Charms & Clouds

by Emilia Spring

  She looked at me, dubious. “Don't tell anyone.”

  I grinned at her. It was starting to become easier to let my hair down and get more comfortable with people. It was starting to become conceivable to think of being in Pine Lake long term.

  “How's Gianna?” Riley asked, like she was genuinely interested in the answer.

  I considered what to tell her. “She can see ghosts.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Any chance she could meet Clara's ghost?”

  “We could try,” I said slowly. I calculated what day it was. “But not until the weekend. She has homework.”

  Riley bit back a smile. “Said like a true parent.”

  I made a face at myself. Then at her. “If I kept track of how many times I sounded like my mother, I'm sure I would be horrified.”

  Riley blinked, then opened her mouth, brow furrowing. She closed it, then took a sip of her coffee. It took me a few seconds, but the pieces fell together. If my biological mother was Nichole, I had likely never met her.

  “I was adopted,” I said. “My parents adopted me when I was like three days old.”

  “Did you ever meet your biological parents?” Riley asked, her voice cautious.

  I shook my head. “Don't know who they are,” I said. I glanced out the window, in the rough direction of the main house. “Marguerite thinks I'm her granddaughter,” I said. I looked down at my hands, felt the bangles on my ears. “It's a possibility.”

  Magic, especially weather magic, was inheritable that way.

  Riley seemed to agree, if the way she was studying me was any indication. “You’re interesting.”

  I looked at her, batting my eyes. “What every girl wants to hear,” I teased.

  She knocked back what was apparently already the last of her coffee, regarding me with amusement. “Stop getting into trouble when I'm not looking. I don’t want to have to rescue you again.”

  “Maybe you should pay more attention.” I tilted my head at her. My heart skipped a beat. We were flirting. This was ridiculous. But also fun.

  She pointed at me, using her coffee cup. “I mean it,” she said. “No trouble.”

  “I cross my heart and hope to die,” I told her solemnly.

  Riley let out a strangled groan. “If you're going to get in trouble, please tell me about it,” she said. “So I can come save you.”

  I looked at her, outraged. “I am not a damsel in distress.”

  She looked at me, exasperation and humor warring in her face. “No,” she agreed. “You're something, all right.”

  I grumbled under my breath, because that was yet another mother-based phrase.

  “What was your mother's name?” Riley asked, curious.

  “Josephine,” I answered. “She went by Jo.”

  Riley made an amused noise, but her eyes were soft. “In Jo's memory, try not to get yourself killed.”

  Then she stood and left the coffee shop, leaving me sitting there.

  I turned to look at Chai, who'd been apparently watching the whole conversation with her hand over her mouth.

  “And just when I thought she was never going to date anybody any ever again,” Chai said mournfully.

  I pointed at her. “I am not dating her,” I said.

  “But she wants to date you.”

  My pointed finger got more forceful. “No, she doesn't.”

  She waggled her eyebrows at me. In the spirit of true mature adulthood, I pointed my finger warningly at her one more time and then stormed out of the coffee shop.

  Chapter Sixteen

  I sat in the kitchen, resolutely ignoring my audience. Great Aunt Mabel was hovering behind the counter, her eyes critical. Gianna had taken a seat at the counter, barely hiding her laughter.

  “Are you sure you want to try and cook dinner?” Gianna asked skeptically.

  “I can see why you eat pizza.” Great Aunt Mabel sniffed.

  I shot both of them a look. “It's just risotto,” I informed them. “You cook everything up and you whisk it with chicken broth, it's really easy.”

  Both of them turned and looked pointedly at the pan that I had already scorched the bottom of.

  “I can see that,” Gianna said.

  Okay, yes I’d had to start over twice. But the recipe hadn’t been very clear. It obviously wasn't my fault.

  Sam, Avery, and Charlotte were coming over for dinner that night. I'd volunteered to cook, much to Sam's chagrin. After all, this was my house.

  “If you light my house on fire,” Great Aunt Mabel said menacingly, “I will haunt you for the rest of your life.”

  “Aren’t you going to do that already?” Gianna muttered.

