She picked up another book, grimaced at the title, and floated it back to the wrong spot. She turned to me, her chest puffing out indignantly. “In spite of what you may think, Baylee, I do have an afterlife, you know.”
“Oh really?” I put my feet into my fuzzy slippers and shuffled to the bathroom. “Like what?” I called to her through the partially opened door as I washed my face. “What exactly do you do all night, now that you don’t require sleep?”
“Well... sometimes I read, or take a walk, or visit old friends who may be joining me soon.”
“What do you read?” I pulled my hair into a loose knot at the nape of my neck.
“I read… stuff. Mostly Kela’s diary. If she wrote it as a tell-all, your cousin would have a bestseller. Anyway,” she said, changing the subject. “I read her journal last night and I, um, wondered if you ever found your wedding ring?”
I put on some lip gloss and concealer, and rejoined my mother in my bedroom. “You should not be reading Kela’s journal,” I scolded. “And no, I haven’t found my ring yet.”
“I’m sure it will turn up, pretty girl. These things always work themselves out, with enough time.”
I reached for my chain, like it should still be there. Feeling the urge, I looked over at the photo of Ryan on my dresser. Without the ring, I was afraid his face would disappear from my memory – an ironic problem for a psychometrist to have.
“Mom, have you gotten over Daddy? On the other side, I mean.”
“Mostly, yes. I can hardly remember his face some nights, except for those crinkles in his forehead when he worked a crossword puzzle. And those ugly boots he wore fishing – who can forget those! I think his hair was mostly gray at the end, wasn’t it?”
“How sad! You two spent your entire adult lives together, and you can’t remember his hair color?”
“I’m dead, Baylee. There’s a lot of things I don’t remember. But I’d never forget my little Bay Leaf! Hey, what’s that?” Mom pointed to something poking out from under my pillow. Something gold.
I tossed the pillow aside. “My ring!” I gasped, picking it up and laughing like a possessed woman. “It was under my pillow! Mom, it was you! Where did you find it and why didn’t you give it to me already?”
Mom appeared as puzzled as I was. “I swear; I saw it just now. You know I would have given it to you right away, since worrying isn’t good for wrinkles.”
I stared at the gold band inset with one small diamond, as if I had never seen it before. Where had it gone? And how did it come back to me? “Do you know if Kela was in here last night?” I asked.
“Nope. She came home, talked to your brother, wrote in her journal, then went straight to bed.”
I pressed the ring into my palm, against the bay leaf – searching, hoping I could get a glimpse of what had happened to it. But nothing came.
“Should I put it on?” I asked, uncertainly. The chain hadn’t kept it safe. Maybe my finger would?
“Only if you never want to date again.”
“What if…what if Ryan’s ghost returned it to me?”
Mom plopped down onto the bed and tapped her knees thoughtfully. When she spoke again, her voice was gentle, maternal. “I have never sensed Ryan’s presence since he disappeared. Bay Leaf, you can’t keep living in the past. Trust me. What we spirits envy most about the living is that they still have a future.”
“I know you’re right,” I admitted, rolling the ring around in my hand. “But what should I do? Everyone tells me I should be getting over Ryan, but how can I? I never got to bury him. I never got closure.”
“Maybe he did you a favor. He knew how you hate cemeteries.”
“I don’t hate them! They just give me…”
“Yes, I know. The creeps.”
There was a brief trace of sadness in her voice, but she quickly wiped it away like a child erasing an Etch A Sketch drawing. “You should find a safe place for it. The way things keep disappearing around town, it’s probably a good idea to keep important things under tight lock and key. I heard Jolene Carpenter’s fiancé came up missing, too!”
“My bet is he escaped. Good for him.” Jolene was a brusque, opinionated woman who hardly let her fiancé speak a word during their entire long engagement. I was surprised he lasted as long as he did.
“Smells like mold in here,” Mom said, inhaling.
