A wrinkled paper bag was propped against the door of The Silent Cat when Deegie arrived for work the next morning. She gave it an experimental nudge with her foot as she selected the shop key from her key ring, and something rattled woodenly. She picked up the bag and looked inside: the talking board. Tamara had returned it after all. Deegie tucked the bag under her arm, unlocked the door, and then picked up Bast in his carrier and went inside.
As Bast prepared himself for duty as the shop’s mascot (by giving his backside a careful grooming and settling down for a nap on a stack of altar cloths), Deegie examined the talking board. Despite a smudge of what looked like purple glitter nail polish, it was none the worse for wear. It was little more than a tool; it was the user’s intent that opened a supernatural can of worms. Still, though, she shoved it back into its bag and stowed it all the way to the back of the shelf under the register. It just didn’t hold the same attraction as it had when she’d first bought it.
Around noon, Deegie made herself a cup of herbal tea and seated herself at the table by the window where she normally took her breaks. As she sipped, she observed the progress of Mountain Village, the new shopping center that was opening, shop by shop, across the street. A used book store called The Squirrel’s Nest was already open for business, along with a doughnut shop and the ubiquitous nail salon. Workmen had just finished hanging a sign that read Mattress World, and they were currently unloading a smaller one, wooden, with fancy script letters that spelled out Belinda’s Wonders, which Deegie decided sounded vaguely pornographic.
The phone rang then and, after answering it with her standard shop greeting, Deegie heard only a muffled whimper. She tightened her grip on the phone. Apprehension tightened her throat. “Hello? Is someone there?”
“Deegie? Ms. Tibbs? Is … is that you?”
“Yes. Who is this?”
“It’s T—it’s Tamara. It happened again. You were wrong. There’s another one ….”
***
It was almost closing time when Tamara returned to The Silent Cat. Deegie had begrudgingly agreed to help once again, but she wasn’t about to talk to the blonde teen during business hours no matter how much she whined and begged. Tamara took the seat she had occupied the previous day, not quite as distraught as she’d been then, but still far from calm.
Deegie felt Tamara’s eyes tracking her every move as she put the money bag in the safe, drew the window shades, and locked the door. As she seated herself at last, she noticed the teen gazing longingly at the selection of herbal teas on the counter.
Deegie sighed, still not quite recovered from the theft incident. “Let me make you some tea, Tamara. It will help your nerves.” She got up from her chair and switched on the hot plate.
“Do you have any Scotch?” Tamara’s voice was tear-clogged and hopeful.
“No! Of course not! And I wouldn’t give you any even if I did!” Deegie’s black lace skirt flared out as she spun around to glare at Tamara.
Tamara shrugged. “Doesn’t hurt to ask. I’m stressed out and traumatized, remember? By the way, you haven’t thanked me for bringing your stupid talking board back.”
Deegie almost laughed. “I don’t need to thank you for returning something that belonged to me in the first place,” she said.
Once the tea was served, Tamara, in a faltering voice, began her latest tale of woe: “I saw another ghost in the school cafeteria. I work there during lunch. Gets me out of fourth period.”
“And …?” Deegie leaned forward, bobbing her tea bag up and down in its cup of steaming water.
“It was all fat and slobby-looking. It was trying to eat some green beans, but …” Although her face still wore a fearful expression, she uttered a weird, mirthless giggle. “They just went right through it and landed on the floor. It kept trying to eat stuff, though: cake, spaghetti, salad—it was like it was starving to death even though it was already dead, you know?”
Deegie recalled the behavior of the ghost in the storage room, how it had been trying desperately to shove random merchandise into its pockets. “Did anyone else see it?” she asked. That feeling of dread again, prickly and insistent.
“No! That’s the weirdest part—nobody else could see it!” Tamara put down her tea cup and spread her hands on the table, palms up. “I freaked out! I kept pointing and screaming, but …”
“But what?”
“I kept saying ‘It’s a ghost! It’s a ghost!’ but the cafeteria ladies thought I was playing a prank or something. They couldn’t see it! I got in trouble for wasting food and making a mess, but I didn’t do it! It was the goddamn ghost! I got sent home. Got a three-day suspension. I told you there was more than one! I told you!” Tamara appeared to be on the verge of tears again.
“Okay, okay, so I was wrong! Don’t freak out on me! Let me think for a minute!” Deegie pressed her fingertips to her temples, trying to massage away the headache that was threatening to manifest. If what Tamara told her was true, Deegie had indeed been mistaken: whatever this kid had conjured upon the talking board wasn’t singular.
Deegie drained her tea cup and got up from the table. “Is it still there?” she asked.
