by Alt, Madelyn
“I . . . yes.”
“In the meantime, we’re gonna have to declare the site sealed.”
Secret rooms covered in crosses . . . ooh, scary. I would have loved to have stuck around—you know, for curiosity’s sake—but there was no hope to that end. The buried bunker was a guaranteed lost cause for the rest of the day. The girls and I waved to Charlie, knowing it would be a while before he was released by his foreman. Tools to put away, machinery to secure. We made our way out to the temporary parking lot in the field and back to Christine to compare notes.
“Should we leave, do you think?” I asked.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m done,” Evie said. “Tare?”
Tara was still gazing back toward the church and the construction site. “Did you guys feel it?”
“Feel what?” Evie asked. “The cave-in? I felt it. The ground trembled. My stomach dropped to my toes. We’re lucky no one was hurt here today. It could have been so much more than just the payloader wheel breaking through.”
“It wasn’t just a cave-in,” Tara stated flatly. “Maggie, what about you?”
I thought back. It had all happened so fast, but . . . “There was something,” I said, remembering. Or at least, I thought I did. “I felt . . . a rush?” I was searching for the right word and not finding it. “Air moving past me. Like wind, but not.”
“Yeah. Like a whoosh of something, right after the guy stuck his arm in there with the flashlight.”
“But you don’t think it was just air?” I knew the answer to that even before I finished the question.
“No. Do you?”
“Well, I don’t know. I wasn’t really thinking about it.”
“Well, turn your brain back on again for a sec,” Tara groused, “because I think I’m right.”
That’s our Tara. Always the diplomat. “Fine. So if you don’t think it was air, or a cave-in, what do you think it was? Energy? Spirit?” I was just joking for the most part, but the look on Tara’s face stopped me in my tracks.
“Yeah,” she said in a flat tone. “I do. But I don’t think it was a nice one, whatever it was.”
I didn’t want to believe her, but how could I not? I’d felt the rush myself. The vibration. I had just preferred to see it as natural at the time. Now that I thought about it, I couldn’t believe I didn’t pick up on it immediately myself. “What about you, Evie?” I asked.
She shook her head. “But I could try, if you want me to.”
Tara looked at me. “You know, it wouldn’t hurt any of us to do a little bit of psychic digging. Whaddaya say, Maggie? Care to try it and see what we find out about that hole?”
I was a little nervous about that look in Tara’s eye. Tara was the adventurer in our little group of metaphysical wanderers. Our very own little no-holds-barred, take-no-prisoners general of occult exploration. Whenever she was all set to jump right in, that was a good indication it was time to take a step back and consider the situation a bit longer. But Evie answered before I could.
“Well, okay. Only . . . not here. I think I’m getting a little bit tired of all this sunshine. It’s giving me a headache.”
“You, tired of sunshine?” Tara teased.
“Where to, then?” I asked.
Tara met my gaze. “How ’bout your place?”
“My place. Right. What . . . exactly . . . is this little explorative venture going to entail, Tara?”
“Oh, a little of this, a little of that. Why? You scared, Fluff?” she said with a grin.
Fluff. As in Fluffy Bunny, her favorite gibe when it came to me, not very kindly referring back to those of Pagan faiths who focus on all things light and, well, fluffy, to the exclusion of all else. A bit like the Pagan version of being scared of the dark. She was right. I was a little afraid of the dark, and yes, I did tend to try to focus on keeping things light in my life, wherever possible. But that didn’t mean I didn’t think it merited attention. I just preferred not to address it to its face if I could help it.
And was that so bad? But then maybe I was just confusing myself. Polarity of all kinds—light and dark being just one—is the nature of the beast, the circle come ’round and back again. I believed that. It was one thing I could believe in, without the least bit of ethical struggles or logical concerns.
Tara and I weren’t so different really. We just had different approaches. Different comfort levels.
“Not scared, no. Just . . . cautious,” I told her. “You get that way once you get to my age. Sad fact of life actually.”
She tossed her head, superior with the confidence her age allowed her. “Boldness in life is for the young.”
