Page 5 of The Second Sight (Wanderlust Emporium Presents, Season One)

Chapter

Four

KASI

The first drink disappeared faster than I expected.

The second was something blue with vodka in it, and it went down even easier.

By the third cocktail, a warmth had spread throughout my body, loosening my limbs and softening the edges of my thoughts.

Brooklyn nursed a single gin and tonic, watching me with amused concern as I grew increasingly animated, talking loudly about everything and nothing.

“You know what’s weird?” I said, gesturing with my fourth drink, something orange and dangerously strong.

“I always thought my mama would take me out for my first legal drink. She promised when I was like twelve. Said she wanted to show me what to order.” I took another gulp, barely registering the burn anymore. “Guess she had other plans, huh?”

Brooklyn’s expression shifted to one of gentle caution. “Maybe we should get some food in your drunk ass?”

“I’m fine,” I insisted, though the room had taken on a pleasant spinning quality. “It’s my birthday. I’m allowed to be a little sad and tipsy about my mother abandoning me.”

“Girl, don’t be a depressing drunk. Be a happy drunk.” Brooklyn frowned.

“You’re right,” I said quickly. “But those dreams I used to have. They are back.”

Before she could press further, I spotted him again, the platinum blonde man with the mesmerizing blue eyes.

He stood at the opposite end of the bar, a glass of brown liquid untouched before him.

Like before, he wasn’t trying to hide his interest in me.

His gaze was direct, intense, like he was trying to read something written on my soul.

“That guy is staring at you,” Brooklyn said, following my line of sight. “The blonde one. He has been lurking all night.”

“You noticed too?” I turned back to her, relieved I wasn’t imagining things. He was real. She could see him too.

“Hard not to. He keeps showing up wherever you are. He’s been eye-fucking you from all directions.” She narrowed her eyes in his path. “Want me to tell him to back off?”

I glanced back toward him, but he had vanished again. “No, it’s okay. He’s just looking. He’s White, he’s never going to approach me.”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t seem like a regular White man. He seems a little swaggy.” Brooklyn didn’t seem convinced he was just looking, but he dropped it when the bartender appeared with a round of shots I didn’t remember ordering.

“Courtesy of the gentleman at the end of the bar,” he explained, setting the small glasses in front of us.

I looked down the bar, expecting to see the blonde stranger, but instead found Darren, the guy I’d danced with earlier. He raised his own shot glass in a silent toast, grinning broadly.

“Look ah there? Normal male attention,” Brooklyn said, clearly relieved. She picked up her shot. “To Darren, for not being a creepy stalker.”

We clinked glasses and downed the shots. The liquor burned a fiery path down my throat, making my eyes water. The warmth that followed was pleasant, wrapping around me like a heated blanket.

Time became fluid after that. Brooklyn and I returned to the dance floor, my movements now looser, less coordinated but somehow more confident.

I danced with Darren again. His hands were respectfully placed on my waist as we moved together in perfect rhythm.

He seemed nice. The only thing he did that annoyed me was ask if my eyes were real.

Why do people always think I’m wearing colored contacts?

The music pounded through me, becoming part of me. All the while, from various corners of the club, I felt those pale eyes tracking my every move. Dude was really acting like a stalker.

Hours passed in a blur of dancing, drinking, and laughter. By the time Brooklyn suggested we think about heading home, the club had thinned considerably. My feet ached, my makeup had surely melted off, and my head swam pleasantly with the combined effects of alcohol and exhaustion.

“I’ll close out the tab,” I announced, fumbling in my purse for my wallet. “My birthday, my treat.”

Brooklyn steadied me with a hand on my shoulder. “You sure?”

“Girl, you bought me all those clothes. You took me to lunch. I got the drinks.”

“Fine. It’s time to go. You’re pretty fucked up, Kasi.”

“I’m perfectly—” I paused, searching for the right word. “Functional. I’m perfectly functional.” The words came out more slurred than I intended, making Brooklyn snort with laughter.

“Right, girl, functional.” She stepped back and raised her hands in surrender. “Go ahead then, birthday girl. I’ll wait right here.”

