Chet gave me a warm smile. “You look well rested, Zara. You must be settling into the house.” He returned to his seat and added, “If you ever have trouble sleeping, I can pop over and tell you another one of my stories.”
Grampa Don gave us a dirty look and demanded, “What's going on here?” He looked at his son. “Is it her? Has she already caught the—”
Chet elbowed his father. “Dad, it's just a joke,” he said. “Remember how Corvin and I came over here last Saturday for pizza? I was trying to entertain Zara, and she fell asleep on the sofa. That's all.” He flashed his eyes at Grampa Don.
“All right, all right,” Grampa Don said. He turned to young Corvin, who was watching everything intently with his huge, dark eyes. “Corvin, never pass up an opportunity to shut the hell up.”
Chet cleared his throat. “Language,” he said.
Corvin grinned mischievously. “Hell, hell, hell,” he whispered. “Hell.”
Chet shot me a pained look and reached for his coffee. His hands looked even more rugged and manly holding the small porcelain cup, which was meant for tea. His thick finger barely fit through the filigree porcelain handle.
“Let's eat,” I said, and we started passing around the platters of food.
While I ate, I kept looking over at little Corvin. He was so adorable, with round cheeks that begged to be pinched.
I resisted for at least ten minutes before I gave in to my urges and reached over to give one cheek a pinch. He gave me a funny look but didn't protest. After a second good pinching, I used both of my hands on his plump round cheeks, squeezing his face to give him fish lips while I made popping sounds.
“Who's a little fishie?” I cooed.
Grampa Don said, “Little fishie? That's exactly what Winona used to say to the boy.” He turned to his son. “Damn! Is it her?”
I yanked my hands away, suddenly embarrassed. The entire Moore family was staring at me with expressions ranging from curious to horrified. Grampa Moore was so surprised, he'd actually stopped cramming bacon in his mouth.
“Hazelnut spread,” I announced, jumping to my feet. I dashed off to the kitchen for a moment of privacy.
Alone in the kitchen, I scolded the ghost. “Winona Vander Zalm, control yourself! Don't make me do embarrassing things, or we can't be friends. Keep the entertaining hints coming, but don't take control of my body. You'll leave me with no choice but to get a ghost exterminator to get you out of this house.”
“Who are you talking to?” Zoey asked from the doorway. “Is the ghost back? We should call Auntie Z. She gave me her phone number in case of emergencies.”
I grabbed the hazelnut spread I'd come in for, along with a tray of deviled eggs.
“I can handle this myself,” I said to Zoey. “Of course she's here. It's a beautiful house. You can't blame the woman for sticking around, even after death.”
“Mom?” She gave me one of her patient looks—the same expression that made people say she had an old soul.
“Don't give me that look,” I said. “Winona is a sweet little old lady, perfectly harmless. Whatever happened last night with the toaster was just an accident, and it won't happen again. It was the toaster, not Winona. I threw that demonic appliance into the garbage can. All's right in the world.” I paused and glanced over at the kettle. “Do you suppose anyone wants tea? I just assumed they were all coffee drinkers.”
Zoey took the tray of deviled eggs from me. “Let's get through this brunch, and we'll talk more later. I already phoned Auntie Z, right after I got out of bed, but she's not answering her cell phone. She's probably sleeping after we kept her up all night.”
I picked up a dish towel and twisted it. “I'm not sure if we can trust my aunt. I know she's family and the ghost isn't, but the ghost never tried to hurt me before last night, when Zinnia just happened to be here in the house.”
Zoey wrinkled her brow and stared into the distance, the way she did when she was thinking about something she'd just read. After a moment, her expression brightened. “We should ask the Moore family what they know about Winona and the history of the house.”
“Duh,” I said. “Why do you think I invited them over in the first place? All part of my plan.”
She gave me a look that said she wasn't buying it but appreciated my efforts.
We returned to the dining room, where Zoey got to work with the single-mindedness she brought to everything.
She asked the Moores, “How long did Winona Vander Zalm own this house?”
