I lost track of time because time was meaningless. All that mattered was the pleasure of good company and fine food. As soon as my daughter and my aunt finished their plates, I jumped into action, pushing more bites and nibbles their way despite their protests.
Zoey kept digging into history, trying to unearth the reason for Zinnia's absence from our family.
“Just give me a hint,” Zoey pleaded. “I need to know what got you upset, so it doesn't happen again.”
“I can assure you it won't happen again,” Zinnia said to her. To me, she said, “Don't you dare put another rib on my plate or I will forget my manners and stab you with my fork.”
Ignoring her threat, I shoved another rosemary-infused chunk onto her plate, along with a scoop of chickpea salad. I skillfully yanked my hands out of stabbing range.
Zoey whined, “But how can I believe you if I don't know what it was?”
“Because you're sixteen,” Zinnia said. She hiccupped from the wine and looked mortified for a second.
Zoey quietly stared at her aunt. What did her being sixteen have to do with anything? I didn't know any more than she did, but unlike her, I wasn't terribly concerned. I just wanted everyone to eat all the food I'd made. I snuck another rib of lamb onto both of their plates while they weren't looking.
“How was your birthday party?” Zinnia asked. “Did you receive anything unusual?”
Zoey answered, “I got some new sheets that are made out of bamboo. They're very soft.”
“What else? I'm not talking about physical objects.” Zinnia narrowed her eyes and watched Zoey intently.
Zoey frowned. “Do you mean a new kind of skill?”
“Yes, yes,” Zinnia said excitedly. “How did it manifest?”
“I got that when I was thirteen. The cramps were pretty bad at first, but now I take a pill when they start.”
Zinnia's face fell. She looked over at me. “No gift?”
“I'm not made of money,” I said defensively. “We went shopping, and I let her pick out a bunch of stuff for her room. What else am I supposed to do? Buy her a new car? I'm a working single mother.”
Zinnia shook her head. “Never mind. I thought perhaps she'd gotten one of the family gifts.”
“Like the lamp?” I asked. “Don't tell me there's a matching one out there.” I shuddered.
“Family gifts,” Zinnia repeated at a louder volume, which didn't help explain anything. “From the family.”
“Sometimes I get ringing in my ears,” I said. “Tinnitus. Do you mean something like that?”
Zinnia ignored me and turned back to Zoey. “Have you experienced anything unusual since your sixteenth birthday? Any strange sensations?”
“I'm a teenager living in a new town,” Zoey said. “My hormones are raging, one of my boobs is growing faster than the other, and I can't seem to study for five hours straight like I used to. One of my legs will fall asleep, or I'll become overwhelmed by an overpowering desire to check my social media accounts. Do you consider any of that strange?”
“Never mind,” Zinnia said.
I pushed my chair back and stood, shouting, “Toast!”
My daughter and my aunt stared at me blankly. What was I doing? I shrugged. I had no idea what I was doing, but I did shout, “We need toast!”
Zinnia picked up the empty wine bottle. “The wine's all gone, but we could still make a toast if you'd like. Do we have more cranberry juice for Zoey?”
“Toast!” I couldn't stop myself from saying it. I no longer had control of my body. “Toast!”
I turned and began to walk jerkily toward the kitchen. My body felt like it was attached to puppet strings. “Toast!”
Zoey and Zinnia followed after me.
“Is she drunk?” Zinnia asked.
“She might be sleeptoasting,” Zoey said. “It's her version of sleepwalking. She's been getting up in the middle of the night and making toast. Six nights in a row now. It's very strange.”
“Six nights?” Zinnia sounded both puzzled and excited. “I suppose it's possible,” she muttered. “Maybe your gift transferred to her.”
“What gift?” Zoey sounded frustrated. She tugged on my arm. “Mom! Stop being so weird! What are you doing?”
What was I doing? Just filling the sink with water. Hot, hot water. Nice and full.
Then I was plugging in the toaster. Pushing down the handle. Letting it get nice and hot.
I grabbed the red-glowing toaster with both hands and raised it high above my head.
