“His name is Frank, and I don't appreciate you implying his flamingo makeover was my fault.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “If the shoe fits...”
I pushed open the passenger side door with a vengeance. “If the shoe fits, I'm going to put it on my foot, and then kick you so hard—” I jumped out and slammed the door before I finished the threat, which went on for nearly a minute and became extremely colorful toward the end.
By the look on Chet's face, he heard me perfectly well, even through the closed door.
* * *
Inside my house, my sixteen-year-old daughter greeted me by looking at my hands and frowning. “No sushi?”
I held my hands out, palms up. “Invisible sushi,” I joked. There was nothing on my palms except for dirt. After Chet drove away, I'd spent fifteen minutes in the front yard taking out my frustrations on the weeds as well as a few plants that probably weren't weeds.
Zoey was reclining on the living room's sofa, reading an art book about the history of cartooning. She was not amused by my invisible sushi joke. “Mom, you said that since we weren't seeing Auntie Z tonight, you'd pick up sushi.” She closed the book and sat up. “It's not like you to forget about something as important as dinner. Something's wrong.”
I walked over to the main floor's powder room and started washing the dirt from my hands. I left the door open, and called out, “Your mother had a very interesting day, and she hopes the rest of the week is boring in comparison.”
“Are you going to tell me what's going on, or are you going to feed me a made-up story about bumping your head while looking for recipes in someone's attic?”
I dried my hands slowly and smiled grimly at myself in the mirror. My redheaded, hazel-eyed offspring looked like me, talked like me, and even thought like me—at least enough to know when I was lying. She hadn't bought my cover story about the night I tangled with the Erasure Machine. Fair enough. I couldn't complain about having a smart kid.
I came out to find the living room empty. I found Zoey in the kitchen, rummaging through the fridge. Her favorite broken-in blue jeans had loosened since the move, and slid down to show an inch of her underwear at the back.
“You need a belt,” I said. “We should go shopping.”
Her head still in the fridge, she said, “We have some of the cashew-chicken chow mein, but not enough for two people.”
“All yours,” I said. “I've already eaten. I had bacon mini quiches, cheese blintzes, and cannoli.”
She turned around and gave me a hurt look. “You had cannoli without me? You're the worst.” She dumped the chow mein on a plate and put it in the microwave.
I waved my hands excitedly. “The plastic thing! I'm going to tell Aunt Zinnia you haven't been using it!”
She gave me a dirty look, placed the plastic lid over her food with a thunk, and restarted the microwave. We'd recently switched from having the inside of our microwave look like a crime scene to having the inside of the plastic thing looking like a crime scene. In fact, we were excited to see how much exploded food we could get coating the plastic thing before Zinnia's next visit.
I took a seat at the kitchen's island, where we ate most of our meals, and rested my elbows on the countertop. Using my telekinetic witch magic, I filled two water glasses, and set out napkins and utensils for Zoey. My telekinesis was limited to what I could lift or move with my body, and required the same amount of effort as doing it the regular way. Using it didn't save me energy when I was tired, but Aunt Zinnia felt it was good for my fine motor skills to practice in the kitchen with simple things. We'd affixed a frosted coating to the lower half of the kitchen window so that casual passersby on the sidewalk wouldn't catch sight of me juggling carrots and chopping them in midair.
The microwave beeped, and Zoey joined me with her steaming food.
I asked in a robotic voice, “How was your day at school?”
“My principal is a vampire, and the cheerleaders are all zombies.”
“For real?”
She grinned. “Just teasing you, Mom. I had a boring Monday. What happened to you?”
“I accidentally frightened Frank Wonder so bad that he turned into a flamingo. Pink feathers and all.”
“He's a shifter?”
“That's what Chet thinks. I called the organization he works for, and he showed up with two other guys, who turned into huge birds themselves and flew after Frank.”
“More birds?” Zoey paused with her fork midway to her mouth. “Is Frank going to be okay?”
“That depends. Do you want the reassuring answer, or the truth?”
