by Неизвестный
“You're welcome,” she said snippily.
Zoey cut in, “You lied to us. Not in so many words. You didn't say you had nothing to do with us moving here, but you sure acted surprised about the whole thing. And you never said one word about a letter for my mother, which was really nice, but I think we're mad at you anyway.” Zoey turned to me. “Why are we mad again?”
Zinnia simply turned and waved for us to follow her. “Tea?”
Zoey and I exchanged a look. Her stomach growled. It was four o'clock on Tuesday afternoon. I'd brought her to my aunt's house directly from school, with no stops along the way for a snack. I'd have fed her a granola bar, but I'd been too distracted since the previous day's attack to replenish my purse supplies.
“My daughter's hungry,” I said as I leaned down to unlace my boots. “We'd rather have cookies than tea, but we'd happily take both.”
Zoey elbowed me, nearly knocking me over. “You always blame me for everything,” she hissed. “Take some responsibility for yourself. I can hear your stomach growling, too.”
I stood and patted her head. “Still sore that you haven't gotten any powers yet? Hang in there. You'll get something. Remember when you were thirteen, and you were so worried you'd never get boobs or hips? I got you to put your Barbie dolls under your pillow as tributes for the boob fairy. It worked, didn't it? Sure, it took a couple of years, but you got your wish eventually.”
She rolled her eyes and left in the direction Zinnia had gone.
I finished taking off my boots. I loved the long, leather laces, but they did slow me down, thus removing all the dramatic flair from my entrances and exits.
When I found my aunt and my daughter in the kitchen, my aunt was setting up a tray of cookies and tea while talking. She explained how she'd been planning to ease us gradually into the magical world, but then I'd had my temper tantrum early Saturday morning and stormed out.
“It wasn't a temper tantrum,” I said. “Most people would prefer to be safe in their own homes after being electrocuted.” I sniffed twice. “The inside of my nose hasn't smelled the same ever since.”
Zoey said to me, “Shooting blue lightning balls at a shifter bird probably didn't help your nostrils.”
Zinnia dropped the tea kettle onto the counter with a loud clunk. “Shifter bird? Lightning balls? What have you two been up to?”
I waved my hand. “It was no big deal. I was walking in the Pacific Spirit Forest, by myself, when a crazy bird started divebombing me. It was probably a juvenile owl, mistaking me for prey.”
In the silence that followed, I shot Zoey a be-quiet look so she wouldn't divulge Chet's big secret. I'd told her everything on Monday when I arrived home, and we'd agreed not to let the news go any further. Especially not until we knew who could be trusted.
Zinnia slowly picked up the kettle and resumed making tea. Zoey and I took turns making her plate of cookies disappear the old-fashioned way.
Zinnia refilled the plate, picked up the tray, and led us into a formal-looking sitting room. Brocade curtains framed the windows, floral rugs covered most of the wood floor, and all the furniture was buttoned, tufted, and tasseled like a showroom for buttons, tufts, and tassels.
“Cute sitting room,” Zoey cooed. “It's so girly. The decorating gene skipped my mother entirely. Her idea of style is anything that doesn't show grease from pepperoni fingers.”
Zinnia's mouth curved down in distaste. She eyed us both with suspicion, like we were about to go full-slob in her pretty room.
“My daughter's right,” I admitted, glancing around at the floral surfaces. Even the wallpaper had roses, ivy, and zinnias. “There's nothing in here I'd wipe my pepperoni fingers on.” I took a napkin from the tray and spread it across my lap to put her at ease.
Zinnia poured the tea.
She cleared her throat. “Has the ghost made any more appearances?”
“No, but the toaster has,” I said. “I threw it out, but it came back like the proverbial cat, the very next day. I guess tossing it in the garbage wasn't enough. We've got it in the freezer now. Should I have put it inside a circle or a pentagram made from chalk?”
“Salt,” my aunt said. “We contain dark forces with salt.”