I heard my daughter cry out, “Auntie Z, what's happening?”
She answered, “Witchcraft.”
Witchcraft?
Something in my head like a switch flipped over, and I plunged the hot toaster into the sink full of water.
Pain jolted through me. Someone screamed.
The blackness rose up, like black velvet waves of calm. In my mind, I saw a wall of darkness, writhing with scorpions, pulsing with a life that could not be.
I separated from myself. I soared up, away from the pain. I floated up into the night sky, where I admired the beauty of the twinkling lights. Then I caught a rising air current and soared over the town on wings of pink feathers.
Chapter 13
Pleasant dreams of pink feathers and flying through fluffy clouds dissipated.
My body felt heavy and rubbery, like a sack of raw, unbattered calamari.
I was awake. In a bed. In a dimly lit room that was, based on my bleary-eyed first impression, not my bedroom. Probably. I looked again. I'd been having this where-am-I feeling since the move, so I couldn't be sure. I was alone and under the covers but still wearing the clothes I'd been wearing earlier that evening. By the look of the dark window, it was nighttime. The room was softly lit by a bedside lamp with a floral-print shade. The lamp, which was a taller version of the one my aunt had brought as a housewarming gift, cast splotchy shadows all over the walls, which were covered in rose-bouquet wallpaper. Nope. Not my new bedroom.
Female voices floated in from the hallway. I tried to move, but my body made a cranky refusal. The rubbery calamari feeling in my bones changed to something brittle. I felt like I'd been taken apart and put together with staples and glue. And there was a smell in the room, or possibly inside my nostrils, like scorched peppermints.
Croakily, I called out, “Nurse? Hello?”
Zoey came running in, her pale cheeks glowing with rosy excitement. Clutched to her chest, she had a giant, leather-bound book—the sort of elaborate thing that looked like a prop from a movie about witchcraft.
Breathlessly, she said, “Mom, is that you?”
I groaned and peeked under the covers. “This body looks like mine, but we can't be too careful. Bring me a mirror.”
She flung herself onto the bed next to me. The corner of the ancient-looking book jabbed painfully into my ribs.
“Mom, you had us so worried! You were totally possessed!”
“So you took me to a bed and breakfast?” I looked around at my brightly patterned surroundings. Everything was covered in floral print, from the curtains to the bed linens. “Have I died and gone to heaven? Does heaven look like an overdecorated bed and breakfast? This is the sort of thing I'd expect in hell.” My words sank in. “Uh-oh. Am I in hell? Did I drink a bunch of Barberrian wine coolers and do something unbecoming of a lady?”
“Mom, stop talking. I have something important to tell you.”
I struggled to sit upright. “Did you find the freight train that ran me over?”
“You're a witch,” she said. The book continued to jab into my ribs. She repeated the words slowly for emphasis. “You're. A. Witch.”
“Now, now. You may be unhappy with me for drinking too much at dinner and embarrassing myself, but we don't call each other names.”
She sat up, shuffled to the edge of the bed, and opened the big book on her lap.
“Look,” she said, pointing at an inky page. “This is you.”
I finally hoisted m
yself upright. Stars swam in my head. I leaned over to look at the book. The pages were yellowed and covered in swirling cursive. Zoey pointed to a drawing that looked like something an ancient monk would have created by hand, back in the days before the printing press.
In the center of the page was a long-haired woman with her arms thrown high in the air. Around her floated swirls of text and beautiful, hand-drawn flowers. The look on her face was both serene and powerful. My pulse pounded in my head, but the pain in my body was all but gone.
Zoey poked at the page insistently. “Don't you see? That's you, inviting the spirit of Winona Vander Zalm to enter you.”
I looked closer. “Is that a lamb roast in a pan in the foreground? And is that my pink leather purse on a counter in the background? This really is me.”
“It sure is,” she said.
“Do my eyes look that maniacal in real life? Whoever drew this gave me some serious crazy eyes. Did you do this? How did you get it drawn so quickly?”