She frowned at the chunk of chicken on her fork. “Suddenly, I feel weird about eating bird meat.”
“We could try being vegetarian again. I'll make that baked eggplant thing from the vegan cookbook. With extra flakes of nutritional yeast.”
Zoey jammed the forkful of chicken and noodles into her mouth, followed quickly by another. “Over it,” she said. “No need to take drastic measures.” She dug into the chow mein with a vengeance.
“You're a good egg,” I said.
She paused and gave me a confused look. “What are you talking about?”
“I don't know. It just seemed like a motherly thing to say.”
“Maybe in the nineteen-hundreds,” she said, smirking.
After a few more bites of chow mein, she asked, “How are they going to get Frank to change back?”
“Treat him to a day at the bird spa.” I smirked at her. “Actually, I don't know. They're working on calming him down. Once he settles, as long as he's not injured, he should just snap back. In theory.”
“He'll be fine,” Zoey said confidently. “I think Frank is one of those resilient people who knows exactly who he is, even when he's a flamingo.” She paused and flicked her eyes up thoughtfully. “Fun fact: A group of flamingos can be called a stand, or a flamboyance.”
“I'll be sure to tell him that,” I said, smiling.
“What else happened?” She narrowed her eyes, as though peering into my soul. “You don't usually threaten to perform internal exams on people unless they've really ticked you off.”
I grimaced. “You heard me yelling at Chet.”
“I think the whole neighborhood heard you yelling at Chet.”
I sighed and floated over a second fork so I could steal a bite of her chow mein. “Did Corvin ever mention anything to you about his dad having a fiancée who's been in a coma for the last year?”
Zoey wrinkled her nose. “Corvin is more interested in making fart sounds with his armpits than talking about icky grownup relationships.”
“Did you know he can see ghosts?”
She nodded slowly. “No, but that explains a lot.” She gave me another X-ray look. “But you and Chet weren't fighting about Corvin. So it must have been about this fiancée, the one in the coma.”
“Her name is Chessa.” I tasted the chow mein, surprised to be hungry considering how much pastry I'd put away at Chloe's house. “Chet wants me to intentionally attract her spirit.”
“And then what?” Her nose wrinkled as she presumably reached the same sordid conclusion I had earlier.
“Not that,” I said. “He swears it's not a sex thing. He didn't map it out for me, but I'm guessing he wants to wake her out of her coma, Sleeping Beauty style. He needs to knock the chunk of poisoned apple from her mouth.”
Zoey chewed her food thoughtfully. “Sleeping Beauty was cursed by a disgruntled evil fairy. She was a princess who pricked her finger on a spinning wheel, and went into sleep for a hundred years, along with everyone in the castle. You're thinking of Snow White.”
“I always mix those two up.”
“Snow White has the seven dwarves who sing Hi Ho.”
“Right. But Snow White was just a regular common girl, not even a princess. Chessa is a gorgon.”
Zoey's face froze, mid-chew. She blinked and gestured for me to continue.
I started over from the beginning,
with the convincing spell I cast on Chet in the van, and the subsequent visit to Chessa's lily-white cottage. I showed my daughter the sea-glass bracelet, which I was still wearing, and told her about my visit with Chloe, as well as the bombshell about the three sisters.
Zoey took it all in without comment.
When I was done, she said, “And when did you meet the other gorgon? Charlize?”
“Last week, at the hospital. After I, um, bumped my head while looking for recipes.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Funny how that happened the same night that house in town exploded from a gas leak and burned to the ground.”
“Funny,” I agreed.
She reached across the table and took my hand. I gave her fingers a reassuring squeeze. She pulled my hand closer and examined the loose-fitting sea-glass bracelet on my wrist. “This is pretty.”
“It's Chessa's. She loved the beach, apparently.” I fidgeted with the clasp. “I put this on to try to strengthen our connection when I was in her house.”
“Is it working?”
“Not yet. Maybe. I don't know.”
“If she loved the beach so much, then we should go to the beach tonight,” she said. “We can watch the sunset.”