“You smell it too?!” I fidgeted with the ring, while I decided how much to confess. “Mom, last night I had the strangest dream. I swore there were…well, things in my bedroom. Creatures.”
“Creatures?”
“Yes, that’s the best I can describe them.”
A shoe appeared in her hand, before being replaced by a hammer. “How big were they? Roach-sized or rat-sized?”
“More like cat-sized.”
“We’re gonna need a bat!”
I explained the events of the previous night, including the ransacking of my room. I showed her the tiny hooked claw I’d discovered by my bed. Vivi’s face became a cauldron of emotions as she scrutinized it. “I don’t believe it!” she said, after an extended pause.
“You know what this came from?”
“Maybe…”
Kela interrupted with a sharp knock on the door. “You up?” she called in, opening it before I could answer. Her skin was freshly scrubbed, without a trace of makeup; it was flawless, a complexion made for the movies.
“I thought I’d check on you,” she said, slipping inside. “You doing alright?”
“Mom’s here,” I said, so Kela would know not to say anything too personal.
“Hi, Auntie!” Kela waved to the room at large. My pillow squished in, then puffed out – Mom’ acknowledgement of the greeting.
“I found the ring,” I said, showing her. “It was under my pillow. And look at this little claw.”
“Whoa! Creepiest tooth fairy ever!” Kela poked at the thing. She wasn’t a psychic, but she had her own gifts. She could read energy, and often the intention behind it. “It’s got a freaky vibe to it,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “I’d smudge the crap out of it if you plan on keeping it. Something about it isn’t natural.”
I shivered. “I’ll do that. I hope it will be enough.”
“You should set out traps,” Kela continued. “And judging by the length of that claw, big ones. I think there are some in the garden shed. Sorry I can’t join you. I have to help Alex with the breakfast rush, which is basically three old ladies with bladder issues. Ta-ta!”
My mother, who had been wearing a grim expression, suddenly beamed. “I know how to cheer you up. Would you like to see something secret?”
“A secret? Here? In the house?”
“Yes! Call it an early birthday gift.”
She vanished before I could respond, though her disembodied voice told me to join her in the antique shop.
I went downstairs to the café, where a hot espresso was waiting for me on the counter. “Double shot,” Alex promised as I drank it down.
Kela was waiting tables. She wore an apron, but no shoes. She stood before a table of blue-haired ladies, arguing against splitting one scone between them. I tiptoed past before she could bring me into it. Slipping into the antique shop, I quietly shut the door behind me. Mom appeared beside my desk, her face alight with giddy excitement.
“What’s the secret?” I asked, as I flipped on my computer.
Vivi put a finger to her lips, motioning for me to close the curtains. “You have to promise not to tell anyone what I’m about to show you.” She floated to an unlit wall sconce beside the bookshelf. As far as I knew, the lamp had never worked. “I suppose you can tell your brother and Kela, but not your father…”
“I doubt that will be a problem, since Dad is dead.”
With considerable effort, Mom managed to twist the sconce on its side. There was a low rumbling beneath my feet, followed by an irritating squeaking noise that made me cover my ears. “What’s happening?” I asked, as the bookcase o
pened outward, like a door.
“Ta-da!” Vivi said, pointing into the darkness beyond.
“My stars!” I gasped. I poked my head inside, and my voice echoed in the hidden chamber. The room smelled musty yet strangely fragrant. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before?”
“Step aside.” Mom squeezed in her stomach and slid through the narrow opening. It was for show only, since we both knew she could pass through walls. I nervously followed, gripping my cellphone in case I needed the light… or the police.
The hidden room was cool and larger than I could have imagined. It had the feel of a subterranean cave. “So this would be…” I looked up, estimating the measurements carefully, “…the area under the second-floor landing.”
Vivi twisted a matching sconce on this side of the wall and the bookcase creaked shut, sealing us inside. My cellphone light hardly made a dent in the complete darkness. I recalled the creatures in my room the night before, and found myself lifting one foot and then another to avoid their touch.
