And pay handsomely too.”

Grinning in triumph, Jocasta takes another sip of her tea. At which point she notices the untouched cups sitting in front

of Riley and me.

“It’s not poisoned,” she says. “It’s oolong.”

I don’t want her to think I’m frightened, so I take a sip. The liquid is strong and bitter, but I think that’s how tea is

supposed to taste. I wouldn’t know. I’m a coffee guy. “Doesn’t anyone ever call you out?” I ask as I grab a red macaron off

the platter. I take a bite of its sugary shell hoping to get the tea’s bitter aftertaste out of my mouth.

“Call me out?”

“For being a phony.”

Jocasta shakes her head. “There’s nothing phony about the advice I give. Everything I tell a client is something I truly believe

they need to hear.”

“Really?” Riley scoffs, dunking a blue macaron in his tea. “That woman, Dionne, she needed to hear that she should have a threesome?”

Jocasta smirks. “You’d be surprised how many of life’s problems can be solved with a threesome.”

“But you’re telling people they used to be Cleopatra and Napoleon,” Riley continues. “And you’re getting basic historical

facts wrong. Doesn’t anyone get suspicious?”

“Sometimes. But the human capacity for self-delusion is excelled only by its narcissism. Once I told three different men in

the same night that they had each been George Washington just to see if I could get away with it. Not a single one batted

an eyelash.”

Riley bites his macaron in half and snorts scornfully. “That’s insane.”

Jocasta shrugs. “Human beings need to believe they’re special. And I suppose, in their own ways, they are. Life, after all,

is always a miracle. Nonetheless, the simple truth is that most people walking this planet are just average individuals living

very average lives.”

“But not you,” I say.

“No.” Jocasta grins—the same wolfish grin from my dream. “Nor you.”

Riley shakes his head. “Look, Ulfhild, we don’t care what sort of scam you’re running. Jackson and I are only here because—”

“I’m not Ulfhild,” she says, cutting him off. “Ulfhild was my great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-great-grandmother.

I’ve probably left out fifty or so great s, but you get the point.”

I look at Riley in confusion, then back at Jocasta. “But you look exactly like her.”

“The women in my family have always borne a striking resemblance to each other.”

“But you recognized us,” Riley insists.

“I did. But only from the stories passed on from generation to generation by the women in my family. A story of two boys, always together, one with eyes bluer than the sea and hair like polished bronze and the other with hair like midnight and eyes as sharp and green as glass.”

Riley stares at her in awe. “Who are you?”

“I come from a long line of seeresses,” Jocasta explains. “My lineage stretches all the way back to the Oracle of Delphi.

No one knows how or why the women in my family acquired our particular gifts, but we’ve always had a special relationship

with the universe. We can see the direction in which it wants to move. And we help steer it from time to time when things

go off course. Though what its ultimate goal is, if indeed there is a goal, I couldn’t begin to speculate. Nor could the women

who came before me. But we serve the universe when we’re called upon. And when we’re not, we’re free to do as we like.”

Jocasta smiles like that’s the end of her story. But I have more questions than ever.

“You said your ancestors—the women in your family—they’ve met Riley and me before?”

She grins. “Quite a few times. You’re rather infamous in certain circles. Of course, it’s been a while since any of my lineage

have run into you. Almost a century, in fact. To tell you the truth, I was starting to think you two were just an old wives’

tale. But here you are.”

“Wait—how many times have your ancestors met us?” Riley asks. “Jackson and I only remember meeting Ulfhild in Greenland. Are

you saying we’ve met your ancestors in other past lives? That we’ve had other encounters with your family?”

“Oh, yes. Ulfhild was just one of many. The two of you have crossed paths with the women of my lineage on several occasions.

At least a dozen, if our family records are to be believed. Though there may have been more encounters that we don’t know

about.”

This conversation is making me dizzy. It’s hard enough wrapping my brain around the idea that I might’ve had three past lives. The fact that I might’ve had a dozen or more makes my head swim.

“So past lives are real, then?” Riley asks. “Reincarnation is real?”

“Yes. Very rare and very unusual, but real.”

“What do you mean, ‘unusual’?”

Jocasta sighs, and for a second, I’d swear she looks disappointed. “I mean it’s not supposed to happen. And if it does happen,

you’re certainly not supposed to remember it. None of the versions of you boys that my ancestors encountered ever recalled

their previous lives. As far as I know, you two are the first.”

Something about the way she says that last part sends a shiver down my spine.

“If reincarnation isn’t supposed to happen, why is it happening to Jackson and me?”

Jocasta considers. “Do you recall any of your past lives other than your time in Greenland with Ulfhild?”

“Jackson remembers us living in London during World War Two. And I remember living in Pompeii right before Mount Vesuvius

erupted.”

“But nothing earlier than Pompeii?”

“No.”

“Interesting.” Jocasta sips her tea. “I had an ancestor in Pompeii. A high priestess of the Sibylline Oracle. She died in

the destruction of the city, and her death has always been one of the great mysteries of my family.”

“You mean because she didn’t see the volcano coming?” I ask.

Jocasta shakes her head. “Because she did . She sent her daughter and all her handmaidens out of Pompeii a day before the eruption. Yet for some reason, she stayed

behind. I’ve always wondered why.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Riley color and stare down at his lap.

“I think...” He hesitates. “I think?.?.?.?we met her.”

I look at Riley in surprise. In our discussions about our dreams, he never mentioned any high priestess. But then, I haven’t

really pumped him for information about Pompeii. I’ve been more focused on Greenland since that’s the only past life we both

remember.

“Tell me,” Jocasta says eagerly, leaning forward in her chair. “Tell me what happened in Pompeii.”

“There’s not much to tell,” Riley answers defensively. “Jackson and I were—a couple. When the volcano erupted, we ran from

our families to find each other. We couldn’t make it out of the city, so we took shelter in a temple. That’s where we found

the high priestess. She was trapped under a column and dying. But right before she passed away, she told Jackson and me that

we had to die. She was pretty insistent about it. Then the temple collapsed, and that was it. We died.”

Jocasta nods and leans back in her chair. “Except you didn’t, did you? You clever boys found a way back.”

“But how?” I ask, my tired brain still struggling to understand what I’m hearing.

Jocasta sets down her tea and considers. “How old were you when you died in Pompeii?”

“We were young,” Riley answers. “Teenagers. I think I’d just turned eighteen.”

“And you were in love?”

The question makes Riley blush. “Yeah. We were in love.”

Jocasta sighs. “That could do it. Two souls in love cut off in their prime, wanting more time. It’s been known to happen.”

A shudder passes through my body, causing my skin to break out in goose bumps. “We died young in our other lives too,” I add.

“In London. And in Greenland.”

“Did you?” Jocasta sips her tea and stares at us in unnerving silence.

I turn to Riley, whose eyes reflect my own apprehension. “If your family has run into us a dozen times,” he says, “do you

know if we died in those lives as well?”

Jocasta shrugs. “Everyone dies.”