I’d cooled down a bit since this afternoon and my phone call with All-Business Bianca, but still not enough to not want to clock her in her perfectly double-chin-free jaw.
As I set up Séance Command Central at the store, lighting candles, making sure the tablecloth was free of wrinkles, I once again thought about Baba and how she knew Win’s full name.
I, crazy as this sounds, even considered calling her up and asking her how she knew, and if she’d tell me anything about him.
But I quashed that like a bad habit. Win had asked me to respect his privacy, and I was trying to do just that. I hadn’t once Googled his name or even the word spy—but knowing Baba perhaps knew something I didn’t was a little bit disconcerting.
Of course, she’d been around for hundreds of years. And she was a witch—the supremo witch of all witches. She had every power each witch in every coven had, times three. Naturally, she could contact the afterlife just as I once did.
I’m sure she’d hunted down all the information she needed about where I was in my life now before she ever poofed herself into my house. That tweaked me. She had no right to my life anymore.
And then I got over it. I had to begin to really separate myself from my old life if I hoped to successfully transition into this new one. I couldn’t cling to the hope I’d get my powers back.
It would stall all the good things happening right now, leave a door open for doubt and possibly keep me from doing something that would fill my soul just as much as being a witch once did. I wanted to embrace what I knew I had. That was Ebenezer Falls and performing Madam Zoltar’s duties in her stead. Those things were certain.
Madam Zoltar had once told Win just before her passing that she knew she couldn’t truly contact the dead, making his contacting her a dream come true. He’d contacted her because she was open, because her heart, if not her reality, was pure.
But what MZ was good at, what she excelled at doing during her time as a fake medium, was comforting the bereaved, giving them the nudges they needed to let go and move forward.
She wanted her clients healthy, and most of all, she wanted them to live.
I wanted that, too.
So I set BY from my mind and concentrated on tonight and seeing Bianca and her mother.
My eyes scanned the interior of the store, chock full of my personal things I’d finally been able to afford to take out of storage, thanks to Win. My healing crystals sat on all the newly installed shelves by the dozen, scattered in order to protect the health of the store and the people who entered.
My collection of snow globes—the ones Win had teased me were as bad as my addiction to thrift-and vintage-store clothing—sat amongst the crystals, each with a special memory attached.
We’d decided not to sell the typical psychic/medium fare tourists seemed to eat up with a spoon, simply because most of the stuff didn’t really work anyway. But mostly because I took this very seriously, and while the way I dressed in honor of Madam Z was a little hokey and stereotypical, I was not.
Win’s presence appeared out of thin air, the vibe in the room going from introspective to energetic.
“It looks smashing in here, Stevie. A perfectly soothing setting. For someone who exists on Pop-Tarts and tacos, I’m impressed at your attention to detail.”
I still wasn’t quite over his Bianca-and-her-hips-don’t-lie comment, which, if I’m brutally honest, also niggled me. Why should I care if he found Bianca attractive? A eunuch would find her attractive. She was gorgeous. There was no denying that.
“I just want Maggie to be comfortable. She should be at home resting, grieving, figuring out what to do next now that Tito’s gone, not here having a séance to ease the stress her daughter seems so callously unable to handle.”
“I’ve given this some thought, Stevie. Would it hurt to tell a white lie if it makes Maggie’s grief lighter?”
Hands on my hips—which I assure you, are absolutely not as enticing as Bianca’s—I let my displeasure show. “Shoot no. I’m never going to agree to that, Win. I’ll never lie to someone about a dead loved one. That’s just bad karma all around. It can come back to haunt you.”
“Has something like that come back to haunt you?”
“Nope, because I’d never do it. But remind me to tell you about a witch named Mercy who—”
The chimes on the door rang, thwarting my story as Bianca arrived with Maggie in tow. Despite the warmth earlier in the day, the rain had returned, and with it, cooler temperatures swept in.
The wind from outside blew at the edges of the tablecloth, the damp air sending a chill up my spine.
Seeing Maggie, her wide chocolate eyes swollen into slits in her head, rimmed in a shade of red I didn’t know was possible, almost made me reconsider Win’s suggestion.
But then I saw Bianca, with her skepticism all over her flawless face, and I girded my loins. I would only be feeding her cynicism by pretending I could talk with Tito if I really couldn’t. She wouldn’t know it, but I would.
Behind Bianca and her mother came Bianca’s siblings, Mateo and Juan Felipe. They surrounded Maggie, hovering behind her, their eyes stricken with grief.
I moved slowly toward Maggie, unsure how much English she knew or how receptive she’d be to my sympathies. She’d always been a hearty woman, robust in not just appearance, but in personality.
