Chapter Ten

Olivia indeed had no plausible alibi to give Detective Cowlings and basked in the afterglow for several days. On the night in question, she told him she was home alone while her mother worked, so she had nothing concrete. The excitement anyone—let alone an investigating detective—would seriously consider her a murder suspect filled her with crazy glee. Three days later, Josh and I finally told her to cool it because it grew old, and she didn’t lend the situation the necessary seriousness. But she saw it as a total win for Women’s Rights.

“Olivia,” I said, “what happens if Detective Cowlings actually considers you a likely suspect and arrests you?”

Josh nodded in agreement.

“Oh, he’s not going to arrest me. I’ve got right on my side.” She squealed delightedly.

“Okay, whatever. Just don’t go around and broadcast you’re a suspect, okay? We don’t need any other accusations lobbed our way. Things are bad enough already.”

Josh did have an alibi. He’d been home that evening with his parents who worked during the day. I’m glad he wouldn’t have to endure any more terrifying visits from Clearwell’s finest.

I didn’t know what Ian told Cowlings, but I’m pretty sure he’d been home that evening as well. None of us had much of a social life, and if we weren’t with one another, then we could usually be found at home. Such is the life of being a social pariah…but at least it is usually made for watertight alibis.

****

For once, I experienced a quiet week at school, and I couldn’t have been happier. Buzz in the hallways said that Bellman had been expelled for the rest of the school year. Even though Ian had paid for it in full, I couldn’t help but feel great relief.

Josh told me he spotted Bellman a couple of days after school, hanging out at the abandoned gas station across the street where the stoners and smokers go for a fix. Probably waiting for his football pals to finish practice. I would’ve worried, but even Bellman wouldn’t be stupid enough to try something again while he awaited his sentencing. I also suspected Josh knew this. Josh said he’d skateboarded past the gas station several times, taunting Bellman from a safe distance. I warned him to be careful, but when it came to his skateboard, Josh had no fear.

Because he finished his homework in study hall, Josh started leaving his backpack in his locker. In trying to come up with a plausible way to tell Josh he should carry his backpack everywhere he went, I realized nothing would fly. But I reasoned it’d be okay since Bellman had been temporarily neutralized.

Taking advantage of my newfound downtime, I read up on witchcraft at the local library. It’s amazing what you can accomplish when you’re not focused on escaping death at the hands of a bully. I wanted to prepare myself for my next visit with Mickey. To do this, I had to either acquire knowledge or invest in some protective headgear for my head. There was so much conflicting information regarding beliefs, spells, and the whole nine yards, it ended up confusing me, trying to sift through it all. Practitioners seemed to have their own styles and ways, but at least I had some useful background information that might keep the slapping hand of Mickey Goldfarb at bay. And for several glorious, bully-free days, I realized what it was like to live a normal high-school kid’s life. Except for my being a witch, of course.

****

Wednesday morning, Mr. Jensen huffed into sociology class, something clearly on his mind. He opened the floor—as he did every Wednesday—to talk about current events.

“Okay, class, what’s on everyone’s mind today?”

Susie, the cheerleader, shot her hand up in the air. “Mr. Jensen, I’d like to talk about Bob Bellman. I think it’s totally unfair that he was expelled.” A few groans arose from the class, while a couple clueless individuals nodded their heads in agreement. “Don’t you think a suspension should’ve been enough?”

I looked over at Ian’s empty chair. Talk about unfair. Where were Ian’s cheerleaders?

Mr. Jensen sat down, sighed, and rubbed his hands over his face. “Class? Does anyone have an answer for Susie?” He surveyed the room until his eyes locked onto mine. “Tex? What do you say?”

I sat still for a minute, debating whether to speak my mind. Compassion overrode my sense of sitting on the sidelines. “Yes, I’d like to say something about…Bob Bellman.” When I said his name, I enunciated through gritted teeth, barely keeping my anger in check. “Bob Bellman is an animal. Yeah, he’s on the football team, and I’m sure at least some of you will miss him. But I’ve seen Bob Bellman do unimaginable things. This new…incident…is the straw that broke the camel’s back. Bob Bellman’s mind doesn’t operate like everyone else’s. He has no moral compass, no consideration for other students. He’s like a rabid animal, and we all know what we do to rabid animals, right?” By this time, I couldn’t stop even if I wanted to.