Grampa Don answered, “She was here before I bought the place next door, thirty-six years ago.”
“I was born inside this house,” Chet said. “On this old wood floor.” He pointed at my dining room floor.
Zoey exclaimed, “What? No way!”
Chet's green eyes twinkled as he looked at me. “I should have broken out this story last Saturday. I might not have put you to sleep.”
“I'm listening,” I said. “Did your mother plan to give birth here?”
“No,” Chet said with a chuckle. “There was a terrible electrical storm when my mother went into labor. A couple of fallen trees and power lines—”
Grampa Don made a contrary noise. He scrunched his face and then waved for Chet to continue.
Chet said, “The fallen power lines blocked the way to the hospital, so my mother came over here, because she knew Winona could handle anything. Miss Vander Zalm didn't have kids of her own, but she took charge of the situation like a professional. My mother gave birth here, with a small group of neighbors attending.”
Grampa Don snorted. “I wasn't here. I was busy...” He eyed the bacon. “Ooh, bacon. Don't mind if I do!”
Zoey said, “That's quite the story, Mr. Moore. Did Miss Vander Zalm have any medical training?”
Chet smiled. “Winona had all the skills she needed. According to the neighbors, she tended my mother and also served cocktails all through the delivery. Manhattans, I believe. Or was it mojitos? She was an incredible hostess.” He looked at Zoey and rubbed his chin. “I think maybe she did serve as a nurse during the war. Some sort of war. I never could nail down exactly which one, but I believed her.” He glanced around the room, his eyes glistening.
Grampa Don chimed in. “She was a spectacular woman.”
Zoey practically pounced on the elder Moore across the table. “How spectacular? Were you two an item?”
The grandfather's moss-green eyes darkened. “After my dear wife passed on, Winona would seek my company from time to time.” He glanced over to his son as though asking for permission to continue.
Chet said, “It's okay, Dad. I've always known there was something between you two. You should go ahead and talk about it. Healthy people talk about their feelings. That's what Dr. Bob says.”
Don snorted and reached for another slice of bacon. “If it's so healthy to yammer on like a fool, I deserve this.”
Nobody stopped him.
Zoey gave him a moment to chew before asking, “Were you dating up until she passed away? No offense, but she was a lot older than you, wasn't she?”
He talked around the food in his mouth. “Dating? She wasn't that old, young lady. The two of us made the beast with two backs whenever the moon was full. Does that count as dating?”
Young Corvin, whom I'd all but forgotten about, piped up, “What's the beast with two backs?”
Chet quieted him with a hand clamped over his mouth. “I think that's enough talking about Grampa's private nightsports.”
Zoey giggled. “Nightsports,” she repeated.
I smiled at the Moore family. “Thank you for sharing your memories about such a remarkable woman.” I held my hand over my heart. “She sends you all her love.” I winked at Grampa Don, seeing him for a moment through Winona's eyes. My hero, I thought with a lovesick sigh.
Chet removed his hand from his son's mouth and gave me a puzzled look. “If you're interested in learning more about the history of this house and Winona, I've got access to old
town records. We could visit the archives together sometime.” His gaze flicked over to Zoey. “With your daughter, of course. Zoey, you seem very interested in history.”
“That would be nice,” I said. My gaze drifted over to the edible centerpiece. “Help yourself to some flowers, please. Everything except the stem is made of fruit.”
My guests admired my handiwork, and each took a flower.
The table was quiet while everyone munched away. Everything was perfect. I felt a warm pressure on my shoulder, as though someone was patting me on the back for a job well done. Winona approved.
Suddenly, a spoon clattered to the floor.
Corvin pointed at the air above my head and said, “You're dead. You're dead!”
His father gave him a stern look. “Corvin! Don't be morbid or I'll give you something to be morbid about.”
I leaned forward and looked into the little boy's eyes, which were as dark as night. “Who's dead?”
He answered with a low, growling voice. “You know who.”
“How did she die?”
“Someone killed her,” Corvin said. “Ding dong! Ding dong, the witch is dead!”
