Ghost Garages_A Boston Technowitch Novel

by Erin M. Hartshorn

  I worried about what else Haris might have learned either of the times I had been loaned power. Did Haris know of Gavin and Tina, wonder why I didn't talk about them? I thought about the feelings that had overwhelmed me — warmth, creativity, joy — and pushed deeper, past the emotions that tasted of Haris.

  I felt his reaction to my lust. I would have been embarrassed if I hadn't made it even more obvious I felt that way. I felt her own rising excitement at my kiss, her wish that it was taking place under other circumstances. Beyond that, beside physical yearning? Words in Greek, only a few of which I knew. Blue water and white sand — Aegean or Mediterranean? A woman with long hair, down to her knees, her voice raised, and when she turned around, her eyes so like Haris’s.

  “You have a sister?”

  Her lips twisted wryly. “Two-way street, huh? She's why I ended up in New England, but I haven't found her yet.” She hugged her knees. “More than one sister. Some brothers, too, and at least a couple more like me. Kalli — one of my sisters — is the closest in age to me, though, and we always turn to each other for help.”

  She fell silent, and after a minute, I decided that was all she was going to say about her sister. I wanted to know more, but if I wasn't going to tell her about my family, I couldn't blame her for not talking about hers.

  After a moment, Haris said, “You changed the subject. I'm not going to forget you're in danger.”

  “Neither am I.” I pulled my knees to my chest, more or less mirroring her pose. I couldn't hold her, but it made me feel closer to her. “I thought the anger and hate were simply the nature of the witch’s patron, but they're not. It's personal, and I don't know who or why. What could I have done to turn someone into a serial killer?”

  Haris lifted one hand toward me, then let it drop without touching. “Some people are unhinged. Nothing you can do to change them.”

  “I suppose.” Neither of us mentioned that I'd have to do something to change this witch, something to stop the deaths and pain, or they would continue until I died. Right now, I'd stick to loosing the bonds I could beat. There was nothing else I could do until I learned who was behind this insanity.

  Maybe by the time I did that, I'd know how to deal with them.

  Chapter 29

  Dad opened the door while I was still coming up the walk. “Driving? I thought you hated Boston traffic.”

  “Anybody with any sense hates Boston traffic. I plan to stop at the nursery down the hill on the way home, pick up some greenery for the coffee shop. Maybe a small one for home, too.”

  “You get that from your mother.” He held the door for me to enter, then tugged the screen door closed behind me, leaving the sunlight streaming in. “I'd turn the yard into a desert if it were left to me.”

  A fabrication, but it was true that the cascading wall of plants inside was Mom’s pride and joy — a slip of plant brought back from every trip she'd ever been sent on. I have no idea how she got them through Customs, but she did. She knew the name of each plant, where it had come from, and what she had been doing there.

  I made it a point not to remember which of my special occasions at school she had missed to gather the different plants.

  “—was telling my boss the other day.” Mom’s voice floated through from the sunroom out back, and I shot Dad a quizzical look. There hadn't been any other cars parked out front.

  He shrugged apologetically and motioned toward the back of the house.

  I stopped short in the doorway; Mom had invited Jason — boy next door, broker, man she really wanted to set me up with — over for brunch. I exhaled slowly, willing myself not to turn around and leave the house.

  Behind me, Dad cleared his throat.

  Mom turned gracefully. “There you are, Pepper! You remember Jason, of course?”

  My smile was as false as hers. “Of course. What a shame Beth couldn't be with us this weekend. She found your monologue so charming last time.”

  Okay, so I shouldn't have said he was monologuing. Only villains get caught monologuing. On the other hand, anyone who spends twenty minutes explaining what a shift in conjunctions for a federal regulation meant to his biggest client? Yes, they're monologuing.

  Judging by the quick flush on Jason’s neck, he knew it, too. However, he pretended politeness with as much success as I had. “Remind me — was that the time you knocked over the water pitcher, or when you stepped on everyone's toes?”