Susie sunk down at her desk and sobbed quietly. If her argument weren’t so damned stupid, I would’ve felt pity for her.

“Thanks to…Bob Bellman,” I continued, “my friend, Ian Stapleton, may never fully regain use of his hand.” I looked again at Ian’s sad, empty chair. “So, Susie, if you want to talk about fair, let’s consider Ian who did absolutely nothing to Bellman. Frankly, if I had my say, I believe Bob Bellman should be locked up for good along with the other animals in prison. So, no, I don’t believe it is fair he’s been expelled. I think it’d be fair if he was locked away…but I doubt that will happen.” Ready to continue with my angry rant, I put the brakes on because it felt too cruel with Susie sobbing.

“Okay, thanks, Tex,” said Mr. Jensen, his mouth upturned in a barely perceptible grin. “I’d like to add that as your teacher, it would be unprofessional of me to comment on what I think. But as a fellow human being on this world we share—that we must share—I couldn’t agree with Tex more.” He acknowledged me with a quick nod and let it just as quickly vanish. He stood, cleared his throat, and paced the length of the chalkboard. “Okay, unless anyone has anything else they’d like to discuss, let’s open our textbooks.”

After that, no one dared discuss anything.

****

That October day felt a little on the cold side, but the sun still managed to peek out. In a display of our freedom from tyranny, we left the claustrophobic confines of the boiler room and ate our packed lunches at one of the picnic tables by the parking lot.

“Have any of you seen Ian this week?” I peeled back the tin foil from my chicken cordon bleu and ate it like a cold burrito. I quickly decided to never again eat chicken cordon bleu cold.

“I saw him yesterday after school,” said Josh. “I think he’s doing all right. He’s cool with no school…and he’s trying to keep up with his homework.” Josh nibbled at the corner of his peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

“Damn, Tex, what the hell are you eating today?” Olivia looked repelled. “Don’t you ever eat any regular food?” She wrinkled up her nose.

“Ah, this is just something Dad and I cooked up. Is Ian staying off social media?”

“Hell, no,” said Josh. “I think that’s what’s keeping him going. If anything, he’s enjoying the hell out of it, I think.”

A football landed with a loud crack in the middle of the table, spilling my iced tea.

“Hey, pussies,” sneered Johnny Malinowski. Two other football thugs flanked him. “Give me my ball back, faggots.”

Great…and so it starts again. Different day, different bully. “Get it yourself,” I said defiantly. Josh almost tried to retract his head inside his turtleneck.

“We know how you love to play with balls, Malinowski,” said Olivia.

Malinowski’s eye-slits were usually so narrow, you couldn’t see his pupils. But after Olivia’s insult, he strained to open them in a wide-eyed, crazy gaze. He grabbed the ball from the table, threw it hard into my back, and caught it on rebound.

“Shut up, bitch,” he screamed at Olivia. Thump went the ball again into my back. It hurt, but I wouldn’t let Malinowski know that. Ridiculously, I kept eating my lunch, while he repeatedly tossed the ball at my back.

“You’re the only bitch I see here,” yelled Olivia. She stood and positioned herself between me and Malinowski, erecting a human roadblock to end his football fun. The other two football Cro-Magnons snickered.

“You faggots got Bob expelled and off the football team.” Malinowski’s sudden quiet calm proved unsettling, to say the least.

“You’re crazy,” I said. “We didn’t do a damn thing. Last time I checked, your buddy tried to run us over! Like that’s our fault.” A few curious student onlookers had gathered at a safe distance, unwilling to intervene.

“Don’t you ever get tired of having your fag-hag do the fighting for you, McKenna?” I guess he changed the topic because he couldn’t counteract the logic I’d proposed.

“And look at you,” I said, “picking on a girl with two of your friends in tow.” Looks like I’d completely given up my golden rule of staying off the radar. These bullies would never go away. They were like a hydra—you cut one head off, and there’s another eager one to replace it. And trying to ignore it only seemed to make matters worse. I stood up.

“I should drop you freaks right here,” said Malinowski. He let go of the football, opening and shutting his wiry fists.