I nodded with exaggerated seriousness and made my way back to the bar, concentrating hard on walking in a straight line. The room tilted slightly with each step, the lights overhead leaving trails in my vision. I reached the bar and leaned against it for support, grateful for its solid presence.

“Closing out,” I told the purple-haired bartender.

“Tab name, birthday girl?” he asked, already turning to her computer screen.

“Bacchar,” I replied. “Kasinda Bacchar.”

He nodded and began typing, then slid a receipt across the counter toward me. “That’ll be it. You can add a tip below the total.”

I squinted at the paper, but the dim lighting of the club combined with my alcohol-blurred vision made the numbers swim before my eyes.

I blinked hard, trying to force my vision to clear up, but the figures remained illegible.

I could only make out the three letters at the top of the receipt, F.O.Y.

That’s when I remembered the glasses. The adorable golden reading glasses from that Emporium place were in my purse, wrapped in delicate tissue paper. Perfect timing, I thought, as I reached for them. My fingers closed around the small package, a birthday gift to myself.

I fumbled with the tissue paper, my fingers clumsy and uncooperative as I unwrapped the gold-framed glasses. The delicate paper tore in places, but I extracted the glasses without dropping them. I unfolded them carefully.

“It’s so dark in here.” I blurted out.

The bartender nodded with the patience of someone used to dealing with drunk customers and turned away to help someone else.

Holding the glasses, I thought about the store clerk.

Moira, that was the lady’s name from the antique store.

I had a fantastic memory that I got from the woman who gave birth to me.

She never needed a grocery list. She could recall at least twenty-five items at a time.

My daddy used to always quiz her on her memory.

Moira’s words echoed in my mind: Be careful what you look for. Not all truths are comfortable ones.

What had she meant by that? In my current state, the cryptic warning seemed more amusing than ominous. I slipped the reading glasses onto my face without poking my eye out, expecting them to help me read the blurry receipt and nothing more.

The club’s dimness no longer seemed to hinder my vision.

Instead, everything stood out in perfect clarity, as if brightened from within.

I blinked rapidly, disoriented by the change.

Through the lenses, the receipt that had been indecipherable moments ago now appeared in crisp detail.

Each number stood out distinctly: $86.47 for the drinks we’d consumed throughout the night. Well, mostly I consumed.

“Whoa,” I whispered, pulling the glasses down slightly to peek over the top. Without them, the receipt returned to its blurry state. I pushed them back up, and clarity returned instantly. Damn, my drinks couldn’t have been watered down. I was blind without the glasses and didn’t even know it.

I convinced myself it was just the cocktails affecting my perception. Still, I couldn’t deny that the glasses worked perfectly for their intended purpose. I could read again, despite my inebriated state.

I scribbled my signature on the receipt, adding a twenty-dollar tip.

The bartender had been generous with the birthday drinks, after all.

As I wrote, I noticed something odd. The pen seemed to leave a trailing glow behind it, like a sparkler writing in the dark.

The effect was beautiful and mesmerizing.

I found myself drawing little swirls after my signature just to watch the golden light follow the pen’s movement.

I was really messed up and seeing things. It was time to go home.

“You good?” the bartender asked, returning to collect the signed receipt.

I nodded reluctantly, pushing the paper toward him. “All set. Thanks for everything.” I took the customer receipt and folded it once before shoving it in my purse.

He glanced at the tip amount and smiled. “Happy birthday, sweetheart. Get home safe.”

I turned away from the bar, the glasses still perched on my nose.

The club looked different through them, not just clearer, but somehow more real.

No, that wasn’t right. More than real. I could see details I’d never noticed before.

I saw the intricate pattern in the wooden bar top, the individual beads of condensation on drink glasses, the complex weave of fabrics in people’s clothing.

And the people themselves, they seemed outlined in faint auras of color that shifted and pulsed with their movements. Probably just the strobe lights reflecting off the lenses, I reasoned. It was beautiful and fascinating.

I made my way back to Brooklyn, who stood exactly where I’d left her, scrolling through her phone with the bored patience of a friend.