“I'd love to.” My phone started buzzing inside my purse. I excused myself and pulled it out.
The call was coming from the Department of Water. On the Caller ID, they'd left off the secret part of their name.
Zoey peered over at the screen. “Don't tell me you forgot to pay the water bill, too.”
I laughed, though it stung from being a little close to home. “I've got to take this,” I said. “Can you give me some privacy?”
She pushed back from the counter. “Gladly. Along with the dirty dishes.” Smirking, she headed for the door.
“Zoey, hold up,” I said. “If your principal really was a vampire, and the cheerleaders were zombies, you'd tell me, wouldn't you?”
In a singsong voice, she said, “Eventually,” and left the kitchen.
My phone continued to buzz so hard it nearly vibrated out of my hand. The Department of Water and Magic must have boosted the signal to my phone to make it turbo buzz.
I answered the call with an authoritative, “Go for Zara.”
Chapter 8
“You're a witch,” said the male voice on the phone.
“I've been called a lot of things,” I said, for the second time that day.
“Zara, this is wonderful news,” he gushed. “Just wonderful. I love that you're a witch. I mean, of course you're a witch. Tell me, what kind of creature is your beau? Is he a shifter, like his two macho friends?”
“Frank!” I nearly cried from relief at hearing his voice. “How are you feeling?”
“I was flying. How do you think I'm feeling?”
His words were clear, but his voice was faint. I switched the phone to my other ear.
“Frank? Can you speak up?”
He chuckled. “Not really. Listen, I'm probably breaking all sorts of rules by using this phone in the first place. They didn't want me to have contact with anyone until I'd been debriefed, whatever that means.”
“I hope they don't wipe your memory again.”
There was a pause. “What do you mean, again?”
“We had another... incident at the library last week. You didn't turn into a flamingo that time, but you did get knocked unconscious after becoming acquainted with a magical creature—a bookwyrm.”
His voice pitched up high. “Is that what that critter was? A bookwyrm?” He chuckled on the other end of the call. “I thought that wormy dude was a particularly vivid and specific fever dream from when I had the twenty-four-hour flu.” I heard the breeze of him sucking in a breath of realization. “Which wasn't the flu, after all,” he said. “Everything's falling into place. I wonder, did you and your aunt drug me and turn me into a helium balloon?”
I cleared my throat. “So, they didn't permanently wipe your memory.”
He made a tsk-tsk sound. “You've been keeping secrets from me, but now—” There was a muffled rustling, like a hand being put over a phone receiver.
“Frank? What's going on there?”
He returned, his voice softer. “We're going to talk, you and I, but not now. Dr. Bob stepped out for a minute to get my booster shots and a cup of chai tea to calm my nerves, so I grabbed this official-looking phone and dialed nine. I got an outside line, and you were the first person I called.”
“I'm touched,” I said, and I meant it. “Frank, did you know you were a shifter?”
His voice got even quieter. “He's coming back. How about we meet at my place tomorrow, an hour before work? I'm in the Candy Factory, third floor.”
There was a clatter over the phone line, and then the call ended.
* * *
After the phone call from Frank, I circled the kitchen, wringing my hands while I used my magic to dust the tops of the cabinets. As far as nervous habits went, at least it made the house cleaner.
I wondered, what were they doing to Frank at the DWM? Why would they be giving him booster shots? And what kind of doctor called himself Dr. Bob? It sounded like the name you'd give a puppet on a children's TV show.
I hoped that Zoey was right about Frank's ability to adapt. He truly was a person who knew exactly who he was, so maybe he'd be fine. And I'd see him in the morning. I could do myself a favor and not worry about Frank until I saw the whites of his eyes.
I absently played with the wire-and-sea-glass bracelet on my wrist. I had other things to worry about, such as locating Chet's fiancée.
And what if I did reach her spirit? Chloe hadn't shared with me the details of what had happened to Chessa, or her specific state. Was it really a coma, or a vegetative state, or a minimally conscious state? If the DWM was as well equipped as I suspected it was, had they run CT scans, MRI, and EEG? Or, given her supernatural genetics, did any of the traditional medical tests even matter?