“Come on, Johnny,” said one of the gorilla sidekicks. “Leave the faggots alone. The bell’s about to ring.” With their buzz-cuts and round girths, they were Tweedledee and Tweedledum in football letter jackets.

Malinowski ignored his cronies. Tweedledee grabbed his arm, and Malinowski swung on him yelling, “Arrr” like a drug-fueled pirate.

“Cool your shit, hotshot,” said Tweedledee. “We don’t need to lose you from the team, too.” I never would’ve thought Tweedledee would be the voice of reason. Malinowski grudgingly stalked off with them.

“This isn’t over, McKenna,” he growled.

As an afterthought, Tweedledee came back and shoved me hard. “Just stay out of our way, fag,” he said. I guess he didn’t want me thinking he had a soft side. The three raced off, laughing merrily as a good time had been shared by all.

“Well…” I said, “that was a fun lunch. Back to the boiler room tomorrow.”

“Nooooo,” Olivia yelled in mock terror. Oddly enough, the three of us doubled up in laughter. Either we’d learned to cope with bullying better, or it just didn’t seem as bad. After you’ve been nearly strangled and run over by a speeding car, what’s a little name-calling and football toss to the back? Maybe, hope sprung eternal, after all.

****

After the disaster with Ian, I’d totally forgotten to continue my home protection spell ritual, the furthest thing on my mind. I also needed to call Mickey as I hadn’t talked to her since last week. I wanted to ask her something.

I flipped through the Clearwell white pages and found her number.

“Hello,” she answered after six rings.

“Hi, Mickey,” I said, again too loudly.

“Who is this?”

I guess we had to go through our greeting ritual even while on the phone.

“It’s Tex McKenna.” Long, really long pause. “Elizabeth’s son?” I added, hoping to jog her memory.

“Where’ve you been, kid? I’m absolutely starving!”

****

That night, Dad and I made chili. Easy and quick. We could usually eat it for days afterward. I ate light, as I knew I’d be sharing chicken again with Mickey and thought it only polite to join her. We went through the motions of our small-talk dinner ritual, and I told Dad of my plan to see Mickey. I hated to do it, but I had to borrow ten bucks from him as my allowance had already been long-blown on chicken and candles.

After a quick run-through at Chicken Heaven, the guard of Castle Goldfarb proved a little easier to bypass this time. She still spent a good length of time scrabbling with her door chain, but at least she didn’t put me through the usual ordeal of back and forth at her front door.

It surprised me to see Mickey had shed the usual bathrobe and fuzzy pink slippers in exchange for a floral-patterned (of course) sundress. Maybe calling her ahead of time from now on would be worth it.

“Kid, what the hell is going on at that school of yours, anyway? Murders, hit-and-runs, bullies… Is it built over the pit of Hell or something?”

After she saw how seriously I pondered this, she let out a loud, phlegmy cough. “That’s a joke, kid. Dammit, you sure are gullible!”

We sat down at the kitchen table. “I brought you mashed potatoes and gravy this time.” I offered her the red and white bag for inspection.

“Well, what do ya’ know about that?” She stared at me as if this required an answer.

“Uh…I don’t know anything, really.”

“Too much, kid…too much. Have some chicken.” She pushed the bag across the table toward me. “Well, I was actually getting worried about you when you didn’t ring for five days. That Billson boy is your bully, isn’t he?”

“Bellman…yes, he is.”

“Doesn’t look like our protection spells worked so well for your one friend.”

“I…didn’t get it to him soon enough.” I glanced down at my chicken breast, feeling guilty over failing Ian. “One day earlier, maybe he wouldn’t be in the hospital…”

“Well, anyway, you do know these spells aren’t absolutely fool-proof, right?” Great, yet another rule she hadn’t told me until after the fact.

“Mickey, I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier. I didn’t mean to worry you. I was just concerned about my friend and everything else.”

“Oh, sure,” she said, laughing. A few pieces of chicken crust flew across the table from her mouth. “Forget all about the old lady. You kids today.” She swiped at the crumbs with a small red and white paper napkin. “That’s okay…it gave me a chance to catch up with some of my stories. I’ll tell you what, that Sonny….mmmm.”

Uh-oh, I thought, as I watched her eyes fill with dreamy longing. Before we got back to the lustful leanings of Mickey Goldfarb, I thought it best to change the subject.