“This was drawn hundreds of years ago,” Zoey said in a deadpan voice.
I started to laugh. “Very funny. Was it a new friend at school? Someone with a gift for caricature?” I frowned at the image. “It must have been a hormonal teenaged boy. My boobs are not that big, and I don't wear plunging necklines open to my belly button.”
She sighed. “Yes, you do.”
“Only at Halloween or other costumed events.” I ran my finger across the drawing to see if the fresh ink would smudge. It didn't. “But your friend is really talented. Tell him I'll buy a print of this for our family Christmas cards.”
“Mom, this is a very old book. Someone foretold your powers hundreds of years ago.”
“Is this payback for me talking about the house being haunted? Okay, you've made your point. Your mother had too much wine and passed out, and you've concocted this elaborate prank to make her think she's crazy.” I used my foot to push her off the bed so I could get up. I got to my feet, swayed, and collapsed back onto the bed again.
Zinnia appeared at the doorway, holding a glass of water. “Zara, you should be resting now,” she said, her tone motherly and authoritative. “Drink some water and try to relax.”
I took the water and sucked it back. Wiping my mouth, I said, “I already relaxed a little too much. Sorry about the dinner party and whatever I did. Was I dancing on tables? My right butt cheek feels tender, and it only gets that way after dancing on tables or bowling, and I'm pretty sure I wasn't bowling last night.” I squinted up at my aunt. “Did we go bowling?”
“No,” she said.
“Well, I should get out of your house, anyway. This is your house, is it not?”
Zinnia nodded. “This is my house.”
“Give me a quick tour as I make my way out, since I don't remember the trip in. Let's talk again during daylight. We'll have a nice, daytime family reunion, and I'll only drink tea.”
Zinnia grabbed a wooden chair from the corner of the room and brought it over to the bed. She sat next to me, gently took my hand, and stroked it with her cool fingers. She did something with her other hand, a quick thing that looked like her fingers were dancing, and she made a sound that was halfway between a whistle and a hum.
“Be calm,” she said, and a wave of tranquility washed over me. My anxiousness to leave her guest room dissipated. There was nowhere else I needed to be, nowhere else I wanted to be. I could stay there forever. I would live out the rest of my days in that charming room, on that comfortable bed. Zoey stood at the foot of the bed, clutching the book, which was so large it made her look fourteen again.
Zinnia spoke soothingly. “Zara, we brought you to my house because I was afraid of what the ghost in your house would do next. After we left, I had an associate visit your house to do a sweep for spells and devices.”
I gave Zoey a dirty look. “You've got your great-aunt in on your ghost prank?”
“It's not a prank,” Zoey said. “Our house has a ghost, and you are a witch.”
“A ghost and a witch,” I mused. “Sounds legit.”
Zinnia frowned. “No need to be sarcastic.” She did a dancing movement with her hand again, and this time I felt her will being imposed on me. She wanted to suppress my sarcasm.
I steeled myself and fought. “If I'm a witch, what does that make you? A werewolf? No, don't tell me. You're a vampire.”
“I'm a witch, like you.”
“My mother always said you were a witch. What does that mean, exactly? I always thought it was a comment on your personality. Are you Wiccan or something?”
“No, I'm not Wiccan, though I respect their practices. I'm a witch. Just like you.”
I snorted.
Zinnia muttered something under her breath and moved both of her hands in a complicated gesture. The room filled with tiny sparkling lights and the scent of sweet, sugary cotton candy. The smell pleasantly pushed away the lingering burned peppermint in my sinuses.
I reached up for the floating sparks, grinning like a ding-dong. I'd never seen anything like it outside of movies. The dazzling color shifted from purple to blue to teal and back again. I could almost catch the little fireflies of light, but they buzzed out of reach, like the end of the rainbow. In unison, the sparks spiraled up toward the ceiling and began to spin.
“Are you doing this?” I asked with breathless wonder. “What's happening? Am I dreaming all of this?”
She held up one hand and whistled. The lights spun faster. My head couldn't take the sense of motion. I clutched the edge of the bed.
