Grandma scowled. “I don’t like how much thought you’ve already given this.”
“I’ll be under the spotlight,” my mother said. “I’m your daughter. The eyes of all the mourners will be on me and my hip-hugging dress.” She ran her hands down her sides, seeming to picture it. “How many men do you think we should invite?”
Grandma looked at me in exasperation. “She’s already planning it.”
“You started it,” I said.
Grandma shifted back to my mother. “What would you say?” she prompted.
My mother blinked. “Say? I suppose I’d tell them we’ve suffered a tragic loss and that they were more than welcome to comfort me…”
“The eulogy, Beatrice,” Grandma snapped. “What would you say about me?”
My mother hesitated. I rarely saw her deer-in-the-headlights expression, but I had a full view of it now.
“I would say my sister was a formidable witch that lived life on her own terms,” Aunt Thora said, coming to the table with a fresh cup of tea. A wedge of fresh lemon teetered on the edge of the cup.
Grandma snorted. “What makes you think you’ll still be around to attend my funeral?”
Aunt Thora sat beside her. “I upset far fewer supernaturals.”
“You think a supernatural can put me in the ground?” She cackled. “I’d like to see one try.”
“I can put you in the ground,” my mother said evenly. “Wouldn’t be the first time either.”
Ryan smashed a piece of muffin with his fist and did his best impression of a cackle.
I cleared my throat. “I would say that you were a fine example of a black magic witch.”
“A fine example?” Grandma replied. “What—I’m on display in a museum?”
“No, you’re in a textbook,” my mother said with a snicker.
“You’d be the main speaker, Mom,” I said. If she was going to mock me, then I had no trouble throwing her under the bus. “What would you say about Grandma?”
My mother glared at me before plastering on a smile for Grandma. “Naturally, I would say that my mother was the guiding force in my life and that she possessed more power in her pinky than most witches possessed in their entire coven.” She watched Grandma expectantly, waiting for her approval.
“I think you can do better,” Grandma said.
My mother groaned. “What’s wrong with that?”
“It’s boring,” Grandma said.
“It is kind of boring,” I agreed.
My mother smoothed back her hair. “Fine. Then what would you like me to say?”
Grandma rubbed the wart on her chin. “I want you to promise to avenge my death.”
“But what if you die of natural causes or an accident?” I asked.
Grandma smiled. “Who cares? It’ll scare the daylights out of everybody in the room. They’ll wonder who’s responsible.”
“I won’t do that,” my mother said. “I want to seem approachable to our guests. Vulnerable even.”
Grandma pointed a menacing finger at her. “Then do me a favor and don’t give the eulogy at my funeral. Let Eden do it.”
Uh oh. “I don’t want to give any eulogies.” I planned to linger by the snack table and grieve in solitude—with the chips bowl.
My mother didn’t seem to care that I’d objected to the role. She wanted to bury me anyway. “You think Miss Pride and Prejudice can deliver a eulogy befitting a dark witch of your stature?”
I blinked. “Miss Pride and Prejudice? Have I won some kind of literary beauty pageant?”
“At least she won’t make my funeral about her because she’s not a raging narcissist,” Grandma said.
“How about I just bury you with your phone and the Little Critters app and call it a day?” my mother asked. “No service necessary.”
Chapter Five
I parked in the lot at Barre None and headed inside to meet Clara and Sassy for a Sunday session. Between last night and this morning, I was ready to dive into relaxation mode. If I stretched a few muscles in the process, even better.
Clara and Sassy were already on their mats, chatting quietly. I didn’t recognize the other people in the class. Although yoga wasn’t really my thing, I was trying to adopt the lifestyle. I figured it couldn’t hurt to be more chill.
“Good morning,” I said. I unrolled a mat next to Clara and dropped onto my bottom. “What are we talking about?”
“Clara’s newspaper assignment,” Sassy said. “Such a sad story.”
“At least it’s a story,” I said. All the best assignments were usually given to the undeserving Gasper Cawdrey.
“It’s not that sad,” Clara said. “People die every die. It’s a fact of life.”
