“Exactly.”
“And you want me to float around the apartment in a disembodied state, watching him and reporting my findings back to you.”
“Yes, Captain. You hit the nail on the head.”
“Will I be asked to hit him on the head? I will if you want me to, it’s not a problem, but we should have an exit strategy ready. If I am called to commit violence, I will require a soothing dose of opium tea after my exertions.”
“Captain, I don’t have any opium tea on hand, and I wouldn’t know where to find any.”
“Laudanum-infused elderberry wine?”
“No to that as well.”
“Do you still want me to hit the lad? Perhaps crown him king with an iron pike?”
“No. Please don’t hit him on the head. Val hasn’t done anything to deserve it. Your unbiased observations are just a precaution.”
“Ah. The situation is clear to me now.”
“Just stay close, but don’t show yourself. That’s all you need to do.”
“Understood, my saucy turtle pie.”
Turtle pie? Was there such a thing? Yuck.
“You can depend on me. I’ll remain as invisible as a darkened lighthouse in a pea-soup fog.” The captain’s image shimmered and faded until he disappeared.
Val stomped up the stairs and appeared in the doorway looking like an overburdened pack mule, with his duffel bag looped across his shoulders, a cooking pot cradled in his arms, and a multitude of shopping bags dangling from his wrists. “I loaded the groceries into some plastic bags I found stuffed in the back seat. Where should I set this stuff down?”
Estele pointed toward the kitchen on the far side of open-plan apartment. “Set it down anywhere.”
He ambled over to the kitchen area and plopped the pot and bags onto the countertop.
The moment the items were out of his arms, Estele hunted through the chaos looking for the chocolate-covered mint patties.
Once she found them, she moved the green-and-white box away from everything else and made a whirling motion with her hands, like a paddle wheel spinning. “There’s probably a better spell than this, but I’ll try it. Hex-vex-redirect. Reverse the candor spell!” She threw her hands in the air. “I hope that works. Eat one and find out.”
Picking up the mints, she gave the package a gentle shake. “This box isn’t even a third full. What’s with that? Deceptive marketing, that’s what.” Tearing the package open, she shook several mints into her palm and offered them to Val.
He took one and popped it into his mouth, closed his eyes in bliss, and bit. “I always loved these things.”
“Is that the truth, or are you still under an enchantment?”
“It’s the truth.” He smiled. “And I’m going to continue telling the truth, candor spell or not. Estele, I’m going to prove to you that brujos can be trustworthy.”
“Fair enough.” She ate one too. The sweet aromatic mint caused a cooling sensation against the roof of her mouth.
Val unzipped his duffel bag and pulled out a leather parcel of culinary knives. He unrolled the kit, exposing an impressive display of cutlery, then walked to the sink and washed his hands. “Do you have a cutting board? I’ll start the pozole.”
Did she own a cutting board? Probably not. Did one come with the apartment? Maybe….
He started washing vegetables in the sink. “Well?”
She glanced around the kitchen. “I’m thinking.”
From the corner of her eye, Captain Manx partially materialized and pointed to a cabinet above the stove. Oh no. The old guy just couldn’t stick to the program. Behind Val’s back, she waved her hands, hoping to shoo the captain away.
Val stopped and sniffed the air. “Have you cooked fish recently?”
“No.” She shot the captain a death stare.
“That’s funny. For a moment I thought I smelled something oily like fish.” He sniffed the air like a bloodhound. “No, it’s a smoky smell….” He stepped closer to where Captain Manx had materialized. “It’s faded. I don’t smell it now.”
Captain Manx partially materialized behind Val, grinning and dancing in a circle.
“Get out of here!” she shouted.
Val turned. He looked surprised. “Get out? You want me to leave? Estele, I’m here to cook for you.”
She shrugged. “You’re fine. You don’t have to go. I wasn’t even talking to you.”
“You weren’t talking to me?” He pressed his hand to his chest. “Who else is here?”
If the captain didn’t stop dancing a jaunty jig, she was going to lose it. “No one!”