Now, she looked so frail, so cracked around the edges, I was desperately afraid to stick my interfering paranormal finger in the tiny fractures for fear they’d bust wide open and she’d fall apart.
Holding out a hand, I offered it to her. “Mrs. Bustamante, I’m so sorry about Tito.”
She took it, her fingers cold and clammy. When she gripped my fingers, she trembled. “Si, gracias. Tell me you can find my Taco. Por favor, Senora. I need to speak with him. You help, si?” she whispered before her voice cracked.
Now was the time for honesty, and the time to ignore Bianca’s icy glare. “As I told your daughter, Mrs. Bustamante, I’ll do my very best. Please…” I motioned to the table, wrapping my arm around her waist and leading her to the chair next to mine. “Sit down. Make yourself comfortable. Can I get you something to drink? Water, maybe?”
Maggie slipped into the chair, her spine almost collapsing as she did. She tightened her shawl around her shoulders, shivering before she looked up at me, her eyes so bloodshot from crying it was all I could do not to cry, too. “Water, por favor.”
“Of course.” I looked to Tito’s sons, avoiding the beautiful Bianca’s eyes altogether. “All of you, please gather round the table and get comfortable. I’ll be right back.”
I scurried off into the back room and went for the fridge, finding my hands were cold, too. I was sick with nerves about this. If I couldn’t contact Tito, would that tip Maggie over the edge?
This felt wrong. So wrong.
“Win? You here?” I whispered, looking around the dimly lit back room the way I always did, hoping against hope to catch a glimpse of him, knowing that would never happen without my lost powers.
“Always.”
“Any news from the Plane?” I prayed he’d found the woman who’d reached out to us previously.
“No. Not a bloody peep. I’ve talked to anyone who’ll listen to me, and no one can remember a woman with a Spanish accent being here in limbo. It’s like it never happened, but I swear to you, she existed.”
Swallowing hard, I inhaled and pulled a cold bottle of water from the fridge. Wishing it was a beer I could guzzle to take the edge off. “And no Tito, I suppose?”
“No Taco Man, either. But here’s something to hang on to. No one’s seen him here, or on any plane throughout the planes. If he crossed, there would have at least been a sighting, don’t you think?”
“I would think so, but what do I know about the afterlife except for what I’m told? I’m told an event like choosing to cross is a big deal. So yeah. I think you would’ve heard if he’d gone over. But then again, how do I know the information I’ve been fed all these years is right? I’m worried, Win. I don’t want this to be the straw that breaks Maggie’s back. She’s very clearly on the edge. Ugh, I want to strangle that Bianca. How could she think this would make Maggie feel better?”
“I’d like to think she knows her mother better than we do and the reason she’s being so forceful about it is because she just wants the best for her. So let’s at least try, Stevie. I’ll give it all I’ve got, both engines.”
The murmurs from beyond the back room were hushed, intermittently broken up by a soft sob from Maggie, raising the levels of my anxiety.
I checked on Belfry, napping as usual under the banana leaf plant, and stroked his tiny back to wake him. “Bel? Time to wake up, partner. We have work to do. You know what to do, right?”
He snuggled against my palm as I tucked him into the pocket of my caftan. Bel was aces at picking up signals from not just outside—where, were he anything but a familiar, he’d spend his days—but from people, ghosts, and even plants. You name it, he could tune into it, and tonight he’d be my gauge for Maggie’s mood.
“You bet. Use my sonar to sense signs of too much stress in Maggie. If she looks like she’s cracking, send the signal.”
“And the warning signal is?” I prompted, more for my own peace of mind than a reminder to Belfry.
“I screech like a seagull.”
Using my fingertip, I pressed a kiss to it and stroked his head. “Perfect. I love you, Bel. You’re the best familiar ever. Win? You ready?”
“I am indeed,” he said, but his tone held a hint of concern.
I’d learned a lot of things about Win since we’d become entangled in each other’s lives, and one of them was how much he cared about those around him. I suppose that would make him a crappy spy—messy relationships and emotions and all—but it made him a great partner in the afterlife.
“Then let’s do this.”
I made my way back out and headed for the door, where I turned off the neon sign and flipped our open sign to closed. Scooping Bel discreetly from my pocket and setting him by the cash register, I dimmed the lights in the back where the reading table was and turned off the lights in the front entirely.
My stomach was in an uproar, but I ignored the churn and handed Maggie the water. “Are you ready, Mrs. Bustamante? Everyone?”
“Si,” Maggie said, her chest heaving a shuddering sigh.
“Could we just do this?” Bianca asked, her impatience crystal clear as she ran her red-tipped fingers through her waterfall of midnight hair.