  Great Aunt Mabel huffed, doing the ghost equivalent of turning on her heel and storming off somewhere.

  “She'll be back,” Gianna said.

  I opened my mouth to say that I knew that –

  “She won’t miss this train wreck for long.”

  I shot Gianna dark look. With a sigh, I reread the instructions. It was supposed to be simple. Chicken, onions, garlic, maybe some broccoli. You toasted the rice some and then started adding chicken broth.

  Yet, somehow, I was screwing everything up. I fiddled with the heat on the stove. Currently, my third attempt looked like soup. It was not supposed to look like soup. I dumped it out again and then scrubbed the pan, ignoring Gianna snickering.

  I took a deep sigh, taking a break to do some more prep work. It was my last onion, so it had to work.

  “Add the broth slower,” Great-Aunt Mabel said.

  I didn't jump out of my skin, but it was a near thing. Apparently, I still wasn't quite used to having ghosts appear out of the woodwork in my house.

  Funny that, since it never happened in Minnesota.

  “Fine,” I groused. It wasn’t long before the pot was back on the stove. I sent up a prayer to any sort of witchy deities that might help with cooking, then got to it. Once the rice was toasted, instead of adding a half or full cup, I started with a quarter cup, stirring continuously. I sort of wished I’d put music on, so I could dance or something. Instead, I had to deal with them staring at me.

  This time, thankfully, I apparently didn't ruin it. The rice seemed to start absorbing the chicken broth, bit by bit.

  “When will they be here?” Gianna asked, leaning her head on her hand. She was still settled at the counter.

  “Any moment,” I said, glancing at the clock. The risotto probably had another 20 to 30 minutes, given how many attempts I’d botched. We could chat or something.

  There was a knock on the door, and then Sam's voice. “Why are you leaving us waiting?”

  “Are you comfortable getting the door?” I asked Gianna, exasperated.

  She shook her head. Although she'd sort of met them before, this was the first time it was an official social situation, something planned.

  “Can you stir the risotto?” I wiped my hands on a towel and offered her the wooden spoon.

  Gianna nodded, hopping off her chair. She came around the counter island, took the spoon and started to stir.

  “I'll be right back.” I headed towards the front door, opening it just before Sam was going to pound on it again.

  “That took forever,” Sam grumbled.

  “Only because you have the patience of an ant,” Avery muttered, pushing past her to get inside. Charlotte was the third one, the one who waited for the door to clear before coming inside.

  “Hello,” Charlotte said, offering a fancy bottle of soda. “I felt we should bring something. And Sam wasn’t entirely certain what you were cooking.” There was a twitch at the corner of her lips that told me Sam had talked a lot about my cooking skills.

  I locked the door behind me and followed them towards the kitchen. “Didn't you know that child is slavery is illegal?” Sam asked, looking at me suspiciously once I got in there.

  I looked at Gianna, who was stirring the risotto like her life depended on it. I tilted my head towards the ceiling for patienc
e, and then headed over to her. “I got it.”

  She looked at me, skeptical, and then retreated back to her spot at the counter, picking the chair closest to the wall. She was able to see all of the guests without being overwhelmed.

  “Sam, Avery, and Charlotte, this is Gianna.” I nodded to each of them in turn, so she knew who the names belonged to.

  “Hello,” Gianna said. Her face was a bit blank, but her hands twisted together.

  Sam shot me a look. Avery then, did too.

  “What?” I mouthed, befuddled.

  Sam turned back to Gianna. “Hello.” She opened her mouth, as if to say something else, and then stopped.

  I tried to keep a straight face.

  Sam sniffed, and then frowned, sniffing for real this time. “What’s that?” She sniffed again. I shot a furtive look at the trashcan, wishing I could get it away from both of them.

  Gianna’s face turned wicked.

  I pointed the spoon at her. “Don't you dare,” I said, attempting to sound menacing and failing.

  “Those are her failed attempts,” Gianna said gleefully. I sighed and went back to stirring, adding a bit more chicken broth. I tasted the risotto with a clean spoon. Ten more minutes, maybe fourteen.