Salt. I'd have to try that next. “Now what? Wait around to see if Winona tries to kill me again? Then salt up whatever appliance she uses?” I clutched my chest. “What if it's the dishwasher? I can't live without a dishwasher.”
“Give me a minute,” she said, getting up. She left us alone in the overdecorated sitting room.
Zoey turned to me and whispered, “She's probably getting us a potion. She told me on Friday night that she's really into potions.”
“The kind that turns people into toads? Or more like love potions?”
Zoey gave me a serious look. “She makes a sandwich spread that tastes exactly like mayonnaise but has zero calories.”
“You're pulling my leg.”
Zoey wrinkled her nose. “She says there are side effects. You have to go to the bathroom within five minutes of eating it. She says she'll iron out the wrinkles eventually.”
“Good to know. If she offers us any sandwiches, I'll politely refuse.”
“You could use your magic to scrape all the witch-mayo out of your sandwich.” She sighed.
I leaned over and gave her knee a loving squeeze. “Zoey, be patient. Your magic is coming. Mine probably came on fast because it was sixteen years overdue. We'll keep trying together, okay? We're in this together.” I squeezed her knee again. “Everyone else comes and goes, but you and I are forever.”
Zinnia returned with a book in her hands. “That's right,” she said. “Family is forever.”
I patted Zoey's knee one last time before folding my arms across my chest.
“Maybe not all family,” I said coolly. “Just the ones who are truthful.”
“Let me explain about the letter,” Zinnia said.
“Nobody's stopping you,” I said.
She fidgeted with the big, old-looking book in her hands. She sat in a tapestry-upholstered chair across from us and folded her hands on top of the thick book. I leaned over, trying to get a peek at the spine, but I couldn't see a title. The brown binding appeared to be leather, wrinkled and cracked with age.
“I've known your boss, Kathy Carmichael, for years,” Zinnia said.
Zoey interrupted, “Is she a witch, too?”
Zinnia laughed. “Not everyone in this town has supernatural powers.” She pursed her lips and tucked a strand of dark red hair behind one ear. “Kathy noticed that one job applicant had an unusual name that was similar to my own, so she asked if we happened to be related. That was when I seized the opportunity to put in a good word for you.”
I gave her a suspicious look. I was still feeling distrustful of my aunt, but not too distrustful to help myself to a few more cookies. Just like levitation magic, being suspicious burned up a lot of calories.
Zinnia smoothed her hands over the ancient-looking book in a bewitching, delicate gesture. “Have I convinced you?” she asked, arching her fine red eyebrows. “Or do you still want to waste time accusing me of being a liar?”
Her voice betrayed her hurt feelings. She was sixteen years older than me and far more worldly, but she was on her own. I sensed her desperation, all at once. The flowers and feminine furniture—they all filled the rooms in her house to compensate for a lack of family or friends. Zinnia was lonely. She needed us more than we needed her.
“No more accusations,” I said.
Her eyebrows continued to climb. “Are you certain? If you look closely enough at any yard of fabric, you'll find a loose thread. Examine any human heart and you'll discover imperfections.” Her lips pursed into a tightly wrinkled heart. “Especially your own.”
“Auntie Z,” my daughter said gently. “Nobody here thinks the Riddle family is perfect. We're here because we want to get to know you. The real you.”
Zinnia nodded slowly. “You're here because you
want magic. Let's not beat around the bush.” She held up one hand, palm out. “Please, don't embarrass us all by pretending otherwise. I know I haven't yet earned your trust. For tonight, however, please humor your dear old aunt.”
Zoey and I exchanged a look. “Sure,” we both said.
My aunt's chair creaked as she leaned forward and held the book out toward me. “Take this, Zara, and open it to a random page. Completely random.”
I took the tome, which was even heavier than it looked, and flipped it open at approximately the one-third mark.
Before I could even look at the ornate script or drawings on the page, Zinnia snatched the book away again.
“It worked,” Zinnia said, leaning over to study the page.
“We're both novices,” I said. “You're going to have to explain to us what you're talking about.”