Mickey’s cat patrol grazed by my legs, purring like well-oiled machines. “Mickey, could you put your cats up again? Please?” A black cat snapped its head up, staring at me with green eyes, disbelieving this brazen kitchen intruder.

“Okay, Sampson,” she sighed. “Skeedaddle on upstairs. The rest of you, too.” Like furry, ambulatory bullets, they shot upstairs, their offended meows ricocheting off the walls.

“Is your friend going to be all right?” Mickey placed one of her hands on top of mine.

“Well, he’s probably never going to have the full use of his hand again. But it could have been worse, I guess.”

“It could always be worse, kid. Remember that, and you’ll be a happier boy. Come on, let’s go outside for a bit.” She pushed aside the mess on the table. “Clean-up can wait for a few minutes.” She shot up from the table and turned around to stare at me. “Well? Are you coming or not?”

I sat next to Mickey on the porch swing as she lit a cigarette. She expelled a huge smoke-ring, puncturing it with her finger. “Ahhhh, nectar of the gods.”

“Mickey, can I ask you something?” I knew I probably shouldn’t, but I’d been curious since our first encounter.

“Sure, kid, ask away.”

“On our first meeting, you said the doctor told you to quit smoking, so now you only smoke outdoors. What’s that all about?”

She swatted me on the back of my head with a thwack. I’d have to learn to anticipate her Punishing Hand of Infinite Pain. “Doesn’t that school teach you anything? So I don’t get second-hand smoke.” She cackled hysterically. “Did you sleep through science class? Honestly…”

“Huh…okay.” Her laughter slowed like a toy operating on a dead battery.

“What can I do for you tonight, Tex?”

“My dad told me that it might be possible…well, to talk to my mother.”

She glared at me and finally said, “Yes, kid, it’s possible.” She stared off into the night sky. “But I don’t know if it’s the wisest thing you could do…”

“Why?”

She drew up her tiny shoulders and dropped them with a sigh. “First of all, you need to make sure you’re ready for something like this. It can be very painful and emotional sometimes.”

“I understand. I think I’m ready for it.” I couldn’t be sure, not really, but I knew I had to at least try.

“Secondly,” she continued, “it’s not a solid science. You can’t even be sure who you’re talking to. There’re a lot of spirits out there in the netherworld, some good, some bad. Sometimes, bad spirits pretend to be good spirits.” This thought chilled me. I had a hard enough time making sense of the world of high school, let alone the complications of the spirit world.

“Okay,” I said, giving it a second thought.

“Thirdly, it can also be hard on the spirit you’re trying to communicate with. If the spirit of your mother, say, is in her final resting space, you might be disturbing her and bringing her somewhere where she doesn’t want to be. It can be a real struggle for a spirit to return there. It can also be hard on her emotions.” On a tangent, Mickey counted off details on her fingers. “Having said that, your mom should be okay, since she was such a powerful witch.”

“I…didn’t know any of that. But I kind of got the impression Mom wanted me to contact her. I think that’s why she told Dad I could talk to her after she was gone…and why he told me that.”

“Well, I’m game if you are, kid.” She jabbed out her cigarette in the ashtray. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Thrusting her finger at me, she closed one eye and squinted with the other.

“Will I be able to see her?” I felt suddenly afraid.

“No, kid, you’re definitely not ready for that. There are ways to do that, but I’m not going to put you through that. Not on my watch.” She poked me in the chest. “I don’t even try to conjure up spirits in the physical realm!” While disappointment loomed that I wouldn’t see my mother, part of me felt relief, as Mickey may’ve been right. I didn’t know if I could handle it. I appreciated Mickey’s looking out for me, though. It felt comforting knowing some adults, like my dad, did that.

“Okay, are we going to use scrying?” I asked.

She looked at me warily as she bounced off the swing. “Has somebody been reading library books on witchcraft?”

“Yeah…some.”

“Don’t do that!” Her lightning-fast snake of an arm reached out and bit me on the back of the head. Swack!

“Ouch!”

“Nothing in those books but a bunch of know-nothing scholarly mumbo-jumbo written by a bunch of eggheads who get their information from a buncha’ other books! That could be dangerous to you, Tex, if you start trying their spells.” Hands on her hips, she glowered down at me.

