Witches and Ghosts Supernatural Mysteries

by Angela Pepper

  “No, I have bagels. Cinnamon raisin. Plus dill cream cheese. Best combination ever!”

  She wrinkles her nose.

  “Seriously, you have to try them together, cinnamon and dill. I have everything in the fridge.”

  “Shouldn't put bagels in the fridge, they go stale. Don't you know? Oh, of course you don't, you're so young.” She gasps and sits up. “Oh God. How old are you? You have, like, almost no chest hair. Oh God.”

  “I'm fourteen,” I say.

  Her eyes get watery and her lip trembles, as though she might start to cry.

  “Joking, I'm seventeen,” I say. “What, do I look fourteen?”

  “This was kind of a bad idea,” she says, shaking her head. “I should go.”

  “No, don't.” I grab her hand and try to pull her back in for a hug, but she's partly twisted to get up, and she falls backward with a giggle, landing on me.

  She looks at my belly button for a second, just as her finger goes straight into ...

  No!

  Too late. Her finger is in my belly button. It's happening.

  * * *

  The world slows, but my breathing is still normal speed. Her breathing is normal too, and I can see the pulse on her neck. We're both very still.

  Something strange is happening. Or, rather, something strange is not happening. There's no vision, no Secret Town. I'm still in real-time, in my bed, next to a beautiful girl.

  “I think my finger's in your tummy,” she whispers.

  “It can't be.” I look down, but there it is, her index finger, resting gently in my navel. I should be having a vision right about now. The only time the vision doesn't work is when it's a dude, and Austin is definitely not a dude.

  “That's weird,” I say as I take her hand, pull the finger out, then stick it back in again. She laughs nervously.

  “What do you see?” she asks. “Am I going to be late for work today? Am I going to enjoy your bizarre raisin and dill bagels?”

  “No, not that.”

  “What is it?” she asks. “Something terrible? I swear, he was very old and the surgery was so expensive. It's what he would have wanted.”

  “Who? I don't know what you're talking about. It's not working. Maybe it's because ... we, um.” Because why? Because last night I poked her in an entirely different way? Could the trick have disappeared from my body, along with my virginity?

  Her voice sounding husky and serious, Austin says, “I blame the cold light of morning.” She waves her hand between us, drawing a zig-zag. “All of this just got a little weird. I'm glad you're seventeen, really, but I think the age gap is still a bit ... gappy.”

  I continue to stare at my belly button, dumbfounded.

  She rolls out of bed and puts on the dress she wore last night. I thought the dress was black with little stars, but it's actually navy blue, just like my photo booth backdrop.

  “Any last words?” she asks, smoothing out the wrinkles of the skirt.

  “I love you,” comes out of my mouth. I'm sure in about a minute, I'll realize I've said the stupidest thing imaginable, but right now, it doesn't exactly feel wrong. I do mean it.

  “Before, what I said—I didn't kill anyone,” she says. “Not really. At the moment when my finger went in, I suddenly thought of our cocker spaniel. He was incontinent, which I didn't mind, but he was also in pain. I don't think it's fair to keep them alive if they're suffering. In more civilized countries, they do the same for humans. That's what you saw, in your vision, right? That's my terrible secret.” She turns away and walks out the door, still talking. “My parents thought it was the right decision, but I dream about him, that he's still alive somewhere.” She disappears down the hall.

  “Are we talking about euthanasia?” I grab my jeans and jump into them awkwardly as I run after her.

  I expect to find her in the kitchen, but she's already at the front door, surprisingly fast, and backing away with her shoes on. She says, “I'm sure you think I don't believe you about the visions, but I do.”

  She fumbles with the door knob behind her, but the door's locked.

  “It doesn't matter,” I say. “Don't go! I'm sorry about whatever I said. Don't go. Stay for breakfast.”

  She pulls at her sleeves, which are striped, unlike the rest of the dress. “For the last few months, I've been seeing all sorts of things,” she says. “Auras. People who aren't there. I like you, Zan, but I don't think two crazy people together can work. It's too much crazy.”