“Don’t worry. There’s a light switch behind you. Flip it on for Mommy, please.”
My hand patted the wall until I found the switch. The overhead fluorescent light buzzed on and off again, before settling on a disorienting yellow glow.
I noted the room was nearly the size of my bedroom. “This is incredible! How many secrets does this house have?”
“You’d be surprised.”
Books that looked as old as time itself were crowded onto shelves, stacked willy-nilly. Small tables were littered with bottles, bowls and vials – some now broken and covered with spider webs. There was a rickety rocking chair in the corner and a thrift store love seat off to the side. The only semblance of order in the entire room were the dozens of Mason jars neatly assembled along the far wall. Each was labeled with some ingredient that Mom had never used in her cooking. At least I hoped not. I poked at a jar labeled Moth Wings.
If the jar had indeed once held moth wings, they had by now crumbled into dust. I read the jars beside it. Juniper Sage. Meteorite Dust.
“Cool, huh?” Mom rubbed her hands together as she quietly reminisced. “I always meant to spruce the place up.”
I meandered through the room, peering at everything but not daring to touch anything. I chanced picking up an old wooden stave. It was cut from yew and a piece of rose quartz was affixed to the end. “Is this where you practiced…”
“Witchcraft? Yep. Your father had his man cave and I had this. Of course, once you kids were born this turned into more of a storage unit, but I did try to come here on the occasional equinox or solstice.” Her voice was wistful as she inspected her earthly treasures. I realized, once again, that there was much more to Vivi Bonds than I knew.
A soft light radiated around my mother as she moved through the room, pointing out important things. “This is where I kept my spell book,” she said, motioning to a short podium. “And here is where I crafted my healing salves.” She tapped a crude wooden table laden with pestles, mortar bowls, brittle plants and white powders. She sighed heavily before collapsing into the love seat. “Those were the days.”
“My mom had a secret identity,” I said, rather impressed.
“We all do. No one shows who they really are to the world. Its only in secret that we can be ourselves. Hey, while you’re over there, check out the scrying mirror and let me know if it still works.”
“Scrying mirror?”
I stood before a small, ornate mirror hanging on the wall. The frame was etched with intricate scrollwork. I knew that scrying operated by relaxing the eyes, until a vision appeared. It was a game only for the patient. I would do this my way.
Reaching up, I touched the glass, and was instantly transported into someone else’s consciousness. My mother’s.
Vivi Bonds stood before the mirror, her pretty face staring dreamily back at her. Her silky blond hair waved past her shoulders and her cheeks were kissed by a natural flush. “Will I be famous?” she asked, moving her bangs out of her eyes. At first, the mirror was unresponsive, but soon subtle condensation appeared on the glass.
“I said, will I be famous?”
The mirror cleared, then fogged again. Vivi’s lips curled into a frown. Maybe the future needed some help? She went to her Tarot cards, laying them out in a neat line on her writing desk. She understood the ambivalence of the spirits, and perhaps she hadn’t worded her question the right way. “Show me my future,” she demanded, flipping the first card.
It was Death.
I opened my eyes and stepped far away from the mirror. How old had she been then? No older than twenty, tops. Had the spirits known her life would be cut short? Or did the card represent the Death of her dreams, once she married and had children? Either way, it probably wasn’t a topic I wanted to broach right now. “I don’t think it works anymore,” I said.
“I brought you here because I knew you’d love it. There’s lots of books you can go through, a few dating way back to the Middle Ages. Some of these volumes have been in our family for generations. Trust me, you won’t find this kind of information on the Internets.”
It was indeed a fantasy library, with leather-bound editions that had never seen mass print. There were books on witches, the occult, spirituality and spiritualism. “Is this…no…is this…”
“Yes! An early work from Madame Blavatsky! I never read it. I heard it’s dry. But it’s nice to have.”
