Too late. The day had been long and full of cardboard boxes and whining—some of it mine—but we'd survived. Our new life awaited. Nobody, and I mean nobody, was going to stand in our way, especially not an ill-behaved child.
I muttered a few more choice words, turned on my heel, and marched straight out the front door into the twilight of the spring evening. The sweet scent of the wisteria blossoms on the porch hit me like a potion. I fantasized about grabbing the kid and holding him upside down over a bubbling cauldron. The air seemed to crackle with blue sparks around me.
I marched over to the door of the Moore residence. My daughter ran along right behind me. My hair was a mess, I was wearing the only other clothes I'd unpacked so far—a weird black dress I used as a nightshirt—and I clutched in one hand the straw-bristled broom I'd been using to clean up the mess. As I banged on the door of Chet's house, I couldn't have looked more like a mad witch if I'd tried.
Chapter 3
With the broom in one hand, I used the other to bang on the neighbor's door.
To make it wildly clear I meant business, I yelled, “Open this door right now! I know you're in there!”
Zoey tugged on my arm. “Mom, it was just smelly soap and a potted plant.”
Through clenched teeth, I replied tersely, “That lovely fern was a symbol. A gesture of welcoming.”
“We should get some food into you,” she said sagely. “What's gotten into you today? Are you so hungry it's turned into hangry?”
With effort, I unclenched my teeth. Something had gotten into me. I felt a bit like something huge and terrifying, with big, scary tentacles, was trying to jump out of me and swallow everything into a gaping chasm of a hellmouth. If that was hangry, then maybe I was.
She glanced at the door. “We can deal with him another time.”
“Don't be so sure of that. If we don't nip this problem in the bud, one day we'll be the ones smashed to pieces at the hands of that sociopath.”
She smirked. “He's just a little boy.”
My daughter was right, but my pulse was still racing. “Sure, he's just a little boy now. But before they grew up, so were all of history's worst dictators.”
The door creaked open. A man said, “Are you comparing my sweet boy to Hitler and Stalin?”
“Yes, I am. Your sweet boy snuck into my new house and smashed…” I trailed off and blinked at the man standing in the doorway. I'd been expecting someone handsome with green eyes, and while this guy fit the description, he was also well into his grandfather years.
“You're not Chet,” I said.
The older man pinched the wrinkle of skin on the bridge of his nose. “What's Chet done now?”
“Not Chet. It was a little boy.” I held my hand four feet above the porch's floor. “About this high. Dressed in black, like a ninja, with dark hair falling over his forehead. He was inside my house less than five minutes ago, smashing things and making both of us feel generally unwelcome.”
The man dropped his hand from his face and gave me a curious look. “Are you two the chumps who bought the old Vander Zalm house?”
Zoey chose this moment to speak up. “Hey! Who are you calling chumps?”
“That's us,” I said with a forced smile. “But this one is a minor dependent. I'm the one who's on the hook for the mortgage, so that makes me the chump.”
The man said, “Whatever you paid, it was too much.”
And then he slammed the door shut between us.
Zoey gave me her told-you-so look.
I gave her my don't-make-things-worse-for-your-mother look.
I knocked on the door again. This time nobody answered, which was probably for the best, since I was still clutching the broom and thinking about hitting people with it.
The curtains on the window next to the door twitched, and a pale, round face appeared. The little boy had his eyes crossed and his tongue sticking out.
Zoey clenched her hands into fists and shook one at him. “You creepy little brat. You don't scare us.”
The boy responded by jamming a finger up one nostril and using his other hand to make a rude gesture.
I smacked the glass with the broom and made a scary face right back at him. His eyes widened, and he ran away from the window.
Zoey said, “Good job, Mom. Now, let's dial your crazy down and go home to our delicious... chopped salad.”
As we stepped off the porch, I said, “Forget the salad. I'm having fantasies about turning day to eternal night and consuming entire cities. Is that normal, or am I so far beyond hangry that I'm in some new, universe-destroying state of mind?”
“We wouldn't want to cause an apocalypse,” she said wisely. “To be safe, we should order pizza.”
“But we don't know which place in Wisteria has the best pizza. We know nothing about this town, except that they have a ridiculously well-stocked zoo for a population of this size.”
We climbed the steps to our own porch and both stopped for a moment to admire the dangling wisteria blossoms. Zoey stood up on her tiptoes and gave them a sniff.
She asked, “What's up with the zoo, anyway? I mean, it's not big enough to be world famous, but it does seem awfully large. And parts of it are blurred out on the aerial view maps on the internet. Actually, entire sections of the town are blurred out.”
I put my free hand on my hip and stared into the round face and hazel eyes that were a mirror of mine. “You got me,” I said with a smile. “This town is part of a huge conspiracy, and there are top-secret organizations here, running underground research facilities, doing science experiments, and manipulating the space-time continuum.”
“Figures,” she said. “But with all that going on, there should be plenty of amazing takeout options.” She quirked an eyebrow. “Mad scientists don't have time to cook dinner.”
“You're pretty wise for someone who's only sixteen minus a day. That must be why people are always telling me you have an old soul.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I don't like people talking about the age of my soul.”