She smiled and held up the book to show us an ornate page. Then she flipped the page to show the next one in the book. It was blank. So were the following dozen pages that she flipped through.
Zoey gasped, “It's a magic book! The text only appears when you need it.”
“Our youngest novice catches on quickly,” Zinnia said proudly.
“What about the page I picked?” I asked. “Did it fill up with a message just for me?”
She held up the book, flipped back, and let me look at the open pages. The swirling words seemed to move, swimming before my eyes.
“This tells us you are Spirit Charmed,” she said. “Zara, you are charmed against harm by ghosts, and you can communicate for them.”
“Like The Ghost Whisperer?” I turned to Zoey and explained, “That was a TV show I used to watch. It's not on anymore. Maybe they'll reboot it for your generation and you guys can pretend it's brand new, like you do with everything else.”
Zinnia said, “You won't learn anything about your skill by watching that show, but I admit I do enjoy programs about witches. Even though they get absolutely everything wrong.”
“My favorite is Wicked Wives,” I said.
Zinnia's face twitched. “Well, you might learn a thing or two from that one. We think one of our own must have consulted in some fashion.”
I slapped both of my knees. “No kidding!”
She nodded down at the book. “Stay on topic, Zara. A witch who is Spirit Charmed will become a magnet for lost souls caught between worlds. This witch doesn't communicate directly with the spirits, but they can do things through her.” She scrunched her face and scratched her head. “Those things don't usually include electrocution by toaster.”
“A toaster is how she died,” I said. “Apparently, she loved heating up Pop Tarts while she was in the bathtub.”
Zinnia blinked. “I can't tell if you're joking.”
“I wish I were,” I said. “A guy who lives nearby told me all about it. Oh, and the neighborhood kids call our place the Red Witch House. How's that for keeping a low profile?”
“You should paint the house,” Zinnia said. “Try yellow.”
I bounced up and down on the tufted and tasseled settee. “Great minds think alike. That's exactly what I was thinking.”
Zoey leaned forward, reaching for the book. “What about me? Will the book say anything about my gifts?”
Zinnia handed her the book. “Let's find out.”
We all held our breath as Zoey opened the book.
The pages she revealed were, alas, blank. She audibly choked back her disappointment. I moved over on the sofa to be next to her, and I rubbed her back.
“Your page is still unwritten,” I said. “That means you have unlimited potential.”
“You're only saying that because you're my mother, and you have to inspire me.”
“That doesn't make it any less true,” I said.
“The magic works in mysterious ways,” Zinnia said. “The magic has a mind of its own. It's why you applied for a job in this town, and why you went to the shoe store the same day I did. Some people call these things coincidence, but we witches are smarter than that.”
“Hold up,” I said. “If magic brought me here, that means someone cast a spell on me. I thought witches couldn't do that?”
“I told you,” Zinnia said, sounding frustrated. “Magic has its own mind.”
“Is that an expression? Like how God works in mysterious ways?”
She scrunched up her face. “You'll catch on eventually.”
Zoey sighed. “Eventually.”
Zinnia gave her a sympathetic look. “Your gift might be delayed to give us all time to adjust to Zara's gift.”
“Assuming I ever adjust,” I said. “And if these spirits supposedly love me so much, why did one try to electrocute me?”
“They're terrible at communicating.” Zinnia rolled her eyes. “Worse than trying to get some men to talk about their emotions.” She quickly added, “Notice I didn't say all men. I'm not sexist.”
“Why are they so bad at communicating?”
Zinnia rolled her eyes again. “They think it's a sign of weakness.” She put her hand to her mouth. “Wait. Did you mean men, or ghosts?”
“Ghosts. And if I'm supposed to have some special powers, shouldn't it be easier for me to know what they want?”
“Ghosts aren't people,” she explained. “They come from people, but they're more like recordings.”
“You lost me,” I said. “Recordings?”
Zoey jumped in. “She means they're similar to holograms, like the ones in the original Star Wars movies from the seventies.”