“Do you mean Myrtle Blackwood?” I asked. Death was often sad, but it was hard to pity a ninety-five-year-old witch who’d lived a full life.
Clara looked at me. “Who’s that? I’m writing an article about Dayna Butters.”
“I don’t know her,” I said.
“She died of cancer and her mom was able to raise enough money for her funeral through lemonade stands and bake sales,” Sassy said. “Isn’t that amazing?”
“How old was Dayna?” I asked.
“Ten,” Clara said.
“Oh, wow,” I breathed. I wasn’t expecting such a serious topic this early on a Sunday morning. I would have preferred an inane conversation about the best burger in Chipping Cheddar.
“Clara is going to interview her mom,” Sassy said.
I cut a glance at Clara. “Are you going to be okay?” As an empath, Clara often found herself overwhelmed by emotions, especially if she touched someone in turmoil.
Clara wore a stoic expression. “I’ll be fine. I’m a professional. Tough topics are part of the job.”
“If you say so.” I copied her position and tried to push my forehead toward my knees. How about flexibility for a fury trait? I’d have to put in a request to the Powers-That-Be, not that anyone was listening. If they were, I wouldn’t be a fury at all.
Sassy observed my struggle to maintain the position. “You know, Eden. I’d be happy to practice with you. I don’t think coming here once a week is enough.”
“What’s wrong with this?” I asked, not wanting to admit defeat. I wiggled my fingers in a vain effort to reach my toes.
“What’s not wrong with it?” Clara asked.
“Where’s Mrs. Marr?” I asked. The former secretary for my high school principal had been the instructor the last time I was here.
“I heard someone say she was too hungover to come in,” Clara said.
“Mrs. Marr?” I asked, aghast.
“I know,” Sassy said. “I had the same response.” She shrugged. “I guess when you get to be her age, it’s YOLO and all that.”
“Then who’s leading the class?” I asked.
A familiar voice set my teeth on edge. “Good morning, yogis. I’ve been asked to sub for Francine today. Sorry for the last-minute change.”
Gale Hughes, Tanner’s mother, waltzed to the front of the room and admired herself in the multiple mirrors before sinking onto a mat. Sassy looked as stunned as the rest of us.
“Oh, hello, Sassy,” she said. “I didn’t realize you were here. I hope you made my son a healthy breakfast before you indulged in ‘me time.’”
Sassy flinched. “Tanner isn’t back from Newport News until tonight.”
Mrs. Hughes seemed momentarily confused. “Of course. I’d forgotten.” She glowered when she spotted me in the group. “Still keeping mixed company, I see.”
Sassy lifted her chin. “Eden’s my friend, Gale. Tanner doesn’t have a problem with it, so I don’t see why you should.”
“Tanner doesn’t have a problem with it because he’s holding out for a threesome,” Clara pointed out.
“And they’d be lucky to have the experience,” Mrs. Hughes said.
Now that was some motherly devotion right there.
Mrs. Hughes snapped her fingers. �
��All right, everyone. If you want those bodies limber, you need to follow my lead.”
I watched in amazement as she flipped her legs over her head and formed an arch. I was beginning to understand why Mrs. Hughes always had a boyfriend despite her abrasive personality.
Sassy and most of the class followed suit. Clara and I exchanged glances.
“I’ll spot you,” I offered.
“No, I can do it,” Clara said. “I just don’t want to do anything that woman says.”
“Same.” I paused. “Okay, not same. I can’t do it, but even if I could, I wouldn’t want to.” I waited for Clara to crack a smile, but she remained expressionless.
“I’m not going to get anything out of this class without Mrs. Marr.” Clara rolled up her mat. “I’ll see you two later.”
I was torn between following Clara and keeping Sassy company. It seemed rude to just walk out. Clara was usually more willing to suck it up when someone else’s feelings were involved.
“You can go if you want,” Sassy whispered. Her blond ponytail dragged across the floor. “I totally understand.”
“I see that not everyone here is flexible,” Mrs. Hughes said, changing position. “I guess that’s why you lost your grip on a worthy man.”
