Written in the Sky* Rise of the Wadjet Witch Read online

  R I S E

  O F T H E

  W A D J E T W I T C H

  By

  Juliet C. Obodo

  Copyright ©2011 by Juliet C. Obodo

  http://www.julietcobodo.com

  [email protected]

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from Juliet C. Obodo.

  ISBN 978-0-578-10214-6

  Angela regretted her decision to stay late and finish grading papers. It was already dark out by the time she completed her work. As soon as she entered the deserted parking lot, she heard a noise that made her nearly somersault out of her uncomfortable pumps. She stole a glance behind her and saw that it was just a stray cat. Great, her life was turning into a horror movie; it was bad enough that it was almost a Lifetime film.

  Her nerves had been raw since she stopped the school shooting last week. Thanks to the teacher’s workshops she signed up for, she recognized Craig’s behavioral cues as Columbine-esque.

  It was funny; after leaving P.S. 121 in the Bronx, she thought she no longer had to worry about guns. Whitfield Preparatory School didn’t have metal detectors, and detention hall shifts were not already written into her schedule. She could handle mean girls and eating disorders with her arms tied behind her back. But oh no, now she had to worry about spoiled brats whose dosages of Ritalin and Zoloft didn’t agree. She should have gone to law school, she thought wearily.

  She heard another noise, but assumed it was the stray again. By the time she realized it wasn’t, it was already too late. The darkness enveloped her.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1 10

  Chapter 2 21

  Chapter 3 29

  Chapter 4 38

  Chapter 5 51

  Chapter 6 64

  Chapter 7 73

  Chapter 8 87

  Chapter 9 96

  Chapter 10 106

  Chapter 11 119

  Chapter 12 131

  Chapter 13 147

  Chapter 14 159

  Chapter 15 179

  Chapter 16 191

  Chapter 17 207

  Chapter 18 217

  Chapter 1

  “It happened again!” Memphis Holland exclaimed as she plopped down in a seat next to her friend Jill at the nail salon. She was a little out of breath; she practically ran to the salon to make sure that she made it to their biweekly mani-pedi appointment on time. She was usually punctual but had fallen asleep on her desk at work. As a PhD candidate, she struggled to balance her work and class schedules.

  “What did?” Jill asked. She was frowning, or at least Memphis imagined she was. Jill began Botox treatments as soon as she received her first paycheck after college graduation three years ago.

  “The Gypsies—another one caught me on the street on the way over here. They’re drawn to me.”

  “Maybe they know that you’re an easy mark,” she offered.

  “I am not! I usually just wish them a good day and go on my way, but this one mentioned something about a recent breakup.”

  “Like I said, easy mark. It’s New York City; one out of three people are dealing with a breakup.”

  “No,” Memphis said patiently. “She knew about Jonathan and how he suddenly ended our relationship after almost two years together. She also knew how hurt and confused it left me.”

  “That’s just your normal facial expression, no?”

  Memphis stuck out her tongue. Maybe Jill had a point. She had been walking around all week in a big cloud of confusion.

  “She really was genuine, until she tried to take my wallet. She suggested that I give it to her because it was holding all the negative energy in my life, and if I held onto it I would never obtain anything of value.”

  “That’s hilarious. Oh, Memphis, you keep me so entertained.”

  Apparently she also entertained the nail technician. She could have sworn she saw her smile before she quickly bent her head to spend a great deal of time filing Memphis’s index finger.

  “He called last night. We just discussed work.”

  “Oh, it’s great that he can remain professional despite the fact he broke your heart.”

  “I know,” she sighed. “I just don’t get it. One night he takes me out to the most wonderful romantic dinner. The next day he says he can’t do this anymore and dumps me.”

  “Well, honey, let’s get these nails dry and I will take you out for dinner. I’ve got some great news.” She handed Memphis the fast dry spray for her nails.

  “You got the promotion at the newspaper.”

  “Memphis! How did you know? I swear, sometimes you’re psychic.”

  “Ha. Yeah, sure I am.” If she were psychic, she would have been better prepared for her recent breakup. “But that’s really great, Jill. Dinner is definitely on you, but I get to choose the place.”

  She picked their favorite Indian restaurant on Bleeker Street for the celebration dinner. The great thing about living in New York City was that it earned its reputation as a city full of insomniacs; you could get manicures at 11:00 p.m. and dinner at midnight. Memphis couldn’t decide if it was the city or its inhabitants that determined its lack of a curfew.

  “So, tell me about this promotion,” Memphis requested. They sat down at their usual table and barely glanced at the menu, which they practically had memorized. They proceeded to order their usual spread of one Murgh Kari, a large vegetable paneer, tandoori chicken, and three vegetable samosas with a side of mango salsa.

  Jill worked at Sign of the Times, a daily New Age newspaper publication. It had recently increased in popularity after a starlet mentioned it on a morning show as the reason for her new and improved spiritual life. Besides the fact that “spiritual starlet” sounded like an oxymoron, their circulation skyrocketed that day. That was eight months ago, and they still had a large readership that was continuing to grow. Jill was there from the beginning, and now she was reaping the benefits.