Could I just poke you between the eyes? Oh, this woman brought out the absolute worst in me, and it wasn’t just because she was about as close to physical perfection as it got.
“Bianca! Don’t be so rude,” Mateo ordered, then said something in Spanish with a glare in his sister’s direction.
Both Bustamante men were as good looking as their sister. Tall, chiseled, olive-skinned, thick and shiny black hair, and lots of rippley muscle between them.
Bianca clamped her mouth shut, pushing her hair behind her ear and, rather than responding to her brother, turned her glacial stare on me.
I’m not one to have my feathers ruffled often, but there was something about Bianca that chilled me to the bone, and I couldn’t quite pinpoint what.
But I had no time to try to figure out what made her tick. Spreading my arms out, I offered my hands to Maggie and Juan Felipe, sitting on either side of me. “Did you bring the personal item I asked for?”
Mateo nodded short and quick, reaching into the pocket of his tight-fitting gray T-shirt and pulling out a picture of him and his siblings. They were all smiling carefree grins against the backdrop of the Puget. Boats sailed behind them; the sky was a gorgeous blue, cloudless day, the sun shined, and Mateo held up something that looked like a certificate of some kind.
Upon closer inspection, I noted it was the permit for the Salty Sombrero.
“Papa never went anywhere without this. They gave it to us today at…at the hospital with the rest of his things.” The Adam’s apple in the column of Mateo’s sleek throat bobbed as he swallowed.
I was still having trouble with what Forrest told me about Tito and his catting around. All outward signs said he loved his family if you looked at this picture. Yet, he and Maggie were separated because she’d caught him cheating, or so went the story. That had been confirmed by Chester just this afternoon, when he’d stopped by to drop off the final plans for the gardens.
“Yep. She told me all about it one night at bingo over at the VFW Hall,” he said, shaking his head as if he, too, didn’t understand how Tito could cheat on someone like Maggie. “Don’t get it. Nice lookin’ wife, nice lookin’ kids, healthy business, and he goes off and sticks his chimichanga where it don’t belong.”
Looking at the picture, I said, “Set the picture in the middle of the table, please, Mateo, and let’s all hold hands. First, I want you all to know, you’ll sometimes hear me say some odd things that won’t make any sense to you, but I want to warn you not to interfere. Please. It’s important you let me do this without questioning some of the strange things you’ll hear so that we garner the best possible results. Can we all agree?”
Everyone nodded, even Bianca, though she did roll her eyes.
“Now, I want you all to close your eyes. Picture Tito—then recall a happy moment you shared with him. I’m sure there were many, but any memory will do.”
I waited as Bianca relayed the message to her mother in Spanish, and then I closed my eyes, too.
Readings were always easier if I could block out everyone but the spirit I was contacting. I imagine avoiding Bianca’s skeptical eye rolls wouldn’t hurt either.
Settling into my chair, I breathed deeply, letting the ambiance of the room and the things I loved on every shelf—my crystals, some of my favorite snow globes I’d placed around the store—soothe me.
“Tito? Your family’s here. Their hearts are broken, especially Maggie’s. Are you with us? Won’t you come talk to us and ease Maggie’s sorrow? She has a question for you.”
Maggie’s muffled sob flitted in my ears, but nothing else.
“Nothing yet,” Win muttered. But then he said, “I beg your pardon, sir. You are most certainly not Tito. Do avert your eyes, you arse! There will be no ogling the grieving.”
Sometimes wayward spirits, especially the bored ones, intrude on readings just for giggles. Popping my eyes open, I looked at everyone at the table and apologized. “Sorry for the delay, but an unexpected visitor popped in. He’s gone now, isn’t he?” I asked, making it appear as though I were asking the room.
“He is, the sod. I made sure of it.”
“I have confirmation he’s gone now,” I reassured them.
Bianca popped her cherry-red lips. “I bet you do.”
“Bianca!” Juan Felipe snapped in a hushed whisper. “No mas!”
Closing my eyes again, I refocused…and then something downright bizarre happened. The room became hot—not just warm-ish, but balmy hot, like we were on some topical island. I almost tasted the moisture in the air.
Was it Win? I cleared my throat, one of our signals to knock it off. But would Win play games at a time like this?
“Oh no. This has nothing to do with me, my dove. But I’m going to warn you right now, we have company.”
My heart skipped a beat. That didn’t sound good. “Who’s there? Tito? Is that you?”
Maggie’s fingers dug into the palm of my hand at the mention of his name as she muffled a whimper.
“Um, Stevie?”
I cocked my head as though I were listening to the spirit world. “Yes? Who am I speaking to?”
“We have trouble. Big, big trouble.”