“So is learning from one’s mistakes,” I reminded her sweetly.
She stared me down, all dark-eyed glower and teenage bluster . . . then broke out in a sheepish grin. “Yeah, whatevs,” was her good-natured reply. “So are we gonna do this or what? I got a little time to kill before meeting up with Charlie latahh.”
I didn’t have much of a choice . . . but then, what else was I going to do with the rest of my afternoon? “Who gets the front seat?”
That would be Tara, and she wasn’t about to let Evie forget it. She had her hand on the thumb-button door latch before the question had finished rolling from my tongue, an evil eye at the ready should Evie attempt to usurp her rightful place. She needn’t have bothered. Evie wasn’t the type to overstep her boundaries. She took the backseat without comment, easing in with the grace of a ballerina.
Outsiders witnessing the entire exchange might have seen Tara as overbearing and even rude, but those of us in her inner sphere knew her for her fierce loyalty to her friends and family, her willingness to stand up for what she knew was right, her steadfast dedication to justice. She really was the modern embodiment of the Celtic warrior princess of old. She also had a wicked good sense of humor that evidenced itself when you least expected it. Between the two girls, one might perceive Tara to be the leader, but I’d seen her follow Evie around, avidly listening as they compared notes on their metaphysical experiences and abilities. There was a level of mutual respect and trust between them that was really nice to see in teenage girls these days. I’d seen worse—far worse. And so had Tara, poor girl. It made me glad that she and Evie got along so well.
Every girl needs a true BFF.
The ride home to my place didn’t take long. We stopped off first at Enchantments to pick up Minnie, who had firmly wrapped Liss around her furry paw by plastering her soft little body across Liss’s shoulders. My shameless baby hussy. Liss was on the phone when we got there, so I knew I wouldn’t have a chance to fill her in on the afternoon’s events.
“Well, that’s just wonderful, darling. I’m so proud of you.” A pause during which she winked and waved at me, then, “You know, if you’re looking for a new site to study, you could always come to America. I’d love to have my favorite nephew under my wing for a while, and then there has been all of the activity here that I’ve been telling you about. Mm. Well, just think about it. Yes, I’ll keep you posted. Now, tell me about that young research assistant of yours. Don’t play coy, it doesn’t work with me, remember?”
I undraped a yawning Minnie and tucked her in the crook of my arm before blowing a kiss of thanks toward Liss and tiptoeing out the door. Minnie settled in for the ride on Evie’s lap, sprawling in the carefree, utterly relaxed way that only very young creatures of all kinds can master. The girls were hungry, so we decided to order in pizza once we got to my apartment. Ten minutes later we were pulling up in front of the aging Victorian on Willow Street. Just me and my two—just then, Minnie lifted her head and gazed at me with reproachful, bicolor eyes—er, make that three shadows. I lead the way around the side of the house to where the sunken steps to my basement apartment could be found.
Tara eyed the stairs with surprise. “You live in a basement?”
I fought the urge to apologize or explain. It was what it was. “Yeah.”
“Cool.”
> I let us into the apartment and reached inside for the wall switch before entering. “Let there be light.” One of the quirks of living in a basement apartment: you always had to have a lamp burning, no matter what time of day it was. “Home sweet home. Come on in.”
Evie set Minnie down. Minnie ran straight for the cupboard where I kept her food and sat down, giving me her “urgent eyes.” “What, are you hungry, girl?” I asked. When I didn’t move forward right away, she rose up on her hind legs and pawed at the cupboard door, then sat back down and repeated the process. “All right already. Keep your fur on.”
“Does she do that every time?” Evie asked.
“Pretty much. Unless she decides she’d rather have what I’m having, in which case she won’t touch her kib ble. She plops herself on my lap and tries to work out which way she needs to preen for premium cuteness.”
Minnie rolled over on her back at that, paws poised just so, inviting anyone and everyone within to come over and pet her, and maybe, just maybe, feed her, too. She knew how to work it.