Val rolled his eyes. “You’re hungry. You need to eat. Any more thoughts on where that cutting board might be?”
“Look above the stove.”
Val opened a high cupboard and removed a cutting board. “Aha. You do have one. That’s a good thing. This kitchen is a showplace. I wouldn’t want to scratch the counters.”
The kitchen window provided a spectacular view. City lights sparkled below and the moon rose over the ocean.
He rinsed the board and set it on the counter. Val placed a freshly washed carrot and onion in the center and reached for a large knife. With deft motions he scraped, peeled, and chopped the vegetables into two piles and then started peeling and crushing cloves of garlic.
Estele watched the mound of garlic grow. “That’s a lot of garlic. Are you expecting a vampire attack? We’ll be breathing fire. It’s a good thing we have the mint patties or else this apartment might not be big enough for the two of us.”
He glanced up from his work. “This is a beautiful apartment. Do you mind me asking what the rent is?”
“Um.” She hedged. “I sort of get a special deal.”
Val peered inside the refrigerator. “Special deal from family? You must have a rich uncle.”
“No, it’s a community thing.” How could she explain that a ghost captain had led her to the perfect rent-controlled apartment and made her promise never to tell anyone about it? She looked over her shoulder just as Captain Manx opened her bedroom door. “Wait! What do you think you’re doing? You’re not allowed in there.”
The captain vaporized.
Val shut the refrigerator and turned. “Sorry.”
“No. Go ahead. It’s okay,” she apologized. “You may open and close the refrigerator as often as you like.” Now, she sounded like a nutcase.
With raised brow, Val studied Estele’s face. “Thank you for that privilege, but what’s the point? There’s not much in there. A jar of mustard and half an apple? What are you living on?”
“I told you, I don’t cook.”
He appeared concerned. “But you must eat, right? There’s no food in there.”
“You didn’t check the freezer. There’s plenty of Hot Pockets in there.”
“You can’t live on that stuff.”
“Yes, you can. Besides, I’m always broke.” She shrugged. “And I don’t know what I’m doing in the kitchen anyway. I could burn soup. So I usually grab fast food. Arrest me.”
“Estele, you need to learn to take care of yourself. What good is a glass-and-chrome Architectural Digest dream apartment if you have to starve to live in it?”
She had to defend herself or else come off looking like a child who needed adult supervision. “Actually, my rent is very reasonable. My refrigerator is bare because I refuse to buy fresh food I know I’ll waste. As I already said, I’m not a cook.”
The corners of his mouth twisted. “Lucky for you I am, and a good one.”
She glanced away. Typical brujo arrogance. He was going to tell her how to live.
Val washed the soup pot, added a splash of oil, and set it on the stove to heat. Once the oil was hot, he added the garlic, onions, and diced carrot, stirring them until they turned golden brown. A rich aroma filled the house. He diced the carnitas. “This is going to take a little while. Shall we have something to drink while we wait for this to cook?”
“Sure.”
She dug through the stack of groceries set on the countertop and found the pint of rum beneath the stack.
The captain partially materialized at her side. “Aye, my old friend rum! Spin the cap and tip the flask and whisk me liver to glory! The favorite liquor of the Caribbean gods of the sea.”
Estele mouthed, “Go away.”
The captain swiped his hand in front of Val’s face. Val continued stirring the pot and adding spices to the pozole. “Lass, I don’t think the young gentleman can see me. He doesn’t seem to have your gift of second sight, my dear. I’d have to fully materialize for him to see or hear me.”
“What if you’re wrong?” she whispered.
Val looked up. “Wrong about what?”
“Nothing.” Estele pressed her lips shut.
The captain peered over Val’s shoulder. “None of the former occupants of this apartment could see me unless I fully materialized. The young gent certainly knows his way around the galley! I would have traded my good eye to have him as cook aboard my fair ship, the Lady Alice.”
Val smiled at Estele. “Are you okay? You sort of have a funny look on your face.”
“I’m fine.” She wasn’t.
Val eyed the rum. “You wouldn’t have any cola on hand, would you? We have limes, we could make Cuba libres.”