“Okay, got it…books bad.” My school teachers probably wouldn’t agree, but I didn’t want to argue the point.

“Now…let’s go call your mother,” she said, rushing off into the house.

Mickey led me back into the kitchen, cleaned off the table, and carefully placed the used chicken bones in plastic baggies again.

“For the cats,” I offered, hoping to say something that wouldn’t merit a head-slap.

“For the cats,” Mickey agreed primly with a nod. She pulled open an orange-painted drawer beside the sink and grabbed a handful of paper napkins, probably accumulated from visitors bearing chicken.

She tossed the napkins in front of me. “Here. Make yourself useful and tear these napkins up into small square pieces, then write ‘yes,’ ‘no,’ the letters of the alphabet and the numbers zero through nine on them.” She handed me a black magic marker.

From another drawer, she snatched a small silver bell, a piece of green ribbon curling off the top. She flipped open the kitchen window and tied the bell to the handle, letting it dangle in the still, night air.

I finished my assignment and awaited further direction. Mickey hummed off-key, having entered her witch zone again. She stretched up to the cabinet above the sink, straining to open it. Failing this—incredibly—she got a chair and climbed onto the kitchen counter. Teetering, she reached for a wine glass.

“Mickey, let me get that.” But before I stood up, she’d already hopped down, wineglass in hand, as lithe and quiet as one of her cats.

“I still got it,” she exclaimed proudly. Damn, she sure did. I wondered if she’d like to come to school and kick some bully ass.

“Okay, Tex, put the ‘Yes’ at the top, the ‘No’ at the bottom, and put the ‘A’ next to the ‘Yes’ and keep going clockwise,” she ordered. “The numbers should all go down at the bottom by the ‘No.’.” She lit two candles and placed them on the opposite sides of the table, so as not to disrupt the circle of paper I had created. She sat down facing me, setting the wine glass upside down inside the circle.

“Mickey, is this an Ouija Board? Don’t you have a proper one?”

I think she felt this deserved a head-slap, but she couldn’t reach far enough across the table to do the deed. Note to self…don’t sit next to her. “Kid, this ain’t the Parker Brothers for cryin’ out loud.” I wanted to ask her about her Etch-A-Sketch but realized I’d be courting future head-slaps. “Poor folks got poor ways,” she added.

“All right, I’m sure you know the object of this and how to do it,” she said. “It works best if you ask questions, keep them simple…and remember, it could get a little emotional for you.” She stood up, crossed the kitchen quickly, and flipped the lights out. She sat down. The candles’ flames reflected off the tip of her gravity-defying glasses, her eye-sockets dark caverns.

“Put your fingers on the tips of the base of the glass,” she directed. “And don’t go doin’ no funny business by trying to push it. Just keep your fingers light. I’ll start.” She placed her lean fingers on her side of the glass.

I assume she’d closed her eyes—I couldn’t really see her face as the table and our hands were the only things lit by the candlelight—and she began to hum softly. At first, I considered it some sort of opening chant, but I think she just felt the mood. Repeatedly, she cleared her throat of phlegm…definitely not part of a ritual.

And still we waited, a seeming eternity. Suddenly, a cool breeze gently brushed my cheek. The hanging bell emitted a timid ring, making me nearly jump out of my skin.

“Okay,” Mickey whispered so as not to wake the dead…even though that seemed kinda the point. “Is there a spirit present with us?” Uncharacteristically soothing, her tone lulled me into a zone of my own.

My fingers trembled lightly on the edge of the wine glass, either from fear…or a sign from the spirit world. The glass slid smoothly across the table to the paper marked “Yes.”

“We’re looking for Elizabeth McKenna,” intoned Mickey. “A loved one comes calling.”

The bell rang more consistently now, swinging in the unexpected night breeze. The cold air blew back my hair before growing warmer. It felt as if I were a kid nodding to sleep, my mother kissing me good night.

“Are you Elizabeth?” asked Mickey.

The glass scooted to Yes.

“Okay, Tex, we’ve established contact…ask your mom what you want to know.”

I guess I should’ve been better prepared for this. After longer than a year of trying to adapt to the loss of my mother—and trying to make sense of why she had to die—I didn’t know what to say or ask.