“So, girls. Have a seat, have a look around, whichever you’d like. I need to check messages. It’s a little early for pizza, but if you want to decide on a place to order from—”
“Giovanni’s. Defs,” Tara opined, sliding her finger along the books and magazines atop my bookcase. “Best deep dish I’ve ever had. Almost better than chocolate.”
“Better than making out with Charlie?” Evie teased, peeking into the fridge. I hoped I’d remembered to clean it. Ah, well. She’d live.
“Let’s not get too carried away,” Tara objected with a giggle that was delightfully, if atypically, girly. She plopped herself down in my favorite chair.
“Well, at least you’ve got your priorities straight. I on the other hand can’t manage to get a decent date.” Evie sighed.
“Oh, I can’t believe that,” I scoffed. Evie? Blond, beautiful, smart, delicate Evie? It was absurd. What teenage boy wouldn’t be after that?
I punched the button on my answering machine to play the messages that were blinking there. The machine was on its last legs, taking forever to initiate the message list. I couldn’t see throwing it out and buying new, though, not until it was done for. Midwestern frugality, I supposed. Then again, it had been on its last legs for two years. At this rate, I might never be rid of it. Some of these ancient hand-me-downs lasted forever.
“It’s because she doesn’t want the ones who are interested in her, and because the one she’s interested in won’t even look her way.”
“Ta-ra!”
“What one?” I asked, looking at Evie in a new light. “You haven’t mentioned anyone to me. I’m hurt.”
The machine beeped at last. “Hello, Margaret, it’s your mother calling. I didn’t hear from you yesterday, so I thought I would check in with you and make sure that everything is all right. You know I worry if I don’t hear from you. Your sister’s home nurse is working out well. I’m disappointed that the two of you didn’t use this time to bond more closely together, but at least I know that she and the girls are being well taken care of. I of course am still visiting every day; I would hope that you could find it in your busy schedule to visit as well. She is your sister after all. How is the job search coming along? Well, that’s all, dear. Your father sends his love. Grandpa said to tell you that his blood work came back right as rain. He’s been chasing after the widow woman across the street in his wheelchair again. She’s twenty years younger than him at least. I think he scares her. That man.” She sighed, long-suffering and exasperated. “Well, good-bye, dear.”
That was my mom for you. At least she hadn’t inserted a question about my love life. Such as it was.
“Job search?” Tara asked, narrowing her eyes at me in sudden suspicion. “What’s that supposed to mean? You ditching Liss at the shop?”
I shook my head. “Of course not. It’s just my mother. She thinks she can strong-arm me into giving in to her need to control my life. She was none too happy to hear about Liss’s and Marcus’s forays into the occult.”
“Thank goodness my mom works in the city,” Evie said. “She doesn’t hear much in the way of gossip; she’s too deep into her spreadsheets, even when she’s home.” She’d found a tub of Ben & Jerry’s in the freezer—Cherry Garcia, the real thing, not frozen yogurt—and was now feeding driblets of it to Minnie with her pinkie, in between spoonfuls. “I like your grandpa, by the way. He’s just a big, lovable goofball.”
I grinned. “I’ll let him know you said so. He’ll be thrilled to know he’s conned yet another pretty young thing into thinking he’s harmless. Now, back to this so-called ‘one’ . . .”
Evie blushed.
“Never mind, Evester. Maggie’s hardly one to talk.”
I was more than used to Tara’s taunts, but I pretended to be affronted. “I beg your pardon.”
“She has Marcus following her around like a puppy dog—”
Marcus was hardly a puppy dog . . .
“—and she keeps wasting her time with Deputy Ironbritches himself instead.”
Ironbritches? Just who’d been bending her ear? And how in heaven’s name could they know that we’d never . . . that he hadn’t . . . that we . . . “I’m going to assume you mean that in a completely complimentary way,” I said, my cheeks flaming.
“Whatevs. We all know you haven’t been getting any, Maggie.” Tara looked supremely smug. “It’s written in the angst on your face.”
“Yes, well, my love life”—or lack thereof—“is none of your business, now, is it.”