  “Auras?”

  She turns to face the door and curses as she tries to figure out the deadbolt.

  GONG! The clock in the living room gongs with the half-hour, and this time I must be hearing it with Austin's ears, because I jump up and clutch my hands together, my eyes closing instinctively.

  When I open my eyes, the front door is closing. Austin's gone.

  Instead of running out after her, my legs lock up and I stand, frozen, as the echoes of the clock's gong continue to reverberate through the room. My ears ringing, I sit down on Gran's floral-embroidered footstool. I'm alone. My psychic power's on the fritz. It's the first day of summer vacation. What else?

  Oh, that. Yes, in retrospect, saying I love you probably was the wrong choice.

  Chapter 6

  Austin's run out the door and I'm alone.

  And yet, the cat gnawing on my big toe reminds me I'm not actually alone. Mibs is here, and he wants his breakfast. His brown tabby-striped tail wraps around my leg.

  “I love you. Do you love me?” I ask Mibs.

  He looks up from my toe, a string of saliva hanging from his mouth. “Meow.”

  “What did you think of Austin? She was nice, right? What did she say to you last night?”

  “Meow?”

  “Talking to a cat isn't like talking to yourself. It's not crazy.”

  Mibs gives me the cat equivalent of a frown and pit-pats in the direction of the kitchen. A few seconds later, I hear utensils being knocked to the floor from the counter.

  When I get in the kitchen, he feigns innocence. I get his insulin from the fridge and he waits expectantly. At first, my friends were horrified that we have to give Mibs a needle twice a day, but I assured them it's far easier than giving a cat a pill. The big guy doesn't even feel the tiny needle, and he actually looks forward to it, as he gets his treats at the same time. Treats are a great motivator for cats. Humans are more complex.

  Why did Austin run away so quickly? And what's happening with my power?

  I'm musing over the morning's mysteries while feeding Mibs his favorite canned food when the wall phone rings, and since I'm standing right next to it, I pick it up instead of letting it go to voice mail. The voice isn't one of Gran's friends, though, but James, asking if I'm ready to go to the lake. The lake. I forgot.

  “Why are you calling the land line?” I ask. I didn't even know he had the number.

  “Cause you're not picking up your cell, Sherlock. Hey, you disappeared on us last night. You left with Raye-Anne, huh?”

  “No, Austin. Actually, she just left.”

  James emits a noise like the squee sound his sister Julie makes over books.

  “I'll tell you when I see you,” I say, and then I hold the phone away from my ear because he's yelling so loud. I don't think he got this excited when he slept with a girl for the first time. He's a good friend.

  * * *

  I grab some things for the lake and throw them in one of Gran's cloth shopping bags. Mibs climbs into the bag, all fifteen pounds of take-me-with-you. He twitches his tail when I tell him to find something more constructive to do. I shake his little cat treat bag and he's out like a fat champagne cork.

  He'll need an insulin shot tonight and then again tomorrow morning. Gran and I usually trade off taking care of him, but one of our neighbors is a vet assistant and she usually steps in on short notice. I did mention something to Krystal last week, I think, but I need to make sure she's able to take care of the big guy, or else I can't leav
e town.

  I run across the street and ring the doorbell. I'm wondering how Mibs is going to like a long vehicle ride stuffed in my shopping bag when Krystal opens the door. The woman looks like an Indian movie star, and I find myself lost for words, caught by her green eyes.

  After I explain the situation and apologize for the intrusion, she says, “Mibs is still alive?”

  “Yeah, he's a tough little bugger.”

  “He's a sweet boy,” she says.

  “Don't worry if he dies while I'm away. Put him in a bag in the freezer, and whatever you do, don't tell Gran. She made me promise the same when she left for the cruise.” Gran and I did have that discussion, including both of us getting teary-eyed at the thought of something happening to Mibs. Since he first got sick a few years ago, and used up a few of his nine cat lives, we've been aware he's down to his last few, and we cope by using a little dark humor.