  “I couldn't say.” Actually, it was the time I spilled the salt shaker onto his sandwich, but I wasn't about to admit it. “You're looking well. Brokerage life must suit you.”

  “I suppose it does. I've been saying for three years I'm going to move on to greener pastures, but I never have. And you? Still pouring coffee?”

  “Among other things. I just supervised the new look for the coffee shop — I'd show you pictures, but my phone got fried yesterday.”

  “And you haven't replaced it already? Oh, my.” Dad pulled his own phone out of his pocket. “Did you put up pictures on the coffee shop site? Oh, you did! That's amazing. Here, Lexy, look—”

  Mom gave an exaggerated sigh but took the phone and gave it a perfunctory glance. Rather than handing it back, though, she took a second longer look, stopping to scroll through the different views. After a minute, realizing that Jason was craning his neck to see, she passed the phone to him.

  When she spoke, though, her words were a classic left-handed compliment. “You found some first-rate artists there. Only imagine what it would mean if their work was somewhere people would see it.”

  I was saved from answering by the front door opening followed immediately by the voices of my aunts.

  “Did you invite someone new this week? I was quite surprised to see a car in front of your house.”

  “Not as surprised as I was. Did you see the crayons and toys spilled all over the back seat?”

  Yes, my aunts had arrived, and my joy was complete.

  I pitched my voice so they'd hear me. “I think Gavin's trying to make another large multicolored crayon. Benjamin told him it was okay so long as he didn't take any pots from the restaurant.”

  A flash of amusement crossed Dad’s face, but it was gone before my aunts reached the sunroom.

  “And where is the delightful scamp? Are he and his sister with their father again?”

  “Really, Pepper. One brunch a month with family isn't too much to ask, but no, it's once every two or three.”

  I moved to hug my aunts. The older one, Aunt Ti, sounded strident, but her magic always felt like a deep, clear pool, the calm at the center of her busyness. By contrast, Aunt Rena always gave me prickles, as if her magic was trying to break through and would the instant she stopped paying attention. Today, both of them felt more turbulent than usual, and I rubbed my arms surreptitiously.

  Aunt Ti peered over my head. “What’s that you’re looking at? Some new viral video?”

  Jason didn’t seem to want to answer, but Dad plucked the phone from his hand and offered it to my aunts. “The website for Pepper’s work. I think I’m going to drop by just to see the art in person.”

  I rolled my eyes. I couldn’t help it. “If you do, can you please show up some time when I’m not there?”

  “Why? Are you afraid I’m going to embarrass you?”

  “Why be afraid of something that’s a foregone conclusion?”

  “It’s lovely work, dear,” Aunt Rena said, “but when are you going to get a serious job?”

  “Like my mom, you mean? Or like you?” I thought we’d abandoned this fight years ago, since we both knew we’d never convince the other.

  “You had such a promising college career. What happened?”

  “I decided I had other priorities.” I turned to look at Mom. “If the food’s not ready yet, I’m just going to nip up to my old room. There are a couple of boxes I want to take with me.”

  She waved a hand nonchalantly, but her lips tightened. She wasn’t happy I was walking away from this conv
ersation. Had she put her sister up to it? “Jason, why don’t you go with her and help her carry?”

  “No, thank you. Pretty sure the boxes should be light compared to those fifty-pound bags of coffee beans I have to lug around.” I was exaggerating. We did buy large amounts of the coffee beans, but Rich was usually the one who took delivery, and we only took out what we needed for a pot at a time.

  Jason looked nervous, though, which was what I wanted. If Mom did insist on him tagging along, he wouldn’t be as stupid as he had been when he tripped me in class.

  Without waiting for further discussion, I headed upstairs. No footsteps followed me. Just as well — if I pushed Jason down the stairs and got blood all over Mom’s wainscoting, she’d never forgive me. I’d probably do it anyway.