“Huh?” Tamara blinked, confused.
“The ghost,” Deegie replied patiently. “Did it leave the cafeteria?”
“Oh … I don’t know. I was, you know, like … freaking out and stuff.”
“Tell you what. Let’s do a quick drive-by and see what’s up.” Deegie walked toward the store room with Bast close behind. “Stay there. I’ll be right back.”
In the store room, Deegie selected an empty jar from a box on the floor. They were used for displaying the wide selection of herbs, resins, and dried flowers she offered for sale, but, as she had learned last night, they also made excellent ghost traps. She opened a fresh bag of dried sweet grass, crumbled it, and put it in the jar. Remembering Gilbert’s advice, she briefly considered breaking the small hand mirror that hung on the back of the door, but decided against it. She took the ghost trap back to the table.
“Let’s go catch your cafeteria ghost,” Deegie said to Tamara. “Come on. I’ll drive.”
They drove up the steep hill that led to the high school. Deegie pulled up alongside the cafeteria and cut the engine. She gasped as she felt a sudden burst of hectic, restless energy, a definite sign that something supernatural was nearby. She took the ghost trap out of her purse and opened the car door. Tamara stayed where she was, her mouth gaping open in astonishment.
“Come on, let’s get this over with!” Deegie gestured toward the darkened school. “The last thing I want to do is hang out here all night!”
Tamara slid hesitantly out of the passenger side. “We’ll get in trouble …” she whispered hoarsely. “Can’t we do this during the day? This is spooky as hell.”
“During the day? When there are people around? Girl, you just don’t get it.”
Tamara lagged behind, her hands balled into fists and tucked under her chin. “Can I … can I stay outside?” she asked meekly.
“No way. You created this mess, and you’re going to help me clean it up.” Deegie returned to Tamara’s side and took her by the arm. “Now let’s go.”
A chaotic burst of noise greeted them as they neared the cafeteria’s side door: the sound of dishes and cooking utensils being thrown about; a frantic, impatient rustling; and a guttural, phlegmy voice muttering, “Hungry. So hungry. Food.”
Tamara took a few stumbling steps backward. “That’s it! It’s still in there! It never left!”
“It must have quieted down after you were sent home,” Deegie said. “It probably draws its energy from you, since you’re the one who summoned it.”
“It wasn’t my fault!” Tamara’s voice rose in indignation. “I didn’t mean for it to—”
“Hush!” Deegie commanded. “Let’s just get this thing and go home.”
“But the door’s locked! How are you going to get in?”
With the ghost trap tucked under her left arm, Deegie raised her right hand and pointed at the door lock. “Fientes ostium!” Her voice was calm, yet forceful. The door creaked open, seemingly of its own volition.
“How … how did you do that?” Tamara blinked at the darkened interior of the cafeteria. The sounds of the rummaging ghost were louder now.
Deegie snapped her fingers and a tiny greenish flame flickered between them, illuminating everything in a hazy, pea-green glow. She cloaked herself and Tamara in protective energy, just in case the hungry spirit had an evil streak. Most of the ghosts she’d encountered had been benign, but it was always better to err on the side of caution when it came to the supernatural. She stepped over the threshold and into the cafeteria.
Once inside, Tamara pointed toward the lunch counter and shrieked dramatically. “There it is! Kill it!”
Hovering a few feet in the air was a morbidly obese ghost the color of egg yolk. A bag of frozen french fries lay on the floor beneath it. It reached down and scooped up double handfuls of the fries, stuffed them into its gaping maw, then shrieked in outrage when they went right through its mist-like body and scattered across the floor. It tensed, sensing it was being watched, then whirled around to face Deegie and Tamara. “Food!” it bellowed. “Gluttony! GLUTTONY!”
Deegie spun the lid off the jar as she advanced on the ghost. She held the open jar at arm’s length. The aroma of the sweet grass inside quickly overrode the cafeteria smells of bologna sandwiches and pizza sauce.
The gluttonous yellow ghost rushed towards her at a frightening speed. Despite its unsightly rolls of dimpled flab, its glazed eyes held a look of desperate hunger. Slobber and foam dripped from its thick lips, making a slimy trail on the floor as it advanced on her. “Hungry!” it shrieked. “Hungry! Need food! Food!”
Deegie stood her ground, still holding the jar out in front of her. She kept a firm hold on the lid in her other hand, ready to screw it down tight once the ravenous ghost was inside. “Come on, now. Look what I have for you here. You’ll love it.” She spoke to the revolting specter as if it were a family pet or a small child.