  Krystal rubs her temple. She's wearing a pink thing—two pink things, actually—scrubs, I guess. “I've got some special extra-large turkey Ziplocs,” she says. “From the clinic, but I'd have to charge you cost. You know, if worse comes to worst.”

  “Turkey Ziplocs?” I sense Krystal's talk of Ziplocs is more cool professionalism than dark humor, though I imagine in her workplace, where they deal with life and death constantly, both serve her well.

  “They're fine for cats, but only twenty percent of dogs,” she muses. “Though in recent years, dogs have been getting smaller on average.”

  “Dogs are shrinking?”

  “Not the actual dogs,” she says, smiling, and she goes on to explain about the trends in dog breeds. While she's talking, I have a mini discussion inside my head. There's something different about Krystal today, but not her lovely features or her tiny gold earrings. No, what's different is how I feel. My crush on her is almost entirely gone. Krystal is no longer The World's Most Perfect Unattainable Woman. That title has been taken by Austin.

  “And that's why everyone should adopt a mutt from the pound,” Krystal says. “Or a dachshund, because they snuggle under the covers.”

  I agree with her, hand over a spare house key, and run off to wait on my own porch for James and Julie. As I'm halfway across the street, Krystal calls out, “You're in a hurry! Is everything okay?”

  “Awesome like possum!” I shout back. I sit on my porch and wave at her, still out on her own front step. She waves back and hesitates before returning to her house. Perhaps she notices a change in me as well. I am different. Lighter. My curse has been lifted, and I'm in love.

  * * *

  I want to talk about this new feeling I'm having, but James is not really a hearts-and-flowers kind of guy. He only wants the physical details. Actually, I didn't think I was a hearts-and-flowers guy until today. Love at first sight is something that happens to girls, or so I thought. This morning, I find myself staring out of the window of James and Julie's Jeep, at a flower shop, and wondering which flowers Austin would like best. Purple flowers. I think she'd like purple ones.

  James is squirming around in the driver's seat, twisting to stare at me periodically when traffic allows. His interest in my recent activities is palpable, but I'm concerned about Julie's feelings. She's also up front, in the passenger seat. She has a book open on her lap, but she hasn't turned the page in the last five minutes.

  James, who is also aware of her unrequited crush on me, asks me questions, in code.

  “How late were you up playing that video game?” he asks.

  “Like, uh, three maybe. I sorta dozed off without checking the time.”

  “Did you play more than one video game?” he asks.

  Julie turns around and looks at me suspiciously. “You should probably get a summer job,” she says. “Video games are a waste of time.”

  “Pff,” James says. “Like the stuff you do is so superior.”

  “I played two video games,” I say. “The first one was more of a warmup.”

  “Was the first video game more about speed or accuracy?” he asks.

  I don't even know what he means by that. “I didn't know it was a competition,” I say. As happy as I am about last night, I'd like to move away from this particular topic.

  Julie gives me a squinty-eyed look and asks me to hand her an orange juice from the cooler. Orange juice was what Austin drank last night. I would have made her bagels this morning, and more—maybe even bacon—if she hadn't run off so fast.

  “Do you ever miss bacon?” I ask James.

  He snorts. “Of course. Every vegan or vegetarian misses bacon. That's why there are three or four different brands of fake bacon, but you'll notice they don't make fake chicken.”

  “Bleh,” Julie says. “Fake bacon is the cruelest of the pretend things, because it actually smells like bacon, but they never get the texture right. I'm telling you guys, the day they can nail the texture, pigs are endangered.”

  “Endangered? What?” I ask.

  “Duh. You don't see pink little piggies running around in forests. If not for farms, they won't exist. So that's why I'm doing my part.”

  I can tell from the side of his face, James is grimacing.

  Julie tried going vegan like her brother for a few weeks, but the no-animal-products diet didn't stick. Technically, she only tried being a true vegetarian, because vegans like James don't wear leather, but there was no way she would give up her closet full of shoes.