  I hesitated at the door of my room. Had Mom kept it just as it was the day I left or turned it into a storage room for white elephant gifts? I was a little afraid to find out, but whichever it was, it was probably my fault for not looking in on it sooner. I turned the handle.

  It was still my room, mostly. The antique brass bed I’d had since I was a girl — the one I’d left behind in favor of the lightweight fiberboard veneer furniture from the local discount furniture store — had been moved from the corner to the center of the left-hand wall, and now it was flanked by tables to either side. The only knickknack on the dresser was a framed photo of me at graduation. I hadn’t even known Mom had taken one. Everything else, as usual, was hidden in the closet or under the bed.

  At least it was in boxes now.

  It had been so much easier to find things before I moved out. Sure, everything had been in piles, or shoved into open containers, but I knew where everything was. Now? I sat on the floor, surrounded by boxes with labels like “Freshman year” and “I should have known better,” trying to decide whether I really wanted to look through the fashion mistakes of my college years.

  I just wanted to find papers and books! How hard could that be?

  Sighing, I pulled over another box. It was too light to have books in it, but the label was in my mom’s indecipherable handwriting, giving me no clue of what to expect. I shook it, but only heard light rasping noises of something shifting. Fine. I punched at the tape seam on top. It took two hits before it parted enough for me to tug on one side.

  I was rewarded with a shower of packing peanuts.

  A hand thrust into the box encountered nothing but more peanuts — nothing fragile and delicate tucked away for safe-keeping, just a box of packing material that Mom thought might get reused someday. I shoved the box away and brushed the peanuts off. I'd clean them up before I left. Otherwise, Mom would be certain to mention it the next time we spoke.

  More boxes on the closet shelf — my high school prom shoes, really? I shoved the empty hangers to one side so I could stop hitting my head on them as I continued looking through the boxes.

  The back wall of the closet yielded pay dirt — box after box labeled “Misc. notes,” “Books,” and “From M.” Those last were what I was after. Which is why they were on the bottom of the pile, no doubt. I began to lug the other boxes out, one at a time, inverting the pile from the closet. I had just reached the first of the Maggie boxes when the door to the room opened.

  “That was unconscionably rude, even for you.”

  “If you think so, you have paid absolutely no attention over the past three decades. Jason and I are not friends, have never been friends, and will never be friends.” Something wasn't right here, but I didn't care. My anger at her flowed beneath my skin, hot and righteous, and I could feel it sparking off me in waves. “You remember when you were off on a trip when I was in sixth grade and you came back and found my arm in a sling? That was Jason. I could give you other examples, but I shouldn't need to.”

  “Pepper—”

  “No, Mom. You don't get to interrupt or say we’re all adults now. I could never trust him not stab me in the back at work, and I'd turn into a regular bitch waiting for it. I'm not going to work with him, and I'm not going to be friends with him. Let me know the next time you're inviting him over, so I can skip the trip.”

  It felt so good, cathartic, to have finally told her how I felt about Jason. It left me feeling washed clean, like a tropical ocean breeze I could almost smell.

  “If you're quite finished with your temper tantrum, you can come downstairs and apologize. You will treat my guests with politeness and respect.” Sparks shot from her eyes, but I didn't care — sparks were second nature to me. So what if someone else could make them?

  “You want me to give him something you're not willing to give me. Thanks, Mom, for letting me know exactly where I stand with you. I'll take my boxes and go.” I reached for the first box, then turned back to her. “Beth asked me to give you her apologies for missing brunch today and tell you she'll definitely be here next month. If she is, she'll be by herself.”

  She grabbed my arm, and I froze in shock. Her touch was clammy, a feeling I knew only too well.

  But how? I had bound the ghost yesterday, as soon as it had been cut free. For one to be in my mother, it had to have been set free by someone else. The witch? Possibly. Probably. I was the target, and what better way to strike at me?

  Now here I was, no knickknacks, nothing handy to shove this ghost into but a box of packing peanuts. They didn't strike me as sturdy enough for this kind of duty.