“Is food?” The ghost’s voice echoed throughout the cafeteria as it sniffed warily around the open jar of sweet grass. “Is food? Hungry!”
“Yes, and it’s delicious,” Deegie said. She gave the jar a shake, rattling the herbs inside. “It’s just for you. Go ahead, have some.”
Tamara had flattened herself against the wall next to the door; Deegie could hear the teen’s rapid, excited breathing. “It can’t fit in there!” Tamara insisted. “It’s huge! How could it fit?”
“Hush! Don’t say anything. Just watch.” Deegie shook the jar again. “Come on, you hungry thing. Look inside the jar. See what I have for you?”
The ghost sniffed around the edge of the jar, and Deegie cringed as long strands of slobber coated her arm. “Go on,” she coaxed. “You can have some.”
The bulbous nose sniffled and snuffled. Drool fell in a slimy shower and spotted the toes of Deegie’s boots. Finally, unable to resist the call of the sweet grass and the promise of a meal, the sulfur-colored ghost spun itself into a narrow whirlwind, shrank itself down to golf-ball-size, and dove headfirst into the trap. Deegie slammed the lid down and screwed it shut.
“You got it!” Tamara took a few cautious steps forward, staring hard at the jar and its restless contents. “Is it dead? Did you kill it?”
Deegie smirked. “You can’t kill a ghost,” she said, “but don’t worry, it can’t escape. It will just have to take a time-out in the jar until I can figure out what to do with it.”
“Wow!” Tamara’s voice was full of awe. “You really are a witch! Can you do any other tricks?”
“Tricks?” Deegie frowned. “I don’t do tricks. I’m not a dog and pony show.” She gripped the jar with both hands; the writhing and flailing of the trapped ghost made it hard to hold onto. “Let’s get out of here before someone sees us.”
Deegie’s head took on a familiar tingle on the drive back to The Silent Cat. It wasn’t exactly painful, just her body’s way of warning her not to overdo it. She frowned slightly, massaging her forehead with one hand as she drove.
“What’s wrong?” Tamara wanted to know. “Are you sick? Did it bite you?”
Deegie had to laugh at this. “Ghosts don’t bite,” she said. “And I’m fine.” She’s already figured out what I am, she reminded herself. Might as well tell her about the Witch’s Cramp, too.
“I have a disability, so to speak,” Deegie continued. “It’s something that some witches are born with, and it’s called Witch’s Cramp.” She took her eyes off the road long enough to glance over at Tamara. The girl’s face was slack with bewilderment. “I can only perform a few small bursts of magic—or one big one—at a time, otherwise I get intense headaches. But I’m fine; it’s just a tingle.”
“Damn, this is amazing!” Tamara gushed. “I can’t believe I’m talking to a real live witch! One of my ancestors got caught up in that Salem witch hunt thing. At least that’s what my mom says.”
“So you have a little witch blood in you, huh? That explains why you can see these ghosts. Consider it a gift from your ancestor. Not everyone can see ghosts, you know.”
Tamara turned around in her seat and beamed at Deegie. “Maybe that’s why we have to be sooo religious! Because we have a witch in our family tree! I swear, we have to go to church like, twice a week now, and Mom thinks almost everything is a sin. It totally sucks ass!”
“I see,” Deegie said, feigning interest and wondering if she’d been this annoying when she was Tamara’s age. “Did you tell her about what happened with the talking board?”
“No way! She woulda’ freaked out big time!”
“Then you’d better not tell her about me, either,” said Deegie. “The last thing I need is a bunch of religious fanatics—no offense—picketing outside my shop. I have no problem with religious people, but some of them get a little … carried away, if you know what I mean.” She pulled into the parking lot of The Silent Cat.
“I won’t tell. She would probably kill me.”
Tamara plucked the ghost trap from the van’s center console and tapped on the glass. “Hey, you ugly thing! Sucks to be you!” She gave the jar a shake, and the trapped ghost babbled and shrieked.
“Stop that! Be careful!” Deegie braked to a stop next to Tamara’s car and snatched the jar from her hand. “If that jar breaks I’ll have to catch that slobbering thing all over again!”
Tamara looked stung. “Sorry. I was just … goofing off.”
“Goofing off is what got you in trouble in the first place,” Deegie said. She nodded at Tamara’s car. “Go on home now. If you have any more trouble, call me and leave a message. And don’t panic. Ghosts can be scary, but they’ll rarely hurt you.”
“There were seven of them,” Tamara reminded her as she got out of the van. “Hopefully they saw what happened to their buddies and went back to … to wherever they came from.”
“Hopefully they did,” Deegie said. “Goodnight, Tamara.”