“I paid,” I announced, holding up my wallet as proof.

Brooklyn looked up, her eyes widening when she saw the glasses on my face. “Since when do you wear glasses?”

“They’re from that shop,” I explained, touching the frames self-consciously. “The Emporium place. It’s dark in here. I needed them to read the receipt.”

“Glasses in the club?” Brooklyn looked skeptical. “You look like a drunk librarian.”

I laughed. Everything seemed funnier with four cocktails, maybe five, and two shots, maybe three. I forget. “I like them. They make everything... prettier.”

Brooklyn rolled her eyes but smiled. “Whatever makes you happy, birthday girl. Put your wallet back in your purse.” She ordered.

“Oh, yeah.” I said, remembering the wallet was in my hand.

“Ready to go?” She asked.

I shook my head, suddenly aware of my full bladder. All those drinks had finally caught up with me. “Wait for me at the bar. I need to pee out some of this alcohol.”

“Don’t fall in the toilet,” Brooklyn warned, already turning back to the bar. “I’ll get you another water for the ride home.”

I nodded and turned toward the back of the club, where a neon sign indicated the restrooms. Through the glasses, the sign glowed. The neon pink letters burned into my retinas. I blinked, but kept the glasses on, too fascinated by the enhanced world they revealed to take the glasses off.

The journey to the bathroom became an expedition.

The crowd had thinned as closing time approached, but there were still enough people to navigate around.

Through the lenses, each person appeared with a subtle glow, some brighter than others.

A woman laughing at the edge of the dance floor sparkled with a warm orange light.

A couple kissing in a dark corner seemed wrapped in a shared cocoon of deep blue.

“Excuse me,” I murmured, squeezing past a group of guys near the hallway leading to the restrooms. One of them, tall with dark hair and a jawline that reminded me of someone famous, turned toward me, his mouth opening to speak.

For an instant, his face transformed. Not physically, but like a veil had been lifted, revealing something beneath his features, something with sharper angles, deeper shadows, a hint of otherness that vanished so quickly I convinced myself I’d imagined it.

“Watch where you’re going,” he said, his voice normal, and slightly irritated.

“Sorry,” I mumbled, hurrying past. I had to pee ten minutes ago.

The hallway to the bathrooms stretched before me, appearing longer than it should have been.

I bumped into the wall, steadying myself with one hand.

The contact sent a strange tingling up my arm, like static electricity.

Everything felt slightly off-kilter, as if the world had shifted a few degrees without warning me first.

It was just the alcohol that had me seeing things. I continued down the hallway. The women’s bathroom door was directly ahead. Through the lenses, the ordinary wooden door appeared overlaid with intricate patterns that shifted and changed as I watched.

I reached for the handle. The metal handle was cool against my palm. I pushed the door open, stepping forward into what should have been a typical club bathroom. They were usually cramped, slightly dirty, and smelled of hand soap and cheap perfume.

Instead, as the door swung shut behind me.

I stood still, taking in my surroundings.

The entire space was bathed in a soft golden light.

I looked up at the fluorescent lights in the ceiling, and the glow wasn’t coming from above me.

I gazed at my reflection in the wall mirror.

There was someone else in here with me. I couldn’t see them, but I felt them.

“Hello, Kasinda,” a familiar voice called to me. “I’ve been waiting for you to find me.” I turned to look for the owner of the voice but found no one in the restroom with me.

The glasses grew hot against my face, but I couldn’t move to take them off.

I couldn’t move at all. When I looked back in the mirror, I saw her.

All I could do was stare at the woman before me.

She was the woman I’d spent six years dreaming about, grieving for, searching for.

No, when I looked deeper into the mirror, it wasn’t her at all. It looked like her, but not quite.

Mama, I whispered in my head, but my voice remained silent.

She was already fading like mist. The last thing I saw before everything went dark was her sad smile and a single tear tracking down her mahogany-colored perfect face.

“Find me,” she whispered. “Find your true self first, then find me.”

Then nothing but darkness.

Oh, hell naw! Enough was enough. I needed to sleep off the alcohol. I was hallucinating. Drinking in excess was not for me.