She whistled again, at a lower pitch. The lights dimmed and gradually extinguished. The scent of cotton candy was replaced with the scent of ashes.
Zoey squealed and clapped her hands. “I want to do that! Will you teach me?”
Zinnia beamed at my daughter and explained that she would teach her, all in good time. And then she cast the spell again, this time moving her dancing fingers slower, almost slow enough for me to catch the movements.
And as she cast the light show again for my daughter, something changed inside me.
The little spark of desire that I'd always carried, the desire for there to be more to the world than science and physics, grew hotter and brighter, like a fireplace ember being blown upon.
And then, all at once, the flame caught and burned bright in my heart. I was filled with white light and all that was good. I saw my mother holding out her arms for me, my baby daughter gazing up at me, and countless rainbows and blossoming flowers and moonlit nights and crimson sunrises. I saw the smiles of every patron I'd helped locate the book they needed and the tears of gratitude of others I'd never met, being helped by other kind souls. I saw nothing but the good in humanity, the willingness to forgive, to self-sacrifice, to be open and to love.
Gradually, the room around me came into focus. I rubbed my fingers against the scratchy cotton of the pillowcase to pull myself back into my body.
Having seen and felt the evidence, I became a believer.
Aunt Zinnia was a witch.
I was a witch.
That actually did explain a few things.
Chapter 14
“Light magic is harder than it looks,” my aunt said to my daughter. “When you both begin your novice training, you'll start with the basics—modulating sounds and shifting air movement. Have you studied musical instruments in school?”
Zoey raised her hand excitedly. “I've played the harp.”
“How wonderful,” Zinnia cooed. “Learning music is the perfect preparation for spellwork. If you can read sheet music, you'll find reading spells is only about ten times harder.”
The two of them continued to chatter about musical scales and sheet music, their words blending into each other as though they were one person. The whole world was blurry and swirling again, even without the magical light show. My head didn't hurt, but it did feel like a theater stage where an avant-garde musical group was banging on garbage cans and stomping their feet to make lousy music.
&
nbsp; I glanced over at the empty water glass on the bedside table. I'd really prefer another mojito, I thought. Did I? Was that a desire of my own, or of the ghost of socialite Winona Vander Zalm?
Meanwhile, my other redheaded family members were talking about harmonies and triads, and something about threading needles of sound to harness unseen forces.
Was nobody else concerned about my recent possession? My recollection was a bit foggy, but I had a vivid memory of trying to electrocute myself with a toaster. Was I a suicide risk thanks to this wacky ghost?
Even as I worried, I also felt myself letting go of all fears. I was slipping away, separating from the present, sliding across time and space like a silk nightie falling off a hanger.
Somewhere nearby, a machine was whirring to life. I couldn't have known this as a regular human, but now my consciousness was expanding, flooding outward like the contents of an uncorked bottle of smoke. I felt the vibrations of a dark and dangerous machine, one that threatened to erase me. Erase me? How could anything erase me? Unless...
Was I, Zara Riddle, nothing more than an inky, large-boobed, doe-eyed drawing of a woman in an old, leather-bound book? I had always thought of myself as a real person, fleshed out in three dimensions, but what if I'd been wrong?
I'm so sorry, said a distant voice. I can't ask you to forgive me for what I'm going to put you through, but I hope you'll at least understand. Zara, your family is my only hope.
I needed to ask the voice more, but it was already gone.
My awareness spread further, getting thinner, diluted as it spread.
Now I was a monster who lurked in the water. Cool and dark and deep. Up on the surface, people came and went. They held my hand, they sought my mind, they stole my most precious gifts, but I felt nothing. Deeper and deeper I went, into the dark abyss. Those who have violated me will pay with their lives, I thought.
The murderous thought, which came with the burning sensation of a white-hot fury, surprised me. From the inky depths, I felt a pull toward my body, my center. The stars streaked by. With a rush of warmth, I was back again.
Stormy Day Mysteries 5-Book Cozy Murder Mystery Series Bundle Page 129