Zoey made a squeaking sound and shot me a look.
Chet got to his feet and pulled his son up as well.
Corvin squeezed his eyes shut and made a keening sound.
“Zara, Zoey,” Chet said warmly as he nodded at each of us in turn. “Great brunch.” He nodded down at Corvin, who still had his eyes squeezed shut. “This one gets feisty when he eats too much sugar.”
Corvin opened his huge eyes and began to laugh-a cruel, nasty laugh. “Ding dong! Ding dong! Who's there? Pop-Tarts! The Pop-Tarts are done and so are you!”
Zoey circled around the table and shoved Corvin. “Stop it! Shut up, you creepy little monster!”
He reached out and shoved her back. He was much shorter and couldn't reach her shoulders, so he struck her in the chest. “You're the monster! And I don't want a big sister! Not you! You're ugly and stupid and I hate you!”
Chet grabbed his son and pulled him back. I did the same with Zoey, for everyone's protection. She wasn't usually violent, but then again she'd never been called ugly and stupid in her own home while being punched in the chest.
“Zara, I am so sorry,” Chet said, dragging his son away as quickly as he could.
Grampa Don grabbed a handful of bacon and followed them. He gave me a pat on the arm.
“You're a good neighbor,” Don said. “Winona is glad to have you in this house. I can feel it.” He glanced at his son, who was wrestling Corvin out the front door. “I'd tell you we Moores are usually better behaved, but you strike me as the type who sees right through bullcrap.”
I smiled knowingly. “This is as good as it gets, right?”
He finished his bacon and licked his fingertips. “What you see is what you get. Thanks for the grub! You make this old house proud.”
I tilted my head to the side. “I make the house proud? What do you mean?”
He grinned mischievously, which erased about fifty years from his face. My hero, I thought again, feeling a rush of Winona's affection.
“You'll find out soon enough,” he said ominously.
Chapter 18
After the Moores left, I looked over the remaining food. We'd barely made a dent. Except for the dirty plates, the table looked like it had just been set up for entertaining. That Winona, I thought. It was just like a great hostess to have ten times as much food as needed.
As I surveyed the leftovers and thought of all the packing-up work that lay ahead, I remembered why I didn't cook much.
At least the dishes would be an excellent opportunity to practice my new witchy levitation skills.
“Wanna see something cool?” I asked my daughter.
“Not really.” Zoey crossed her arms and slumped into a dining room chair. “Corvin is such a brat,” she said. “I can't believe I ever wanted a little brother. They're awful and rude, and they smell like goats.”
“True. And that particular one can see spirits. You heard what he said. He could see Winona Vander Zalm standing with me. I'm a witch, and I can't even see her.”
“No, he can't see anything,” she scoffed. “You might not have noticed, because you were drooling over his father and shoving food onto people's plates the whole time, but Corvin was saying a ton of random crap that didn't mean anything.”
“Are you back to playing the skeptic? The Scully to my Mulder? I swear, he looked over my shoulder and saw something. Winona Vander Zalm's ghost.”
Zoey shifted her gaze to a spot above my shoulder and smiled sweetly. “Hello there, Spirit Lady. What a beautiful frock you're wearing today. What's that? You think I should get a raise in my allowance? I agree. Let's tell Mother.”
“Fine,” I said, nodding. “I'll raise your allowance, since the Spirit Lady suggested it.”
“She's not really there. I was making a point, Mom.”
I played dumb. “Really?”
She groaned and went limp, slumping crookedly in her chair. “You're the worst.”
“I'll raise your allowance anyway. You've been a good sport about the move, and now you'll be too busy with all the new witch stuff to get a part-time job.”
She didn't argue.
After a moment of pouting, she said, “The next time I see Corvin, I'm giving him a wedgie.”
“Good,” I said. “The kid probably needs more social interaction to level him out. His mother must have been the weird one, because Chet seems normal enough.”