  Gianna hopped off her chair, and went over to the trashcan, opening it briefly. She looked like she was counting, even though I knew she didn’t have to. “This is the fourth try.”

  I felt all four sets of eyes turned to me. “I never said I was a good cook,” I muttered to the risotto.

  “There's a reason she eats all that pizza,” Mabel very rudely interrupted.

  I pointed the spoon at her. “Don't you get started at me.” It was pointless, since she was a ghost, but hell if I wasn’t going to try.

  “Who are you talking to?” Sam asked slowly.

  Oh no. Now I sounded crazy.

  I cleared my throat. “Great-Aunt Mabel still lives here,” I said.

  The three of them exchanged looks, as if that was their way of saying that I was going mad.

  “She's dead,” Avery said slowly.

  “It's her ghost,” Gianna said, shaking her head. “Although apparently you guys can't see her.”

  Charlotte looked at Gianna, frowning. “She's here?”

  “Buffoons,” Great-Aunt Mabel muttered.

  “She is,” I said, adding a bit more broth. I took a bite of the risotto, pleased to see that it was starting to firm up. “She's sitting at the table, and she just called you idiots.”

  “I said buffoons,” Mabel protested.

  “Same thing,” I said.

  She looked at me and huffed.

  “Have you ever made risotto before?” Sam asked skeptically, looking over my shoulder.

  “I watched it on TV a lot, if that counts,” I said. “May have made it once or twice, don't remember.”

  “Did your parents make you cook at all?”

  That was the main disadvantage of being a spoiled only child. “Not nearly as much as I should have,” I said virtuously. “I was little bit entitled that way.”

  Sam and Avery raised their eyebrows, as if they found that more entertaining than the show in front of them.

  “Well, at least you're learning something,” Sam said doubtfully. “What else are you putting in there?” she asked.

  I glanced at the counter. “Chicken,” I said, pointing to the thankfully cooked chicken. “And broccoli.” I pointed to the full head.

  Sam sighed. “You're supposed to steam it before you put it in risotto.”

  Hey, that instruction hadn’t been in the recipe. I couldn’t be blamed for that. “Do I have to steam the whole thing?”

  Sam looked up at the ceiling, as if she was praying for patience. Maybe she was. I was just that good in the kitchen. “Do you want me to finish this for you?”

  “No,” I said, pride taking over.

  Sam looked at me. “At least let me handle the broccoli.”

  Fine. “The cutting board’s underneath the desk.”

  She looked at me, baffled, and headed over to the desk that was adjacent to the kitchen. True to my word, I’d put the cutting boards underneath there.

  “Why aren’t these in the kitchen?” Sam stared at me.

  “I don't use them,” I said. I glanced at the pantry, which was stocked with a lot of things I didn't use.

  Avery snickered. Even Charlotte was laughing.

  “Apparently didn't get those genes.” I shrugged, stirring the risotto again.

  “Apparently not,” Sam muttered under her breath. I heard Gianna giggle, and I looked at her.

  She was standing back in her corner, and was watching us with a smile. It was probably the most animated I'd seen her in the past week.

  “What grade are you in?” Charlotte asked, taking a seat at the counter next to Gianna.

  “Seventh,” Gianna answered promptly. “I skipped second.”

  Charlotte looked suitably impressed. “Wow,” she said. “So you're –”

  “Eleven,” Gianna answered. “And a half,” she added.

  Charlotte grinned at her. “That's a good age to be.”

  Gianna looked at her suspiciously, as if she was trying to figure out whether or not she was being patronized. But Charlotte kept looking back, her face steady and warm. I glanced up at Avery and Sam, and saw Avery watching Charlotte with a sappy look on her face. Had she known how good Charlotte was with kids?

  “What do you do?” Gianna asked, looking at Charlotte.

  Surprise flickered across Charlotte’s face. As if she couldn't have imagined that someone wouldn’t know who she was or what she did.

  It was then again, for the umpteenth time, I hated the isolation that had befallen Gianna’s family.

  Charlotte smiled. “I keep track of books, make sure people can read them. I also keep track of history.”

