“But they didn’t hurt you?”
“They were prophets,” he said, his face sliding into that seriousness again.
“Oh,” was all I said, because street prophets could be just another name for crazy homeless person, except that they thought they had the ear of God, or the angels, or a saint, or even occasionally the devil. A lot of schizophrenics thought they heard the voice of God; how did you tell delusion from true prophecy?
“I know what you’re thinking, Z. They were the real deal.”
“I thought you couldn’t read my thoughts.”
“I don’t need to; that little oh and the way you go all stiff through the shoulders, that was enough.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to insult the prophets.”
“I know some of them are crazy like I was, but in between the crazy some of us truly do hear the angels, or spirits and powers of one kind or another.” He was getting sullen again. I had a glimpse of what his face must have looked like behind the beard and hair all these years. There was a sourness to it that looked wrong on his shaved face, as if the old crazy Jamie was getting mixed up with the original Jamie, which I guess was exactly what was happening. Even if he stayed sane from this day on, the years on the street had to have left their mark.
I sat back down across from him this time, because I wanted to see his expression full on. “What did the prophets tell you?”
“That I needed to go to a shop and talk to a woman who worked there.”
“What shop?”
He gave me a sly smile that had always been edged with beard before this; I didn’t like the smile still being in him. It was an unpleasant smile, the one that meant he was usually about to say something crazy, or mean, or both. I prayed that whatever he said next wouldn’t be either.
He looked confused. “Part of me wants to say I bet you’d like to know, or It’s none of your business, but it’s like habit. It’s not what I want to say to you.”
“What do you want to say to me?” I asked, trying to keep my voice and face neutral so I didn’t trigger any negative urges in him.
“I want to tell you about the shop and that Emma works there. She does reiki and reads tarot. The prophets told me a woman wearing a rose would help me close my shields so I could be alone inside my head.” The confusion moved to something else, something that didn’t quite believe in going to look for a woman with a rose.
“Why did you do what they said?” I asked.
“Is it that obvious that I didn’t believe them?” he asked.
“To me, it is,” I said.
He smiled then. “I guess expressions and body language don’t change that much with time.”
“I don’t know about that, but we can still read each other.”
He offered me a fist bump and I touched his fist with mine just as the rapid-boil kettle beeped to let me know the water was hot.
“Make the tea, Z. I’ll talk while you do it.”
“Sounds good,” I said, and got up to pour hot water into the big blue teapot. I swirled a splash of hot water around to warm the pot. Master Sarphiel had always been very firm on that. The tea steeped better in a warm pot than in a cold one.
“I can’t tell you everything, because I don’t remember all of it, or understand what I do remember.”
“That’s okay, Jam . . . Levi, just tell me what you can.”
“I honestly don’t remember what alley I was sleeping in when they woke me up. I just stared up at this group of shapes. I had a few seconds of wondering if they were real, or I was seeing spirits, or hallucinating, or having someone else’s nightmare, or maybe my own? I thought I was flashing back to the last bad beating I got.”
“The hospital called me on that one.” I was glad I had finished pouring the hot water into the pot, because my hands shook. I lost one of the tea bags, but with the others I got their strings tight underneath the lid of the teapot. I slid the tea cozy over the pot to make sure it stayed hot while the tea steeped, then set the timer for ten minutes.
“You’re still my emergency contact,” he said.
“But you said they were prophets, not thugs.”
“Yes, when I was sure I wasn’t still dreaming, they gave me their message about going to the shop and talking to a woman with a rose.”
I leaned against the edge of the cabinet and watched him instead of sitting back down. “But you didn’t believe them?”
“No, I thought they were just crazy like me, so I laid back down and told them to leave me alone.”
“And did they, leave you alone?”
He gave a little chuckle. “No, because at least two of them were prophets, the real thing. They grabbed my arms and pulled me to my feet. I started to try and fight them, but they were a lot stronger than they seemed. I wondered if they were angels in disguise for a second, because of how strong their hands were on my arms.”
“Angels don’t do that much anymore,” I said.
“No, but they had the strength of God in their hands. I felt that and knew they were real.” He was quiet so long I prompted him and asked what happened next.
“I started walking in the direction of the shop. It wasn’t close to where I was, and I didn’t have money for any other way to travel. I was lucky that I didn’t get arrested for walking in the middle of the road, because I did that some, I remember getting honked at and then realizing I was in the middle of the damn road.”
It startled me that he cursed. We had all been taught that curses should be saved for when you meant them. Jamie didn’t mean the road to be damned, or a road to Hell. I wanted to remind him why he shouldn’t use it so casually, but I kept my mouth shut and listened.
“I made it to the street where the shop is, but then I heard or saw someone’s thoughts. This man just walked by and he was thinking so hard that I just started following him. I probably would have followed him for miles, or until his thoughts calmed down, but a woman walked by us wearing a T-shirt with roses on it. It made me stop, literally stop on the sidewalk. I was able to let the man’s thoughts go. I could hear them getting farther away, but I turned and started following her.”
I wondered how the woman had felt about being followed by Jamie before he’d cleaned himself up. The tea timer sounded and saved me from letting my body language tell him what I was thinking. I was too busy lifting the tea cozy off, taking the tea bags out, and fishing with the tongs for the one that I’d lost in the tea.
“I followed her through the door into her shop. I mean I was right behind her. I’m lucky she didn’t call the cops.”
“Were you able to tell her why you were there?” I asked, getting our mugs off the table so I could put sugar in them.
He gave a laugh that was more bitter than funny. “Tell her that a bunch of wandering prophets told me to look for a woman with roses. The truth didn’t sound very sane.”
“Did she believe you?” I asked, as I poured tea into the mugs, adding cream to both.
“She did, and I know whatever I said to her wasn’t as clear as what I’m saying now. She should have called the cops, or told me to leave her shop, but she had this gentle energy. It reminded me of how I used to feel when I prayed, and God liked the prayer.”