I winced. “Sorry, Sassy. I hate to abandon you.”
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “Save yourself.”
I rolled up my mat and returned it to the far wall. I didn’t miss her smug expression when she saw me prepare to leave. I was so tempted to give Tanner’s mom a good look at my new crown, but there was no way to manage it without showing the rest of the class too. Stupid mirrors.
As I headed for the door, she switched to downward-facing dog, her bottom high in the air. In that moment, I remembered a basic spell I’d used on Sean Guthrie in high school, after he’d told Tanner that dating me was ruining Tanner’s cool reputation. I wiggled my finger and whispered an incantation. I heard the satisfying sound of tearing fabric and a collective gasp. That was enough for me. I smiled to myself and slipped out the door.
“Back from yoga so soon?” Aunt Thora asked. She was placing homemade cookies into a Tupperware container.
“There was an unexpected setback.” I filled a glass with water and gulped it down.
“I need to go see Ted at the lighthouse,” Aunt Thora said.
“Need? Is there a problem?”
“He’s upset. You know how he gets when he’s not at peace with himself,” she said.
In my underrated opinion, Ted O’Neill wasn’t ‘at peace with himself’ most of the time. The guy kept a mannequin for company in the lighthouse. Then again, Aunt Thora had a soft spot for him and he was the brother of the former chief, Mick O’Neill, so I tended not to judge him too harshly.
“Do you know why?” I asked.
“He wouldn’t say, so that’s what I’m going to find out,” Aunt Thora said. “I baked him a batch of oatmeal cookies and I’m bringing a thermos of homemade lemonade. I thought they might cheer him up.”
“You’re so sweet.” I didn’t know how my great-aunt managed to maintain her aura of goodness in this house of murk. I long suspected she was the most powerful witch of all.
“Would you like to join me?” she asked. “I’m sure Ted would love the extra company. He gets so lonely in that lighthouse.”
I hesitated. As much as I loved Aunt Thora, the thought of socializing with Ted and his mannequin in the confined space of the lighthouse wasn’t exactly appealing.
“You can have as many cookies as you’d like,” she added.
Ooh, she knew how to manipulate me, that wicked witch. “Sold.”
I didn’t bother to change. Ted would be too busy entertaining his mannequin to notice my yoga pants and Basic Witch T-shirt.
We drove across town with Aunt Thora taking a strange zigzag path instead of the road that ran parallel to the water. I ignored the haphazard route and gazed out the window instead. The sky was the kind of flat blue that looked more like a ceiling than the start of the final frontier.
“Have you given any thought to your eulogy?” I asked.
Aunt Thora kept her eyes on the road. “I’m not giving a eulogy for Myrtle. We were friendly, but not friends, if you know what I mean.”
“I’m not talking about Myrtle. I mean what you’d want people to say about you.”
Aunt Thora bit back a smile. “I don’t much mind what people say about me, especially when I’m dead.”
“Now you sound like Grandma.” But a nicer, more polite version.
“Oh, don’t be fooled. Your grandmother cares what others would say. She just hides it better than most.” Aunt Thora parked as close as she could to the lighthouse. It was best to minimize the steps between the car and the lighthouse. The winding staircase to the top was brutal enough.
“If she cares so much, then she might want to reconsider how she behaves,” I said. “Cutting in front of the line at the supermarket doesn’t endear you to the masses.”
“She could choose to hex them all and still get to the front of the line,” Aunt Thora pointed out. “Shouldn’t she get credit for showing restraint?”
“It’s not like people know what she’s capable of,” I said. “To them, she’s an ornery old woman with entitlement issues.”
“She is that,” Aunt Thora said with a gentle laugh.
We climbed the steps to the lighthouse and I took my time so as not to leave Aunt Thora in the dust. We made it to the top to find Ted seated at a small square table with the mannequin across from him. There was a chess board set up between them.
“We come bearing gifts,” Aunt Thora said. She produced the lemonade and the cookies and Ted’s clouded expression evaporated. Who needed magic when you had baked goods?