She'd been gone for a year now. You hear stories about people waking up after a dozen years, but it's exceedingly rare. I didn't need a medical degree to know the chances of her coming back were slim.
If I did start communicating with her spirit, wouldn't I just be delivering bad news? She could ask them to pull the plug. Let her go. And then Chet would be free to move on. Just... move right on with his life. Chet would be free to date other people, such as a certain redheaded neighbor.
I hung my head forward guiltily. It was rude of me to think about the woman's fiancé that way while her body was still warm—assuming gorgon bodies were warm blooded. And not just rude, but dangerous. Spirits could harm me. The ghost of Winona Vander Zalm had nearly electrocuted me, and she wasn't even angry with me. If Chessa's spirit did suddenly turn up inside my head, I didn't want it to be while I was thinking about her man.
I pushed Chet from my mind, cleaned up the dinner dishes, and settled on the couch to do some reading.
My book of choice was about myth-based fairy tales. The title came from a set of ancient-looking books I'd picked up secondhand. My aunt had seen them and noted that they were good titles, “more accurate and not as sanitized as most books about mythical creatures.” They certainly were gloriously uncensored, right down to the woodcut illustrations depicting gruesome torture. After I saw how many people were killed by being rolled down hills in barrels lined with spikes, I'd never thought of fairy tales the same way again. Or barrels.
I leafed through to the section on gorgons. The book included several variations on the tales surrounding the monsters. Most legends agreed that the gorgons were descendants of a sea monster. Chloe had claimed a lineage to gods, not monsters, but in mythology these were often one and the same. I continued reading. While the women might have started life as regular humans, they were transformed by an act of violence suffered by one of the sisters. That part certainly sounded familiar. In the stories, the three women had different powers, and were sometimes described as having hands of brass, or as being giant
, scaled beasts with wings.
Were they dragons? I scanned the pages. A giant, scaled beast with wings certainly sounded like a dragon to me, but there was no mention of the D-word in relation to the gorgons. I scanned the gory illustrations, trying to find a reference point for their size when in winged form. This flying thing was certainly noteworthy, considering my history. I rubbed my temples as memories of the attack in the wood came back to me. The monster who'd ripped Chet's wolf hide to shreds had beaten the air with powerful wings. Dragon wings? I could feel the wind on my face. Unfortunately, I couldn't step into the memory long enough to see if our attacker's wings were made of feathers or dragon scales.
I shut the book, set it aside, and rubbed my temples some more.
What was I forgetting? The sun's fading rays lit up the dust motes floating in the air. I had forgotten to wax my wooden furniture, but that wasn't it, as I'd forgotten to wax furniture for at least a decade. I got a sudden urge to write in a diary, of all things. Was that the thing I was trying to remember? I hadn't kept a journal since my exhibitionist days back when I was Zara the Camgirl, broadcasting my home life for all of the Internet, including Chet Moore.
Chet.
My mind cleared.
The beach.
The ocean.
Blue water sparkled in my mind, melting away my weariness and bringing clarity. I remembered my promise to my daughter.
I called up to Zoey, “If we want to catch the sunset, we should be going soon!”
She came running down the stairs, ready to go.
I stretched as I rose from the couch, and spontaneously struck a yoga pose, followed by a ballet pose. I was feeling whimsical and free.
Zoey looked at the mythic fairy tales book on the coffee table and then at me. “Should I be keeping an eye on you, for signs that a gorgon in a coma has taken over your body?”
“You should definitely watch my hair for snakes.” I broke from the pose and patted my sometimes-unruly red locks.
“Sure,” she said, and she led me to the door.
We went outside, where the temperature was mild, and the sky was already turning lavender. I wasn't sure which direction was the best way to get to the beach, because I hadn't yet walked there directly from the house, so I let her continue leading the way.
3-Book Series Bundle: Wisteria Witches, Wicked Wisteria, Wisteria Wonders - Cozy Witch Mysteries Page 51