  “Wasn't that Aspen’s job?” Gianna frowned.

  My attention rerouted itself fully to the conversation. “You know Aspen?”

  Gianna looked at me, startled. She nodded. “Once or twice she came to say hi to Mom,” she said. “If Mom was having a really bad day.”

  “Huh.” I had seen Aspen as strange yet kind, but this was the first concrete evidence of the kindness that was underneath her spacey outer layer.

  “What about you?” Sam asked, her voice gentle. She and Avery were standing near each other, but just far enough away that Gianna wouldn't feel crowded. “What do you do?”

  Gianna looked at me, seeking reassurance, and I nodded.

  “It's okay,” I said, hoping that it wasn't loud enough to carry. Based on the looks I got from the others, it definitely was.

  Gianna took a shaky breath, watching them out of the corner of her eyes. “I talk to ghosts.”

  None of them looked fazed by that. I was grateful for their poker faces.

  “I figured that when you said Mabel lived here,” Sam remarked offhandedly. “What else can you do?”

  I continued stirring the almost-finished risotto, watching Sam start steaming the broccoli in her magical contraption.

  “I can talk to spirits,” Gianna said softly.

  I paused. Were spirits and ghosts the same? Were they different?

  This time it was Charlotte who leaned closer. “Do you talk to your mother sometimes?”

  Gianna looked at her with wide eyes, like she’d guessed a secret that she hadn’t intended to share. Then she nodded. “Yeah. Most nights.”

  I saw Avery take a few steps closer to Charlotte, put a hand on her shoulder. I couldn't understand exactly what Charlotte was going through, but her older sister Sage had been convicted of murder, locked up for the rest of her life. What was her family doing? Did Charlotte have any parents?

  “Family can be difficult,” Charlotte said quietly said.

  “People can be difficult,” Gianna muttered.

  I snorted.

  I did look at Sam, who was steaming the broccoli unusually quietly.

  “N
ormally you’re lot more chatty.” That was putting it politely.

  She winced. “Nervous about my exam.”

  Ah. “You’ll be fine,” I told her, with more bravado than I felt. I had no idea what the exam would be like.

  Sam looked at me out of the corner of her eyes, but it was Avery who spoke. “A little birdie told me about a certain coffee you had.”

  I turned to look at her, exasperated. “Are there any of you that don't have spies?”

  “The magical community is pretty close knit,” Charlotte said with a smile. “There's not much that people don't know.

  I opened my mouth, wanting to ask what that meant for Avery and Charlotte, but I closed it. That wasn't my business, and I wasn't going to push them one way or another. Every couple was different. We weren’t cookie cutters.

  “We’re thinking of telling them at the next dinner.” Avery worried her bottom lip with her teeth, looking at Charlotte out of the corner of her eyes. I reached out and patted her shoulder.

  “You'll be fine,” Gianna said, with all the confidence of an 11-year-old.

  Avery bit back a laugh. Charlotte looked at her. “How do you know what we’re talking about?”

  There was something distant in Gianna’s eyes, and for a second she looked sad. Then it cleared, resuming what I was starting to recognize as her everyday mask. “You look the same way that Mom looked at Dad,” she said matter-of-factly.

  There was silence in the living room for a few moments, and I wasn't sure what else to say. Instead I exhaled loudly. “I think the risotto is almost ready.”

  Gianna rolled her eyes, moving away from the counter. “And yet you haven't got the bowls down.”

  I shook my head, reaching and turning off the burner. I tasted the risotto, pleased that it actually tasted good. “What would I do without you?”

  Gianna looked entirely unimpressed. “Starve.”

  The worst part about cooking was cleaning up. Even after Sam, Avery, and Charlotte had left, there we were, standing in the kitchen with a bunch of messy dishes piled in the sink. Maybe Sam knew a spell to make them clean themselves. Especially because Mabel didn't have a dishwasher.

  Mabel sniffed. “There's nothing wrong with good old-fashioned elbow grease.”

  “You're only saying that because you don't have to do it,” Gianna muttered.