She snorted. “Normal enough? Don't you mean dreamy? You love him. You have a super-big crush on him. Mom and Mr. Moore, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”
I didn't like where this conversation was heading. I'd tried my best to shield my daughter from the highs and lows of my love life. I wasn't always successful, but I did what I could to respect her boundaries.
She carried on with the sing-song teasing. She was six years older than Corvin, yet I could see the childlike resemblance.
Luckily, I knew how to change the topic instantly.
With a flick of my wrist, I levitated an empty coffee cup using my magic. It danced merrily in the air between us—no hands, no strings, no net. Just magic.
Zoey stopped her singing mid-word and held very still, her gaze riveted to the cup.
“Telekinesis,” I said. “Or psychokinesis, if you prefer that term.” I didn't. It was the psycho part at the beginning.
“You really are a witch,” she said with a wondrous sigh.
I twirled the cup clockwise and then counterclockwise. “I feel like a kid with a new toy.”
“Can you make those pretty light sparkles that Auntie Z did?”
“I could try, but I don't know where to even start. I'm afraid I'll make something explode, which wouldn't be so bad if it was just a scone, but a human head could be really bad. I'm sticking to simple levitation until I know more about these powers.” I levitated the cup's saucer and matched them up mid-air.
Zoey clapped her hands, her teen grumpiness completely forgotten. “Do some more tricks, Mom.”
“As you wish.”
For the next ten minutes, I showed her how I could perform a myriad of small tasks hands free. I shifted plates and poured liquids from cup to cup. For my grand finale, I floated a glob of chocolate-hazelnut spread from the container and smeared it onto a waffle, all without getting a knife dirty.
She clapped her hands, squealing, “Again! Do it again!”
I repeated the smearing and then floated the waffle over to my mouth, where I made the waffle disappear in the usual, not-so-magical manner.
“Now you try,” I said.
She wrinkled her nose. “You think I can move stuff with my mind? I've been trying for the last ten minutes, and nothing's happening for me.”
“Keep trying. You're so smart that you're used to things coming easily to you, and you don't know how to stick with something through failure.”
; She raised an eyebrow. “Are you talking about me or you?”
“Catch the cup,” I said, and I floated an empty cup toward her quickly.
She scrunched her face and clenched her fists. The cup sailed over her shoulder, hit the wall, and crashed to the floor, where it broke.
“Don't!” She glared at me angrily. “Don't.”
“Try again,” I said, and sent a saucer sailing at her.
This time, she reached out with her hand and tried to catch the dish. It bounced off her fingertips and smashed on the floor with the cup.
Her cheeks flushed red, and she began huffing audibly. “Don't,” she said tersely. “You're just making me feel stupid.”
In my most encouraging, motherly tone, I said, “Sweetie, you have to keep trying.”
With a grumble of displeasure, she narrowed her eyes at the objects on the table, her gaze moving from spoon to cup to waffle. Nothing moved or even wiggled.
“Try something small,” I said.
“I am.” She flicked her gaze up to meet my eyes. My ears flushed with warmth. The longer she glowered at me, the more my ears heated up.
“Maybe we should take a break,” I said. “And by we, I mean you. I'm worried about getting my head exploded.”
She sighed and used her hand to pick up a leftover waffle stick, which she rolled up inside a crepe. “My powers need me to carbo load,” she said as she took a bite.
“Sounds legit.” I used my magic to draw closed the sheer curtains on the dining room's window. The house sat on the corner lot of the block. The dining room had a quaint view over a side hedge and down the cross-street, but any people walking along the sidewalk might be able to peer in at us practicing magic. I thought of wacky ol' Dorothy Tibbits and her binoculars. I twitched the curtains back and looked around for the odd, blue-pinafore-wearing woman but didn't see her.
When I turned back to Zoey, she let out an exasperated sigh. “I can't even budge the smallest crumb.” She threw down her partly eaten carbo-load wrap, crossed her arms, and thrust out her lower lip.
“Don't pout.” I took a seat across from her. “You know what happens to little pouty lips.” I hadn't teased her like this in years, and it was fun to bring back one of our childhood rituals.
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