Captain Manx stared wistfully at the rum. “I would prefer we put the rum and limes to better use as Cannon Fodder Sea Grog.”
“I don’t even know what that is.” She slapped her hand over her mouth.
“A Cuba libre?” Val smiled. “It’s just Coke and rum with a squeeze of lime.”
“Sea Grog!” the captain bellowed. “I want Cannon Fodder Sea Grog!”
She turned on the captain. “Don’t be so demanding.”
“Whoa.” Val returned to stirring the soup. “I thought I was being easygoing.”
“It’s not you.” She winked at the captain. “It’s just I want Cannon Fodder Sea Grog.”
“Okay.” He wiped his hands on a dish towel. “How do you even make that?”
She stared at the captain.
He rubbed his chin. “Shiver me timbers, it’s been over a century since I last made it. I’ve forgotten so much…. As I recollect, first grab a lime, not too rotten, and roll it roughly against the ship’s deck as if you’re angry at it. Don’t be afraid to show the fruit who’s in command.”
“Juice a lime,” Estele muttered.
Crowding closer, the captain continued. “We’ll need treacle syrup, preferably made from Bombay cane sugar served from a gold tin, but if we don’t have any, it’s not essential. Simple syrup really is simple. After all, we’re talking about sugar and water here, nothing fancy. If you don’t have any simple syrup on hand, steal some from your neighbor’s hummingbird feeder and don’t be a lily liver about finding a few dead bugs in your beverage. Several drowned ants never hurt anybody.”
“Dissolve a little sugar in hot water.” Estele reached into a cupboard. “We’re in luck, I actually have sugar.”
Val put his hands on his hips. “All right, what else?”
The captain bit his lip. “Fresh gunpowder, fistfuls of the stuff. You can’t have too much, unless you don’t care for the taste of gunpowder, in which case it’s already too much and this libation would not be recommended. Oh, and the jewel in the crown, rum, lots of it. Let’s not kid ourselves, you can’t overpour the rum.”
“Gunpowder,” she blurted.
“Gunpowder?” Val froze. “You meant spices, right?”
“That’s exactly what I meant, and I am going to let you pick the spices because you’re the chef.” Estele batted her lashes. Good save.
“Do you have a pitcher or something I can use to mix in?” Val lowered the flame on the stove.
Not entertaining much was catching up to her. She was unprepared. “I have a few plastic tumblers.”
“Plastic? Egad no!” the captain sputtered. “I-I’d rather drink from the moldering rim of a splintered barrel or an unwashed communal tin mug below deck, anything but plastic. Am I asking too much for a cheerful porcelain pitcher garnished with flowers or sprigs of fresh mint? Sometimes even a barnacled old salt with a beard as fouled with flotsam as a pelican’s nest enjoys pretty things now and then.”
Estele turned her back to Val and whispered, “I’m not Martha Stewart. I don’t own a porcelain pitcher. At least I remembered to bring home your beloved rum. Do I get credit for that?”
“Aye, bonny lass, I don’t mean to be such a grim-grouch. You did the rum right and proper.”
Val set a wooden spoon aside and laughed. “You two argue like you’ve been married for sixty years.”
Estele gasped. “What? Can’t a girl talk to herself?”
Val pointed to Captain Manx. “There’s a whiskered old man leaning over the sink. When were you going to introduce me, or are you going to continue talking to him in front of me, thinking I won’t notice?”
“You saw him all along? Why didn’t you say something?”
“I was waiting to see how you would handle the matter. The captain is your houseghost, not mine. We’re still working on basic trust issues, aren’t we? That’s okay, I’m patient.”
She paused. What sort of brujo was Val? Even gifted members of the enchantment community came and went from the apartment and remained oblivious to the captain’s presence if he chose to remain out of view. “I’m sorry. Captain Manx is sort of my little secret.”
The captain’s cheeks flushed. “Bless the cockles of yer heart, my cooing turtledove, for saying so, but do you think the lad knows about that other secret?”
Her jaw dropped. Was the captain going to blurt something inappropriate about the ruby? “What other secret?”