  She described how they were hiring more staff and covering edgier news topics. They were also expanding their coverage to relevant topics that dealt with the everyday spiritual observer and some of the obstacles they may face, such as being murdered.

  “Wait, murdered?” Memphis repeated.

  “Were you even paying attention?”

  “Yes, of course I was.”

  “No, you weren’t. You were thinking about Jonathan.”

  “Now who’s the mind reader? I’m sorry, I was. I can’t help it, but I will try harder. What were you saying about murder?”

  The waiter placed their food in front of them and left them plates to divide the spread themselves. Jill rolled her eyes, but gave Memphis a dimpled smile to show she forgave her. “Well, this poor woman—a teacher—her body was found in a warehouse in Brooklyn.”

  “Oh no, really?”

  “Yes. I’m not surprised about the Brooklyn part. That’s why I never leave Manhattan.” She popped a piece of samosa into her mouth.

  “I don’t think crossing the bridge will kill you.”

  “Well, this woman’s corpse would beg to differ.” She leaned in closer. “But listen, the real story is that there were no other marks on her besides a stab wound right between the eyes.”

  Memphis shivered. “Why are you covering a murder?”

  “Well, with the expansion we hired more rep
orters who have been pitching more interesting stories. See how that works? More money, more stories.”

  “Thanks for breaking it down for me,” Memphis replied dryly.

  “Anyway, we don’t want all the juice from our spirituality and positivity to dry up, so we decided to supplement it with some scary stuff. The scary stuff will push our readers to seek more positivity. The bosses want to see even more growth, and what sells better than sex and violence? Speaking of sex, the new reporter who pitched the story is a real cutie. He’s the kind of guy you should date. Not some tacky old fart.”

  “Jonathan is thirty-three.”

  “Like I said, old fart. This guy is pretty smart. He was able to put a New Age spin on the story because she was stabbed where her ‘Third Eye’ is located. I’ll introduce you to him when you come and meet me for lunch next week.”

  “Third Eye? I thought people only had two. Did she grow a third one while taking the L train over to Williamsburg?”

  “No,” Jill replied, brushing off her sarcasm. “We all have one, no matter what borough you live in. It sits in the middle of your forehead; it’s the most important chakra.”

  “What’s a chakra?” Memphis suppressed the urge to make a joke that involved the Queen of Funk.

  “Memphis, how do you not know what a chakra is?” Jill asked, incredulous.

  “What do you want from me? I’m a scientist.”

  “Chakras are the most basic forms of energy; the Third Eye is one of them. There are seven energy centers that fuel our consciousness.”

  Jill went on about energy and how it was harnessed within the body. Memphis tended to zone out when Jill went into an in-depth discussion about anything New Agey, but this actually sparked her interest. How was it tied to a dead woman? She had a point about sex and violence. She continued to listen to Jill’s pseudo-scientific babble. “Chakras, or energy centers, function as pumps or valves, regulating the flow of energy to our system—body and mind. The chakras can reflect decisions we make and how we choose to respond to our environment; we can open and close them at will. They are very powerful, especially the Third Eye. It’s the psychic center of all of your senses. The chakras represent not only particular parts of your physical body, but also particular parts of your consciousness. There are seven levels of consciousness, and each category can be associated with a particular chakra.”

  “So this is a spiritual belief system?” Memphis inquired. She was a fan of facts and having the data to support them.

  “No, it’s not just a belief. It’s true. When your consciousness is affected, you feel it in the chakra associated with that part of your consciousness. You also feel it in the parts of the physical body associated with that chakra. Where you are affected depends on what is affecting you. If it is long and strong, then it can manifest on the physical level.” Her long lashes nearly touched her eyebrows as she expressed wonder at the thought that such a thing was possible.

  Memphis continued to listen intently. Jill never took this much interest in something that didn’t have a designer label.

  “So, when you feel any tension in your consciousness, you feel it in the chakra that’s associated with the part of your consciousness experiencing the stress. But it depends on where and why you feel the stress.”

  “Does that mean the victim’s stress manifested itself on her forehead?” Memphis asked innocently.

  Jill rolled her eyes before throwing a piece of naan at her.

  “No, but really, poor girl.” Memphis sighed.

  “I know,” Jill agreed. “To have to die in Brooklyn.”

  This time Memphis rolled her eyes.

  “So, enough talk of death; I have a bunch of interviews tomorrow. Speaking of, would you be interested in writing horoscopes, or maybe a few articles? It would be great to have a real astronomer on staff. No other newspaper has one.”

  “I don’t know anything about horoscopes; I didn’t even know what a chakra was. And I’m not an astronomer yet. Still in school, remember? With a full schedule.”

  “But aren’t you doing research on the zodiac?”

  “No, my research is on constellations. There’s a huge difference between the zodiac and the constellations. People always make that mistake. That is exactly why I had such difficulty getting the academic board to approve my research. Thank goodness I had Jonathan behind me. They love him.”