“I…love you, Mom,” I said. Mickey let out an exasperated sigh. I’m sure she wanted to avoid any Hallmark Moments, but she didn’t say anything.

Me too, the letters spelled out one by one. The little bell tinkered away at the window, swaying gently back and forth.

“Are you happy, Mom? I mean…wherever you are? Are you good?”

The wine glass shot directly to Yes. It continued rolling around the table until it pointed out the letters miss you.

“Mom, I miss you too.” Even though tears dampened my cheeks, I hadn’t realized it until now. “I miss you so much…it’s not fair…I miss you…”

Our fingers followed the wineglass around another journey across the table. Be okay, it said.

“What does that mean?” I asked, forcing the words through my choked voice. “Are you telling me to ‘be okay,’ or are you saying everything will ‘be okay?’”

The bell jangled furiously. The warm air turned cold, as cold as an icy swimming pool on a hot summer day. The wine goblet furiously whipped across the table.

Danger, read the homemade Ouija Board.

“Who’s in danger, Elizabeth?” asked Mickey. “Are you in danger? Or is it Tex?” The bell pulled taut at the ribbon, ringing out in shrill terror, as if afraid of being snatched into Hell. The cold breeze transformed into more than just a breeze, a frigid wind whipping by me, seemingly—impossibly—out of nowhere.

Tex, responded Mom via the Ouija Board. Trust none.

“What danger, Mom? Who can’t I trust? Why? What do you mean?”

The wine glass whipped back and forth frenetically. Our arms strained in every direction, attempting to keep our fingertips attached to it. Can’t stay, it read. Luv… The wine glass flew off the table, smashing on the floor as if the spirit world hung up on me angrily. The cold wind blew across the table, spreading the napkin pieces in the air as if shot out of a confetti cannon. The bell rocked ferociously back and forth, finally snapping against the windowpane, tearing the ribbon and falling to the floor with a hollow clunk.

Mickey ran to the kitchen light and flipped it on. I pounded my hands on the kitchen table, crying and ranting hysterically. “Don’t go! Don’t leave me again!”

“Well…” said Mickey. “That went well.”

****

Mickey somehow managed to get me on my feet and led me into the living room. “Come on, kid, before you break my table.” She pushed me down onto her sofa with a grunt and sat next to me. “Shhh, Tex. It’ll be all right.”

I was wound down, experiencing the dry, hiccupping sighing that signifies the end to a long bout of crying. Mickey patted my shoulder several times, dared once to slip an arm around my back before snagging it back abruptly.

“I should’ve listened to my gut,” she said finally. “I thought it might be too much for you right now.”

“It’s like I’ve lost her twice. She says she loves me, and then she leaves…again…” More tears. “It’s not fair. It’s just not…fair.” In a state of shock again, it seemed like my new norm.

“Oh, hush, Tex. Snap outta it! Do you really think you’re the only one who’s ever lost a loved one? I lost my Herbert twenty years ago…to a heart attack…but I didn’t mope around about it.” I half expected a wake-up slap to the back of my head. “At least you got to tell your mom you loved her again…to get some sort of closure—”

“She was too young to die, Mickey—”

“Yes, you were dealt a bad hand,” she continued. “But everyone gets one now and again. It’s part of life, and you need to start living it again. You overly-dramatic emo kids today, I swear. It’s all self-pity and woe is me and hand-wringing and—”

I surprised myself with a chuckle. “You know what…emo is?”

“Well, of course I do,” she crowed triumphantly. “I wasn’t born yesterday.” Well, yes, I thought, sometimes clichés are true. “And now more than ever, you better shape up. Your loved ones, your friends, your father, are all counting on you…especially now with the message your mother gave you.”

With newborn panic, I recalled what Mom said. “What’d it mean, Mickey?”

She focused on her hands. “I’m not sure. It could be taken as any number of things. With the cold air and wild bell ringing, I suspect that something else…something dark…was making its way toward us. I think your mom got out early because she didn’t want this possibly bad spirit finding its path to us. I ’spect she was protecting you.” Mickey must’ve noticed my wide-eyed fear and quickly added, “But I wouldn’t worry about your mother, kid. She was one tough, smart cookie. She knew her craft well. I’m sure she’s okay. But she was definitely warning you about something. Either you’re in danger, or someone around you is.”