The captain coyly rolled his eyes. “You know… my irresistible attraction to donning the silky finery of the fair sex?”
Val blinked. “I know now. I’m standing right here.” He turned toward Estele. “I’ll be honest. I’m disappointed. We’re supposed to be working together as a team to battle evil. Why try to keep a secret that’s so obvious? Did you think I wouldn’t notice that you share your home with a chatty ghost?”
She winced. “You actually see him, not just the translucent shade of a man or floating mist?”
Val appeared troubled. “Yes, I can see—and, I might also add, smell—an old guy with a crazy beard and stained teeth.” His gaze focused on Estele. “It’s crystal clear that he belongs to another realm. I was wondering when the hell you were going to say something.”
“Aye, the crimson stains would be the unfortunate side effect of beetle nut.” Captain grinned. “It calms the howling lonelies, but it’s not conducive to a winning smile. I’ll admit that.”
Val walked to the cupboard and removed a mason jar. “Is this all you have?”
Estele joined Val at the far counter. “I’m sorry I wasn’t upfront about my living situation. Technically speaking, the captain isn’t ‘living’ anywhere, but that’s splitting hairs.” He looked hurt. Could she learn to be a little more trusting? Now Val thought she was sneaky and foolish, an unflattering combination. “Give me time. Trusting a brujo won’t come easy.”
He turned and stared into her eyes with his firebrand gaze. “Time is the one thing we don’t have. You were at the fairgrounds and the abandoned market. You saw what was happening to San Buena. Smoke beasts? A squealing pig head on ice? Clown assault? Did any of that seem normal to you? The bubble of malevolence is building toward critical mass. It could erupt to the surface at any moment. The entire city could be affected. Can you even imagine what is coming?”
Estele shook her head. Suffering Circe, if she was San Buena’s best hope against a megaton demonic force of unimaginable power, their goose was already cooked. Feeling defeated, she mumbled, “That mason jar isn’t a drinking glass, it’s a bud vase.”
His jaw dropped. “Is that all you have to say to me?”
Now what? She was in over her head and then some. “I don’t kno
w what to say or do. I’m not the person to put in charge of the safety of others.”
“We can’t hide from this thing. Trouble will erupt. Let me know when you’re ready to confront the issue.” Looking disappointed, he stared at the jar. “Do you have two bud vases we can drink from?”
Chapter 7
A guarded silence settled over Estele and Val that neither dared to disrupt.
Val returned to the task of preparing supper.
Estele watched as he mixed drinks and puttered over the pot of soup, stirring and adding seasonings.
After some fuss and creative thinking, Estele managed to transform a large kitchen island into an attractive dining table, complete with a centerpiece of chunky white candles surrounded by tiny tea lights.
Her apartment had never looked or smelled so homey. This was nice—maybe too nice. Part of her dreaded getting used to homemade meals prepared by a handsome man and then losing the privilege.
Val ladled the steaming pozole into two large mixing bowls. He sprinkled grated jack cheese and squeezed wedges of fragrant lime on top, and served them both.
She pulled a tall chair up to the island and perched on the edge of it. The soup looked and smelled wonderful. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” He carried another tall chair to the island and sat opposite Estele. “I had to improvise a little, but I think things turned out well.”
Dipping a spoon in the pozole, she sampled the rich broth. It was the perfect balance of salty, tart, and spicy. “It’s good.” Dare she say as good or better than her grandmother’s pozole, although Abuela Lena’s pozole had been made with a heartbreaking amount of love when she needed it most.
Val tasted his soup. “Ah. It turned out nice.”
“It’s great.” The bits of pork were browned and redolent with garlic, melt-in-the-mouth tender.
Picking up a mason jar, Val raised it in a toast. “To allies.”
Estele picked up her jar and clinked it against his. “Cheers.” She sipped the spiced rum Val had concocted. It was mildly sweet and refreshing. “Oooo, this is good too.” Turning, she reached for a custard cup and poured a trickle of her drink into the dish. “For the captain. He’ll enjoy this.”
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