My stomach made a very loud growl. “That's ominous,” I said.
She gave the pale-purple wisteria strung across the front of the porch one more sniff before turning and opening our front door.
“Come on,” she said. “Let's order pizza before your stomach brings on the End of Days.”
“Don't worry about my stomach,” I joked. “It's the sanity-shredding tentacles you have to look out for.” I paused at the threshold. “Speaking of losing all grip on reality and succumbing to despair, I don't know which box we packed the TV remote in, so we'll have to unpack all of them.”
“That was a dirty trick,” she said.
“The dirtiest of all, because I unwittingly played it on myself.”
We went inside, where we rejoiced in the miracle of finding an unsecured wireless network somewhere along the street. Our own internet would be hooked up on Monday, but in the meantime, we were in business.
We each took one side of our comfy sofa and ordered the pizza.
After a few minutes, I said, “If you're going to the kitchen anyway, I could use a cup of tea.”
She gave me a playful scowl, but she did get up and make us two mugs of tea with honey to keep my stomach grumblings from deafening us before the pizza arrived.
As I was reaching for my tea, I bumped the spoon, which clattered to the floor.
Without looking up, Zoey said, “Company's coming for dinner.”
“You think? Are you psychic now?”
“You dropped a spoon. That's an omen. I was reading all about these things on that website about witchcraft. Dropping a spoon means we'll get a visitor.” She rubbed her temples and closed her eyes. “A dark, mysterious visitor who brings foreboding.”
“You mean the pizza delivery guy? He'd better not bring any foreboding. I specifically asked for pizza only.”
Her eyes flashed open suddenly, and for an instant they weren't hazel. Both irises were as black as the
wing of a raven. “Wicked,” she said with a guttural smack. “Wicked.”
“Wicked? Zoey, what are you talking about?”
She blinked, and her eyes were hazel again. “Huh?”
I started to explain to her what she'd done but stopped myself. The black eyes had to have been a trick of the light or a symptom of her exhaustion. It had been a long day for both of us. Even so, I sipped my tea and kept one eye on the front door, uneasily awaiting the unnamed visitor.
Chapter 4
The doorbell chimed.
“Doorbell,” I said.
My daughter raised her eyebrow at me. “And?”
“We talked about this. Now that we have the pleasure of owning a doorbell and a front door, it's your job to answer it.”
“Okay,” she said amiably. She jumped up from the couch, raced to the door, and flung it open. I followed behind her, opening my wallet.
We found a skinny twenty-something girl holding our pizza. Standing behind her was our new neighbor, Chet Moore, gripping a small, dark-haired boy by the collar.
Zoey leaned to the side to look around the delivery girl and glared at the big-eyed boy. She spoke with an accusatory hiss. “You dare darken our doorway, pestilence?”
The boy stuck out his tongue.
Zoey jerked forward, reaching for his tongue, but he recoiled quickly.
“Too slow,” he taunted. “And I'm not pestilence. That's what you are. I was here first.”
I grabbed Zoey by the shoulder and hauled her back.
“Kids,” I said to Chet. “Every day is like a trip to the zoo with no admission fee.”
Chet nodded and gave the boy, who looked about ten years old, a stern look.
The pizza delivery girl cleared her throat. I paid her for the pizza plus a tip. As she left, I realized I'd never had a meal delivered by a female before. Things were different here in Wisteria. Safer, it seemed.
The neighbors were still standing on the porch. I waved for them to join us inside. “Come in and partake of pizza delights. The internet says this is the best kind in town, but we need an expert's opinion.”
“We don't want to impose,” Chet said. “Grampa Don told me what happened today. I only brought Corvin by to apologize.”
The boy—Corvin—squirmed like a fish on a hook. “Sorry,” he croaked.
“Corvin's very sorry,” Chet said. “I'll pay for the damage to whatever he broke. How much?”
“Don't worry about the money,” I said. “But I do love a good heartfelt apology. I'll accept your apology if you come inside and join us. It's just pizza, plus we're having lime cordial in martini glasses because that's all the glassware we've unpacked so far.”
The little boy jerked away from Chet's grip on his collar. He flew into the house like an opportunistic housefly on the first day of spring, followed by Zoey with the pizza.
As they neared the dining room, I heard Zoey say, “Corvin? That's such an interesting name. It means raven.”
“I know that,” spat the boy. “I'm not a dummy. I'm a genius. I'm smarter than you. I'm smarter than everyone.”
“You think you're smarter than me?” Zoey laughed and started quizzing him. “How big is the moon in relation to the earth?”
“Twenty-seven percent.”
“That's a bit high, Corvin.”
“Dummy! You didn't specify,” he said. “By diameter, the moon is twenty-seven percent compared to Earth, but by volume it's two percent.”
“Very good. Here, have some pizza.” A few seconds passed. “Hey! Leave some for the rest of us.”
While the two kids quizzed each other and fought over the pizza in the dining room, I smiled sweetly at Chet. We stood near the front door, where he was examining the carved wood table we'd positioned in the hallway to receive keys and mail. He nodded appreciatively at the dovetail joints visible inside the drawers. He had an eye for detail and craftsmanship.