The machine beeped again. “Hey, Maggie. It’s me.” Tom. My eyes widened, and then I cringed. Too late to stop the machine now. “Hey, I guess you’re out. Just my luck. I feel like I haven’t connected with you in days. I know, my job, my fault.” He sighed. What was it about people sighing into my answering machine lately? I was beginning to feel like Debbie Downer. “I guess I’ll try you later if I get the chance. Okay. Bye.”
“See what I mean,” Tara whispered to Evie. “Not exactly Mr. Hot Stuff, is he?”
I turned away, smarting as much from the message as from Tara’s blunt assessment. “I’ll just look up the number for Giovanni’s.”
Behind me I heard an indignant “Ow!”
“You hurt her feelings!” I overheard Evie whisper. I missed Tara’s reply entirely as I busied myself digging through my junk drawer for the little-used phone book. It was probably for the better.
The answering machine beeped a third time. I could have sworn I’d seen only two lights blinking?
“Maggie-May-I.” My heart fluttered against my will. It was Marcus’s voice coming across the old machine, deep throated and full of the kind of promise a girl longed for in her wildest daydreams. “Sorry I haven’t been around much the last week or so, sweetness. Things got busy, and actually . . . well, I’ve been filling out paperwork. Uncle Lou has finally convinced me to start back with college courses again this fall, and I have a lot to do to catch up with the admin stuff. The band . . . it pays the bills for now—well, that and my knife sales—but . . . I guess it can’t last forever. So. Yeah. Going back for my degree when classes start up again. Wish me luck.” He paused as though weighing his words and thoughts. “I’ll call you again later. I was hoping . . . I’ll just call you later. Talk to you.”
At least there was no sigh attached.
Now it was my turn to blush—which I did . . . furiously—as I flipped through the Yellow Pages. I cleared my throat. “Soooooo, Giovanni’s.” I peeked over my shoulder at the girls; I couldn’t help myself. As expected, waggling eyebrows, times two. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, stop it.”
Tara smirked. “I rest my case. If you were actually getting some, you wouldn’t be so defensive about it. Ironbritches or my cousin. Which one would I choose? Hm, hm, hmm.” As an afterthought, she revised that: “Assuming in that situation that Marcus wasn’t actually related, o’ course.”
Of course.
Without a
pause for breath, she asked, “By the way, got any paper?”
Grateful that she was at least off the subject of my love life, I handed her a pad of sticky notes and a felt-tip pen. “Here you go. What do you girls like on your pizza?”
“Everything!” Tara said.
“Cheese!” Evie said at the same time. With a deferring glance toward Tara, she amended, “But I can pick everything off with no problem.”
I laughed. “Gotcha. One deep dish with everything, coming right up.” I placed the call, arranging for delivery. It was a little on the early side for dinner and on the well past for lunch, but teenage stomachs didn’t seem to work on the same timetable as their adult counterparts.
Hanging up the phone, I turned around to find Tara and Evie kneeling on the floor on either side of my coffee table. Spread out in a circle were the letters of the alphabet, the numbers zero through nine, and the words “yes” and “no.”
“Okay,” Tara said, brushing off her hands in the universal gesture of a job completed and a job well done. “Now all we need is a glass. The table is nice and slick, and no seams, so it should work out fine.”
“A homemade Ouija?” I knew my face was reflecting my skepticism, the experience with Mel fresh in my mind. “I don’t think . . .”
Tara headed toward the kitchen and grabbed a wineglass from my under-the-counter rack. The cut glass goblets had been a gift from Grandma Cora, back when I graduated from high school. “For your hope chest,” she’d told me at the time. Grandma C had always been big on gifts for the old hope chest. Never mind that at the time she was giving wineglasses to someone who couldn’t yet legally drink.
Tara waved away my concern. “It’s no big deal. Is it, Evie?”
I turned my gaze on Evie, who blushed. “Well, um, I . . . I don’t think it’s going to hurt anything, honestly, Maggie. We have the three of us, you know, in case anything negative tries to get through, and we all know what we’re doing . . .”
“You’ve done this before, you two? Together?” I knew Tara liked to play with the Ouija, but I had no idea Evie had been playing with it as well.