In that moment, I felt a closer connection to my mother than I ever had while she was living. “Mom, thank you. I couldn’t have asked for a better birthday present,” I said, perusing titles on fantasy beasts and secret societies. My fingers twitched with the anticipation of reading them all.
“Did you catalogue these?” I asked, hoping to narrow down which book might be the most helpful in my current situation.
“Bah! Who needs catalogues.” She fizzled out and reappeared beside me. “The first rule of magick is that thought and intention create. So, concentrate on what you are looking for… and then follow your inner voice.”
I licked my lips as I studied the mishmash of a library. I hovered my hand over the books as I walked, waiting for some sort of signal that I should to stop. But my inner voice never spoke up.
“Try that,” Mom instructed, pointing to an uncertain step ladder buried beneath another stack of books. After carefully moving them, I climbed the ladder and passed my hand along the higher shelves. Finally, when I was precariously balanced on the top step, one foot thrust out behind me for balance, my hand felt a tingling warmth. I pulled my gloves from my pocket and removed a book covered in so much dust I couldn’t make out the title. Old energy radiated from it, such as that possessed by ancient alchemical and religious texts. It was a book written under the cover of candlelight.
“I think I found something.”
I carefully stepped down and took the book to the podium. Mom was instantly beside me, a smoldering sage stick in her hand. She passed it over the book.
With my gloved hand, I wiped the dust from the title: A Brief History of Goblins.
“Goblins! I knew it!” Mom said. “Thievin’ little bastards. But there hasn’t been a verified sighting for decades.”
I flipped through the pages. According to the book, there were many kinds of goblins and related variants. They were tiny creatures who had passed through the veil into Europe sometime in the late Dark Ages. They were always considered a nuisance, and considerable effort was made to hunt them down. After the Great Eradication, the surviving creatures found new lairs underground, and for the most part, they had remained there ever since.
“Good stuff?” Mom asked.
“Fascinating,” I said as I skimmed a chapter on the dozens of goblin varieties. Some were tall, others squat, some thin as reeds while others were bloated. Their coloring ranged from translucent white, to sickly gray, to toad green. Their faces were rat-like or gnomish, or an absurd mixture of both. I quickly riffled through the pages, sensing I was on the rig
ht track. At last, I found a breed that felt right.
“Hobgoblins.” The drawing showed a creature with a squat, hairless body, red eyes and chalky grey skin. It had a thatch of shaggy brown hair on its head and hooves where there should be feet.
“Also known as house goblins. I should have guessed!” Mom floated from one side of the room to the other. “They’ll steal everything not nailed down, and they’ll find a way to steal that stuff, too.”
I read the description beneath the picture aloud:
Hobgoblins be mischievous and impish folk. They bear a love for trinkets, stealing them and taking them back to their lairs. If something be missing, you can most certainly blame the hobgoblins.
“They must have taken Beatrice’s comb. And my ring! But why did they bring them back? And more importantly, what can we do to stop them from overrunning our tea house. We have nothing but trinkets here!”
“You could put out one of your brother’s scones,” Mom said dryly.
I wanted to read more, but the book was thick and the print was small. I’d need more light and time to study it. “I know how I’ll be spending the rest of my day,” I said.
“Bah! House goblins are harmless, mostly. Think of them as big spiders. Leave them alone, and they’ll probably leave you alone.”
“Those are not words of comfort,” I said, twisting the sconce to let us out. “Until I figure out how to deal with this infestation, we need to keep this between us.”
Once we were back in the antique shop, the bookcase door had barely closed when Alex entered through the café door.
“Keep what between us?” he asked.
“Alex, we may have a… rat problem,” I lied.
“We can deal with that later. Can you come to the café now, please? We’ve got a situation.”
Thirteen
“Another situation, Alex? Have we run out of nutmeg?” I reluctantly dropped off A Brief History of Goblins on my desk and followed him out into the cafe. I was about to launch into a soliloquy on his helplessness when I saw the look on his face. This was more than a clogged pipe or a stiff scone. “Alex, what is it?”
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