The Calling

Chapter 1

My alarm from my cell chimes loudly on my nightstand. I rolled over tiredly to turn it off. 6 a.m, great. I lay in bed contemplating on just calling out. Like I do every morning. Most people my age have things figured out. They have gone to college and started their careers. Some have started having families. I, on the other hand, had no clue what I wanted to do with my life.

In high school, I was voted most likely to succeed. Jokes on them though. I am still working dead-end jobs at 23, barely making enough money to get by. Even though I had the grades, I decided college just wasn't for me.

I have always felt like a stranger walking in my own shoes. As if I am living a life that's a lie. I have always believed I was meant for something different—something greater.

But alas, these bills don't pay themselves. So I lazily roll out of bed and get ready for work. My morning routine is nothing special. I turn on the shower and wait for the water to get warm. I have been hounding my landlord for weeks to fix the water heater. It shouldn't take so long to get beyond frigid, especially in this sweltering heat. He acts like I want my shower to be as hot as the pits of hell. Then again, it is July in Arizona. We may as well be in hell, already.

After I shower and blow dry my hair, I take a good look in the mirror. My reflection looks back at me with sleepy hazel-blue eyes, still soft with dreams. The light caught the faint flecks of green in them, making them seem brighter than I felt.

I dressed without much thought, wearing tight jeans that hugged my wide hips and thick thighs. The black v-neck T-shirt traces the hourglass of my slimmer waist and dipped just low enough to accentuate my c-cup breasts, but not low enough to give me "I'm easy" vibes. The dark fabric contrasted with my soft beige skin. At 5'8, I carry myself with a natural steadiness, long lines softened by curves that make my silhouette unmistakably my own.

There was something intimate about these early morning moments alone. Before makeup, before conversation, before expectations. Just me and my unfiltered reflection. My hair fell loosely, not yet tamed. I reach up and brush the strands behind my ears.

Morning light grew stronger, washing the mirror in a brighter glow. I squared my shoulders gently, not in criticism, but in acknowledgment. This was my shape, my height, my gaze meeting itself steadily. Not perfect, not posed. Just present.

Somewhere in the apartment, pipes stirred, and a car passed outside. The day was beginning. I pull my hair into a high ponytail, add a little mascara and some pink tinted lip gloss. I give my reflection one last thoughtful look, then turn away from the mirror, carrying the quiet moment of recognition with me.

I check the time, 7:30 am. I slip on my black converse, grab my keys and wallet and head to my car.

I open the door to my white Honda Civic and my phone rings. It’s a video call from my sister Jenn.

“I am just leaving for work, what's up?” I ask.

“Just calling to remind you of mom's birthday dinner tonight.” I completely forgot about that. She knows me too well.

“Do I really have to go? The restaurant she chose is too expensive, and I really can’t afford it right now. I barely have enough money to get groceries this week. Besides, I don’t want to show up empty-handed with no gift. Marissa won’t let me hear the end of it.” She let out a heavy sigh.

“Why didn’t you say something Clara? You know if you need money, I can help you out.” And there it is.

“I don’t ask for help because you’re my little sister. It should be me helping you. Not the other way around.” She nods in understanding.

“Look, I can spot you for dinner tonight. Don’t worry about it. A new thrift store opened up on Main Street a couple of weeks ago. Trinkets of Time, I believe, is what it's called. I'll text it to you."

“OK cool and thanks, I’ll get you back when I get paid. I really do have to go though, or I'll be late.”

I hang up the phone and head for a long day of getting yelled at by customers on the phone.

Just as promised, Jenn messaged me the address for Trinkets of Time. A quick Google search, and it's only 10 minutes from work and on the way to the restaurant. I decided to leave work an hour early to make time to browse the shop. My mom, Holly, is a bit eccentric. She has always been into the supernatural. Witches, vampires, werewolves, fairies, all that. Believes that the stars can tell you your fate and read tarot cards to see her future. A witch at heart, as she always said. Me, I don’t believe in that sort of thing. It's all fantasy, stuff you read in books and watch in movies.

Mom worked hard and did what she could as a single mother. I've no memories of my father as he stepped out of our lives when I was 2. Marissa had been 4 and Jenn was just a baby. It was hard on Marissa growing up being the eldest. She had to step up and watch Jenn and me after school while mom worked. I'm grateful for everything she did for us growing up, but it feels like she holds out this resentment for missing out on her childhood. She went to college immediately after graduation, wanting some sort of freedom and life for herself.

Thankful that our tourist season is over, I was able to find a parking spot in front of the shop. No one likes visiting Sedona in the summer. Who could blame them with scorching triple-digit heat.

The shop is nestled quaintly between an antique store and print shop. Above the narrow doorway was a hand painted sign: Trinkets of Time. The letters were faded gold, curling at the edges like something remembered rather than written. When I pushed the door open, a bell chimed. Not bright and cheerful, but low and resonant, as if it had been waiting.

Inside, the air smelled of lavender, old books, and the forest after a light rain. Shelves filled with curious objects: stoppered glass bottles filled with herbs and petals, brass candle holders, bundles of dried sage tied with twine. Strings of crystal prisms hung in the window, scattering fractured light over velvet-draped tables. The whole shop felt less like a*****e and more like a place that existed slightly outside of time.

I drift towards a glass case near the back. Inside lay an old tarot deck, its edges worn and silvered with use. The box was cracked at one corner, the illustration faded but intricate. The High Priestess staring outward with knowing eyes. There was no hesitation. Mom would be over the moon with this deck. I asked to see it, and when I lifted the cards, they felt warm. As though they remembered being held.

Beside the deck sat small cloth pouches with polished stones. Amythest, obsidian, labradorite flashing blue like captured lightning. I select a handful without overthinking it, guided by something deeper than preference.

Then I feel it. A pull, gentle at first, then insistent.

Across the room, hanging alone against a backdrop of midnight blue velvet, is a silver necklace. The chain is delicate but sturdy, its links etched with tiny crescent shapes. At its center rested a smooth oval moonstone, luminous and opalescent, holding a soft inner glow like trapped moonlight. I step closer without realizing I am moving.

The stone seemed to shift as I tilt my head, colors blooming beneath its surface. Pearls of pale blues and a whisper of violet. My fingers brush it, and a strange stillness settles in my chest. On impulse, I turn the pendant over. Carved into the back of the setting is a wolf crest. Elegant, fierce, its lines clean and deliberate. Not decorative but intentional. The wolf's eyes narrow, almost watchful. A flicker of recognition stirs inside me, though I can't say why.

"Ah," came a soft voice behind me, smooth as silk. "You've found it." I turn to see an older woman standing a few paces away. Her long white hair braided over one shoulder. Her eyes sharp and bright, a startling gray that seemed to catch every flicker of thought. She wears layered shawls in deep forest greens and twilight purples, rings glinting on nearly every finger.

"I'm Celeste," she said, offering a mischievous smile. "I own the shop." I instinctively clutch the necklace, as though afraid it might disappear.

"It suits you," Celeste continued, gently stepping closer but not too close. "Moonstone chooses carefully. And that crest..." Her gaze flickers to the back of the pendant. "It has been waiting for someone willing to answer it."