  I tried to pull free to give myself time and space to think, but her grip was viselike, much as mine had been with Carlos. Was it going to try to move from my mother to me? I yanked again, but only managed to bang into the hangers that weren't quite far enough away.

  Wait — those were certainly sturdier than the peanuts and even, like the keychain, had a makeshift circle going on. Okay, it was more of a triangle than a circle, but the point was that it was a ring, a bounded surface. I thrust my free arm out as if for balance and swung it into the hangers, grabbing the closest one.

  I didn't have time to prepare, nothing else to draw on. I reached into my core for the memory of heat and lightning, the volcano my magic had been yesterday, bolstered by Haris, then used that to tug the ghost toward me, through me, and into the hanger.

  I breathed. It was done, and a low current of edginess that I hadn’t even been aware of was gone. Had a subliminal current from the ghost been pushing me to argue more than usual with my family?

  My mom blinked. “Pepper? What was that?”

  “We can talk about it later, Mom. Why don't we go downstairs and have a nice cup of tea? I brought a new brew with me you might like.” After what we’d just done, we could both use it.

  “All right. And I won't insist on an apology for Jason.” Humor lurked at the corners of her lips, and I smiled back, relieved. That, at least, was one less problem I had to deal with.

  Chapter 30

  The rest of brunch went smoothly in comparison. I even managed to be polite to Jason, although I still didn’t accept his help taking the boxes down to the car. Would he have dropped one of them and let it split open? Probably not, but why take the chance?

  By midafternoon, I was on my way, with hugs almost all the way around and promises from everyone to come visit the coffee shop and send everyone they knew — despite me telling them that wasn’t necessary, we had plenty of customers already. I even remembered to stop at the nursery at the bottom of the hill, where I picked up honeysuckle and hibiscus shrubs, carefully trimmed, for the coffee shop, and another honeysuckle for home.

  “You know it’s not really a houseplant,” the guy at the nursery told me as I selected decorative pots and wheeled bases so the shrubs would be more readily portable. “Honeysuckles can grow dozens of feet a year.”

  “I’ll manage.” Especially since regular trimming meant more tea for me. This should work out well all around.

  “If you have any questions, scan the QR code on the plant tags to visit our website.” He looked at me skeptically. “You do know how to do that, right?”

  I could a
lso just type in the website address, also prominently displayed on the tags, but I didn’t bother pointing that out to him. He was just doing his job and thought I was a clueless customer. At least he wasn’t simmering with anger and hate.

  Besides, his comment about scanning the codes reminded me that I did still need to pick up a replacement phone. I was pretty sure my carrier had a shop in the strip mall down the way, so I could do that before swinging by the coffee shop to deliver the plants.

  The remains of my phone were in the glove compartment. When I walked into the store with it in my hands, the pimply guy standing right inside the door frowned at the cracked screen. “We don’t service phones here. We just sell them.”

  “Then you’re in luck, since I want to replace this one. Unless you’d rather I go to a different store, so you don’t get your commission?”

  I get tired of salespeople talking down to me — and it’s always the guys. A couple years back, one of them tried to convince me that upgrading my data plan so I was paying forty dollars a month would save me money over two years because the phone would be free. That’s right — the two hundred dollar phone would be free if I spent an extra four hundred and eighty dollars. I asked him if he’d failed math in high school.

  I’m not welcome at that store any more.

  This salesman was marginally more intelligent. “Give me your number, and I’ll look up your account. You may be eligible for an upgrade.”

  I gave it to him, which led to the usual song and dance about which phones I could get and was I sure I didn’t want to go for a better plan?

  “You can see my usage data in there. Does it look like I need to change?”

  Reluctantly, he shook his head. If anything, I could downgrade, but I liked having the extra cushion in case of emergencies. Or making calls from places without cell tower coverage, which I inexplicably still got charged for, usually at twice the number of minutes I’d actually used.