“Your son is a clever boy,” I said.
“Corvin? He doesn't get it from me.”
“What does your wife do?”
“Nothing,” he said.
“Lucky lady,” I said with a laugh.
“She's dead.” He quickly added, “No need to apologize. It was many years ago, before I moved in next door with my father. Don was supposed to help me raise Corvin to be a well-adjusted and perfectly normal boy. As you can see, that didn't exactly work out as planned.”
“Boys are tough,” I said. “So are girls, but I got lucky. People say Zoey has an old soul.”
Chet finished examining the entry table and glanced down the hall toward the den. “May I? It's been a while since I've been inside this house.”
“Be my guest.”
He led the way to the den, where he frowned at the dirt and mess on the floor. I apologized for the disaster and started using the broom and dustpan to clean it up.
“Don't apologize.” He knelt near my feet and gathered stray pottery from the corners of the room. “You're not the one who did this.”
“To be fair, we didn't see your son break these things. We only saw him running away from the house.”
“Corvin's supposed to be out of his destructive phase,” Chet said. “He's relapsed. The therapist says I need to be firm but not overreact. How's a parent supposed to do that? We've been trying to come up with a fair punishment, but he keeps lying. He says it wasn't him. He says a ghost knocked over your welcome gifts.”
“Ask him how he'd know about this so-called ghost if he wasn't inside the house. You can't see into this room from your place.”
Chet went to the window and sighed as he leaned on the windowsill.
“Corvin isn't like other kids,” he said.
“What's wrong with him?”
“Wrong?” He turned to face me, his green eyes blazing under thick, dark eyebrows. “I try to focus on what's right with him. He's still a person.”
“I've offended you,” I said. “I'm very sorry.”
His expression softened. “No. Don't be. We came here to apologize to you, and you're not wrong about Corvin. He's not normal.”
I grabbed his arm playfully. “Honey, there's something wrong with all of us, and thank the stars, because it'd be a dull world if we weren't all a bit bent.”
He looked down at my hand on his arm as though he'd never seen a hand before. Was he one of those people with an aversion to being touched? Earlier in the day, when we'd been shaking hands, he had yanked his away suddenly. What would happen if I kept holding his arm? I got the funniest image in my head of him turning to stone.
I studied his face while he stared at my hand. He had long, thick, dark eyelashes. His cheeks were smooth, shaved that day, even though it was the weekend. His internet handle had been Chet Twenty-one. Did I remember anything at all about him from my days of internet fame? Nothing came to me, yet I couldn't shake the sensation we knew each other really well. We had history, whether I understood it or not. He cleared his throat and gently pulled his arm from my grasp.
“We should check on our kids,” he said, his voice thick and gravelly.
I cocked my head. “I hear laughter. That's a good sign. You only have to worry when they're quiet.”
“Corvin is very quiet.”
“Maybe they'll become friends. Zoey always wanted a little brother, but as time went on and I got used to being on my own, that became unlikely. Not impossible, because everything works fine down there—better than fine—but you know what it's like being a busy single parent.”
He seemed amused by my over-sharing. He licked his lips and said, “Zara Riddle, formerly Zara the Camgirl, I'd be shocked by you discussing your plumbing with a man you just met, but I feel like I know you. It's the strangest feeling. Do you know what I mean?”
“It's not really that strange,” I said. “I was famous on the internet for about fifteen minutes, plus you watched me on my webcams and read my journal entries.”
He shook his head. “Life is funny. I can't believe I live next doo
r to Zara the Camgirl. You were all the way across the country then. You're a long way from home.”
“I got a great job offer out of the blue and decided to make a leap of faith.”
“To Wisteria,” he said, chuckling. “That's a big leap of faith.”
I grinned at him. “Too late! You guys are stuck with me now. For better or for worse.”
He finished, “Til death do us part.”
“Speaking of which, while we were waiting for our pizza to arrive, I dug up a little information about the previous owner of this house. It's probably stuff you already know.”
“Try me.” He flashed a flirty smile. Who was the Turbo-flirter now? Chet Moore. That's who.
I started spouting my research. “Winona Vander Zalm was a wacky diva socialite who showed up at parties for just about anything. You could open a sandwich shop and she'd be there helping to cut the ribbon. I found photos of her at every event in Wisteria since people started posting on the internet. She was stunning for her age.”
“Ms. Vander Zalm was a very dynamic woman.”
“How did she die?” I waited with breathless anticipation. Was it right here in this house?
The den filled with a buzzing sound. The lighting brightened. The room got icy cold.
From out of nowhere, I remembered a line I'd memorized for a high school production of Macbeth. By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes.
The den got brighter and colder.
Chet looked into my eyes. “Are you doing this?”
And then, with a sizzling pop, the two sconce lamps on either side of the fireplace flashed and burned out.
Chapter 5
Chet quickly decided the burned-out bulbs came courtesy of a problem with the electrical circuits and left to check on the panel.
A few minutes after leaving me in the dark den, he returned to find me sweeping the broken plant and dirt into a garbage bag. It wasn't the easiest task to do one handed while holding a flashlight.
“Your electrical looks safe enough,” he reported back.
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