  Of the diet, she said it was too restrictive, but personally, I don't think it was quite restrictive enough. We describe Julie as a pickavore—as in, she's bloody picky and won't eat random things for random, unknowable reasons. One time she told me she'd gladly switch to food pills, if they were available, so she wouldn't have to worry about what to eat next. Hearing her talk about food and diets makes me glad I'm not a girl.

  “Are any of your girlfriends meeting us at the lake?” I ask Julie. For a moment, I soar up to the sky, imagining the fantastic luck of Austin meeting up with us at the cabin.

  Julie shrugs. “I'm not really that close to any of the girls from school. Besides, they're not as much fun as you guys. It'll be like old times, just the three of us.”

  “That's true. This might be the last time for just the three of us,” I say.

  She turns and gives me a worried look. “What do you mean by that?”

  I draw circles on the window with my finger. “Nothing. Well, we're getting older, and next year we'll graduate.” I draw a giant circle, my finger squeaking on the glass. “Man, I am so craving bacon right now. Can we stop somewhere? I can't stop thinking about bacon.”

  “We just ate,” Julie says. She's right. The wrappers are still on my lap. I don't know where my head's at today.

  James turns up the music, probably to discourage bacon talk. I stare at the outskirts of town: yellow house, yellow house, brown house, blue. The houses are getting further apart as we get into the country.

  I shouldn't have let Austin leave. I suppose I couldn't have forced her to stay either—that would technically be kidnapping. But I could have been more convincing. I love you, I said. Why didn't she just shoot me right then and there?

  Could I get her phone number from Julie's friend, or ... from Julie? Man, that would be awkward to ask. I need to change the subject, and get my mind off Austin while I'm stuck in a vehicle for the next hour with James and Julie.

  What were we talking about? Bacon. Right. I could say something about how I think little piglets are super cute, but I could probably hold one in my arms while I ate a bacon and tomato sandwich, and does that make me truly evil?

  “I had sex last night,” I say.

  Julie sprays orange juice out of her mouth and all over the windshield, coughing and sputtering.

  Chapter 7

  After my confession about what happened last night, James goes, “Ah! Ah!” in a combination of shock and laughter.

  “With a nice girl,” I say matter-of-factly, as though it's perfectly reasonable that I had sex, for the first time, wit
h a girl I'd known less than twenty-four hours.

  Julie sops at the sprayed juice with a napkin. “You gave her your v-card?” she asks.

  “Dude. Guys don't have v-cards,” James says to his sister. “Try. Try to be cooler around my friends, okay?”

  “I bet it wasn't her first time,” Julie mutters toward the side window. I can't see her face, except for the edge of her cheek, flushed red.

  “Julie, you're like a sister to me,” I say. “I don't feel that way about you. It's science. We all played together in the same tub growing up.”

  James says, “Hey. We don't talk about tubbie bubble time.”

  “You only have a crush on me because it's safe,” I say to Julie. “Like how girls love ponies and baby-faced boy singers. I'm just a baby-faced singing boy pony to you.”

  James squeals, “Ooh, I love that pony! I don't want him to grow up, ever.”

  “Are you crying?” I ask Julie.

  “Screw you.” She pulls the hoodie from her jacket over her face.

  I thought I might feel better after breaking the news to Julie, but I don't. Isn't the truth supposed to set you free? My blabbing just created a whole new set of problems.

  “Nice one, bro,” James says. A few minutes later, he reaches his hand back and whispers, “High five for two whole video games.”

  I slap his hand, but there's no joy.

  * * *

  An hour of excruciating silence later, we pull onto the off-ramp for the lake. Julie's angry with me for being with another girl and probably humiliated by my openly acknowledging her crush on me. If I put myself in her little sporty sandals for a moment, I can understand her being upset. I don't know how I can fix that. Maybe by showing her we're still friends?

  I punch her on the shoulder. “Hey, Julie, we're still cool, right?”

  She clears her throat and continues to ignore me.

  “You know you and James are still my buds though, right? Best bros? I mean buds. Best buds.”

  James takes his gaze off the gravel road just long enough to give me a withering look. “Easy, soldier. Give the new paradigm some time,” he says.