  “Aren’t they both star systems?”

  Now it was her turn to babble. “Yes, but they deal with different areas. The zodiac is just scratching the surface when it comes to what’s out there. It’s like comparing a bicycle to a motorcycle. I’m focusing on elliptical rotation. Look.” Memphis grabbed two slices of naan to use as props. “The zodiac is composed of twelve thirty-degree angles. It’s seasonal and follows the four cardinal points of the Sun. Constellations are ever-changing star groupings.”

  “Oh, I didn’t know there was a difference,” Jill mumbled through a piece of seasoned tofu.

  “Yup.” Memphis laid the down the larger piece of naan and placed a smaller piece in its center. “This big piece is where the constellations lie, which are more than just twelve, by the way. This inner circle, the smaller piece of naan, is where the twelve signs of the zodiac were organized into thirty-degree angles two thousand years ago. At that time, these two areas were aligned. The constellation Aries and Aries in the zodiac were in perfect alignment. Now these two pieces are headed in opposite directions.” She pushed one naan toward Jill’s plate and one toward her own.

  “Thank you very much.” Jill grabbed the naan and dipped it into her curry sauce.

  Memphis ignored her. “The pieces won’t realign again for another twenty-six thousand years. It’s the twenty-six thousand year cycle that has been divided into twelve astrological ages containing two thousand years. That is what the Age of Aquarius is referring to.”

  “Oh, it’s not just a musical number from Hair?”

  “Anyway, my research will focus on the constellations, particularly Ophiuchus, a large constellation located around the celestial equator. It’s one of fourteen constellations that cross the ecliptic. It’s been called a missing zodiac sign, but that’s because people are mixing up the terms. The signs of the zodiac are a twelve-fold division of the ecliptic so that each sign spans thirty degrees of celestial longitude, approximately the distance the Sun travels in a month. Constellations are unequal in size and are based on the positions of the stars. The constellations of the zodiac have only a loose association with the signs of the zodiac and generally do not coincide with them. In astrology, the constellation of Aquarius, for example, actually corresponds to Pisces. The constellation of Ophiuchus occupies most of the sign of Sagittarius.”

  Memphis could have spent all night talking about the stars, but Jill changed the topic to another mystery of the universe: men.

  “All this talk of men reminds me of the fact that I’m not having sex, which leads to the fact that I’ve started smoking again, which leads to the fact that I need a cigarette.” Memphis said after a few minutes’ discussion.

  “You’re still having those cravings?”

  “Cravings for sex or for cigarettes?” Memphis raised an eyebrow.

  “You really need to kick this habit, Em.”

  “Again, sex or cigs?”

  “Cigs, and I know just how you can quit smoking for good. We recently published a story about hypnosis. I was a guinea pig and volunteered to go for weight loss.”

  “To lose weight? Where? Your head?” Memphis envied Jill’s svelte figure.

  “Well, I have really bad eating habits. No more sugar or late night snacking since. I enjoy three square meals a day, and I no longer feel the need to clean my plate.”

  Memphis eyed Jill’s plate, which still had sauce and rice. At this point Memphis was usually smacking her hand away from her own dish.

  “Wow! That is impressive.”

  “And I’ve lost two pounds, I’m sure you noticed.” She looked into her
purse and handed Memphis the hypnotherapist’s business card.

  “Oh, yes, of course I did. You look great, but I don’t think smoking and giving up dessert are the same type of problem.” Memphis still accepted the card.

  “They most certainly are related. They are both addictions and tied to our minds. The mind is quite powerful. The brain is a muscle, you know.”

  “Yes, I know. I was a biology major.”

  “Well, you have her card—just make an appointment. You’ll be cured after just one session, I guarantee it. If you’re not, I’ll never bring it up again.”

  “Well, in that case, we have a deal.”

  Chapter 2

  Jill walked Memphis to her subway line and then hopped in a cab. Memphis spent the rest of her trip home thinking about cigarettes and girls with holes in their heads. By the time she arrived home, she was so wired she couldn’t sleep. She took a hot shower and settled in for a marathon of trash television on the new sofa that she and her roommate Gemma purchased. It was the first item in their apartment on which they had actually spent money; they’d been curbside decorators for way too long. Gemma was still out and would most likely spend the night at her latest guy’s apartment. She was the perfect roommate—there just often enough so Memphis felt neither lonely nor smothered.

  After some channel surfing, she caught a wave on the local public access television network; in New York it was better than reality television. A new show called The Universe Now was on; she loved watching new hosts make clumsy production mistakes..

  Oh, this should be interesting, she thought. And it actually was. The host was very smooth and well spoken. He announced that he would discuss a new area of science each night—areas that were new and cutting edge, and didn’t fall in line with the mainstream beliefs of both astrologers and astronomers. Now he really had her attention. He would be crossing the lines and mixing the sciences of astrology, astronomy, and archeology. This reminded her of Jonathan’s work; his research was comprised of both biology and astronomy. He hoped to discover new life forms.