“Oatmeal?” he asked.
“Of course,” Aunt Thora said. “I know what you like.” She placed a cookie on a napkin and gave it to him.
“Thank you, Thora. You’re always so thoughtful.” He inhaled the aroma before taking a bite. “Delicious. Won’t you have one, Eden?”
“You don’t have to ask me twice.” I snatched a cookie from the container.
Aunt Thora looked at the mannequin. “Hello Mildred. You don’t mind if I steal your seat, do you?” She shifted it aside and sat across from Ted. “Tell me what’s gotten you so low.”
“It’s Father Kevin,” Ted said. “He made an announcement at the end of services this morning.”
“What kind of announcement?” Aunt Thora pressed.
“He’s leaving,” Ted said. “He’s been in charge of our flock for so many years. I can’t imagine going to services without him.”
“He’s going to another parish?” I asked. It was hard to put on a sympathetic face when the taste of Aunt Thora’s homemade cookie lingered on my tongue. It was a transcendental experience.
“No, much worse,” Ted said. “He’s decided to leave the church. Says he doesn’t believe anymore.”
I nearly choked on my cookie. “The priest is leaving because he’s lost faith?” And he thought it was good idea to announce it to the whole parish? Yikes.
Ted flicked one of the chess pieces with his finger, knocking it over. “If my own priest doesn’t believe anymore, where does that leave me?”
“I’m so sorry to hear that,” Aunt Thora said. She gave his hand an affectionate squeeze. “More lemonade?”
“Don’t mind if I do,” he said.
“I can’t imagine the parishioners reacted very well to his announcement,” I said.
Ted shook his head sadly. “The whole church was in chaos. Babies were crying.” He paused. “Well, babies are always crying in church. It seemed like the world was collapsing in front of our eyes. The end of days.”
“That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” Aunt Thora asked. She had a way of saying the thing you were thinking without sounding judgmental or bitchy. It was a talent.
“Did he say why?” I asked. “Give any reason at all?” Maybe he’
d fallen in love. It happened. I knew of a priest and a nun in San Francisco who fell in love and left the church to get married. They went on to have three children and were still together. Fergus was one of the children. It was a story he tended to trot out after a few beers. He seemed both embarrassed and proud. He knew it had been a difficult decision for them, but they had no regrets.
Ted bit into his cookie and chewed mechanically. “Said that the universe was an uncaring and unfeeling place. That the bad were never adequately punished and the good were punished more than their fair share, but there was nothing he could do so he may as well give up. He wanted to care, but he just didn’t anymore.”
“Sounds more like a midlife crisis,” Aunt Thora said.
“Priests aren’t supposed to have midlife crises,” Ted objected. “They’re men of the cloth.”
“I can understand why this is upsetting for you,” I said.
Ted nodded absently as he nibbled on the cookie. “I want to stay here until he believes again.”
“Don’t do that,” Aunt Thora said. “You have to take care of yourself, Ted. You can’t let Father Kevin’s crisis have a negative impact on you.”
“How can it not?” he shot back. “I’ve been listening to him, believing him, for years.” He shook his head. “I feel so confused.”
“I completely understand,” Aunt Thora said. “Would you like to play chess? Might help take your mind off it.”
Ted managed a smile. “You always know how to cheer me up. You’re the best, Thora.”
I went for a walk along the promenade and let the two of them play in private. I knew if I were trying to cheer up the chief, I wouldn’t want an audience. Aunt Thora texted me when she was finished and I returned to the base of the lighthouse.
“I think you need to look into this,” Aunt Thora said, on the drive back to Munster Close.
“Look into what?”
“Father Kevin. There might be magic afoot.”
I laughed. “You think it’s magic that caused a priest to lose faith rather than the garbage fire of a world we live in? I’m sure Father Kevin has access to the internet. He sees what’s going on out there.”
Aunt Thora was silent for a beat. “Please, Eden. A decision like this can have a ripple effect on people. Look at Ted. Do you think he’s the only one feeling despondent over this?”
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