And this ended my short half-week of feeling safe, happy endings all around. One more strike against Bellman would surely land him in prison, regardless of his age, so I didn’t think I had anything to fear from him, at least for now. So what could I be in danger from?

“I don’t understand, Mickey. Why couldn’t she’ve given more complete answers? More information? What exactly am I in danger from? A car crash?” I’d feared those since Mom’s accident.

“You gotta know something, kid. It’s hard for a spirit to communicate with us. And as I said, I think she was keeping a bad spirit at bay, as well. Trust me. You don’t want to mess around with bad spirits.” She wagged her finger at me like an irate judge’s gavel. “Either way, I think she was telling you to be careful.”

“And to trust none…or no one.”

“That’s right, so you be careful out there, kid. Word of advice from ol’ Mickey…don’t go anywhere alone if you can help it.” She placed her hands on her knees and sprung up out of the sofa. “Well, I’d say this has been more of a lesson than you needed right now. Next time, we’ll cover something less…stressful…say, like the beauty of nature and your place in the world.” She chuckled at her joke.

“That sounds about my speed,” I said, nodding.

“Heh, kid, you’re something else. Now, if you learned nothing else from tonight, you damn well don’t go messing with any of this by yourself, you got that?”

“Yeah, pretty sure I do.”

“And don’t go trying to contact your mom again. Ouija Boards don’t work with less than two people, anyhow. And you ’specially better not try and contact her using an even stronger spell. You could even end up dead—or worse!”

I wondered what could possibly be worse than death, but after tonight’s supernatural events, I didn’t want to know. “Believe me, Mickey, I won’t contact my mother again.” Just too painful to handle and I didn’t want to cause Mom any pain or unrest.

I stood and walked toward the door, with Mickey hot on my heels. “Remember to be careful. And call me if you need me.”

“Thanks, Mickey.” I surprised myself by throwing my arms around her and hugged her tight. “I mean thanks for teaching me about witchcraft and stuff…but really, thanks for everything.”

Hesitantly, Mickey hugged me back. She patted me once, and then the moment ended. Sorta’ like a guy hug, but even more awkward. “Kid, you’re going to get me all emotional…I don’t do emotional.”

She shut the door, but I saw her smile.

****

I drove home, thinking about what I learned tonight. First of all, Mickey was, as usual, right. I needed to quit playing the helpless victim in a hopeless world. Time to be proactive and take back the night. My friends counted on me. Last week, Olivia mentioned they more or less look to me as their leader. What kind of leader would I be if I moped around about the unfairness of the Fates and then you die? In retrospect, I suppose there’s not much I could’ve done about Ian’s situation. But what if there had been? What if I’d told someone about what Bellman had done in the past? Or what if I had stood up to him? Sure, I would have taken a pummeling, but Hastings wouldn’t have been able to overlook it. I would’ve made sure of it. Okay, Mom, this one goes out to you. Today, I choose to live and crawl out of my former shadow-world.

In spite of my newfound bravery, the troublesome issue of Mom’s warning pecked at my mind like a hungry chicken. I had no idea what she meant, but I wouldn’t sit back and wait for it to happen, either. Eyes open, brain alert, utilize all the help I could get. My new Golden Rule.

Midnight set in as I reached home. I didn’t recognize the car in the drive. Immediately panicked about Dad, I shoved a couple of cats off the front porch and reached for the doorknob.

Mr. Cavanaugh leaned over his porch railing. “Tex, is everything okay at home?”

“I really don’t know, Mr. Cavanaugh,” I blurted out. “That’s what I’m about to find out, I guess.”

“Kind of late for visitors.”

“Whatever.”

I pushed open the front door. In his wheelchair, Dad sat next to the sofa. Way past his bedtime.

“Tex…” Concern marked his face. “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to call you…”

“Sorry, Dad. Mickey makes me turn off my cell phone when I’m at her place. What’s wrong?”

Suddenly, someone stood from the chair next to the sofa.

“Hello, Tex,” said Detective Cowlings. “We just found Bob Bellman’s body down by the Missouri River.”

“What?”