Zinnia gave my daughter an appreciative look. “Not bad. You're certainly insightful, and once your powers kick in, you'll be unstoppable.”
Zoey beamed.
My stomach growled. “Aunt Zinnia, do you mind if we order some pizza, or move this conversation to somewhere with pizza?”
“I've got plenty of food in my kitchen,” she said, leaning forward to stand.
“Stay where you are,” I said. “I'll whip something up. Other than your mystical mayonnaise, is there anything else I should steer clear of?”
“Don't touch the jar of white things that look like eyeballs,” she said.
“Is it something gross?”
“It's eyeballs,” she said.
“This is incredible,” Zinnia said, waving to the appetizers I'd whipped up.
My daughter said to her, “It's a new skill she's acquired since moving to Wisteria, and it's the strangest thing. Back home, we joked about her burning ice cubes.” She held one hand alongside her mouth and stage-whispered, “Which is a thing she actually did once.”
“I heard that,” I said as I set the tray of food on the room's coffee table.
“These culinary skills are part of your gift,” Zinnia explained. “You take on the special life skills of any ghost who gets attached to you.”
“Attached?” I looked over one of my shoulders and then the other. “I've got a ghost stuck to me?”
She took a deep breath. “I'm afraid you do. Winona Vander Zalm must have attached herself to you the moment your powers kicked in. That's why you were sleeptoasting every night. She had to communicate with you in her convoluted ghost manner. By the look of those fancy appetizers, she's still attached to you.”
I made an unhappy noise and swiped at my shoulders like it was Flying Ant Day and I was covered in strawberry jam. “Where? Ew! Get if off me!”
Zinnia barked sharply, “Grow up! Get a hold of yourself. You're a grown woman, not a sixteen-year-old girl. You need to get control so you can help your daughter, who actually is a sixteen-year-old girl.”
I slumped into a tasseled, floral-covered chair. “Tell me what to do.”
“Talk to your ghost,” she said. “Start a dialog. Once her resonance is comfortable with you, things will get easier. Then, after she's fulfilled her mission, she'll go away.” Zinnia waved her hands like bird wings.
I hugged my arms around my chest. “Where will she go?”
“Away,” Zinnia said. “Where we all g
o, once we've found peace.”
“What if she can't fulfill her mission? What if her mission is to be alive again, living inside her Red Witch House and throwing elaborate dinner parties?”
“Is that what you think she wants?”
I scratched my ear, which had a tickling feeling inside the ear canal. Was that Winona, whispering her wishes to me? I tried listening but heard nothing but the faintest rustling.
Zoey gave me a big-eyed look. If I had to guess what she was thinking, it would be that we should tell our aunt about the investigation Chet was conducting.
I gave her a tiny headshake. No. We couldn't trust Zinnia any further than we could throw her. What if she was the one behind the bird attack in the forest? Or what if I blew Chet's secret-agent cover and ruined his whole life?
Zinnia leaned forward and looked into my eyes. “Are you having a vision right now?”
“Maybe,” I said. “What are your plans for Friday?”
“That depends,” she answered tentatively. “Will you be throwing any small appliances into water that night?”
I patted my left shoulder, where I imagined a ghostly hand resting. “That's the old, misunderstood Winona Vander Zalm. She and I are taking our relationship to the next level.”
I turned to Zoey. “Get your party face ready, because we're throwing a housewarming party. We'll have to put both extensions in the dining table. Let's invite everyone we know!”
Chapter 17
By the time Friday came around, I was buzzing with excitement about the dinner party. The only thing that wasn't falling into place was a guest for the tenth place setting. I told Zoey to invite a new friend from school, but she insisted she had “too many” and couldn't possibly narrow it down to one. I suspected the number of new friends she'd made over the past two weeks was closer to zero, but I kept any potential snark to myself. She was already self-conscious about fitting in. I knew—based on my previous sixteen years of living with the girl—that pushing her for details or nosing my way in would help neither of us.