The dog just stared at me with an unimpressed face.
“What’s your name?” I asked. “Might as well go along with this.”
Another snort from the dog.
“Because obviously I’m hallucinating,” I added. “Dogs don’t speak.”
“Are you really this dense?” the dog asked, sinking down into a sit, her feet almost curling up underneath her. She looked almost like a pudgy little queen of her own throne, although I was smart enough to not say that. “You summoned me,” she said flatly. “I’m here because you asked me to come.”
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about.” I stood, headed towards the kitchen and stopped. Wren’s number was on the sticky note, but it didn’t seem appropriate. If anything, it seemed more likely to get me hauled off to a mental hospital for seeing and hearing a talking dog.
Although maybe—I skittered forward to where the dog sat on her haunches. Her look was suspicious, but she tilted her head when I reached out to scratch her ear.
She felt real, warm and velvety. Her eyes went half-lidded as I tried the other ear, desperate to find when it would turn into an illusion.
“But dogs can’t talk,” I said, as if that would make a difference.
The dog rolled her eyes. “My name is Mocha,” she said. “Please stop calling me dog.”
Well, okay, she didn’t say please. But I was going to pretend that she did. You know, in the weird universe where dogs could talk.
I didn’t know why thought that Wren or Theo could help, but at that point, it was my main hope. Maybe they’d be understanding after having a long day, and it was exhaustion or something.
I picked up my phone, only to realize it was on and fully charged. I almost dropped it, but I’d never replaced the cover on the screen and really didn’t want to need a new phone on top of everything. So much for my phone dying.
Hands shaking, I dialed Wren’s number. Thankfully, it was only a few rings before somebody picked up.
“Hello?” Wren said on the other end of the line.
“Hi,” I said in the lamest greeting ever. I tried to figure out how to phrase it. “This is Lou.”
“From the apartment,” Wren said cheerfully. “How can I help you?”
I paused, staring at the dog that was now ignoring me and scratching her neck. “There’s a talking dog in my apartment.”
Silence on the other end of the line. I braced myself.
“And?” Wren said carefully, like she wasn’t sure where the problem was.
“Dogs can’t talk,” I said in a rush. Maybe she hadn’t heard me correctly. “Right?”
“Dogs can’t talk?” she replied quizzically.
That was not helping my situation. “Not last time I checked,” I said, picking up another piece of cold pizza and taking a bite in an effort to not laugh or cry. “Care to educate me otherwise?” That was definitely sarcasm.
“We’ll be right over,” she said, sounding almost distracted.
“Uh actually –” I didn’t even finish the sentence before she hung up. Mocha continued to ignore me, instead stretching, her butt going up in the air as she yawned. Then she settled back down. Her brown eyes were watching me now, far too intensely for my liking. Normally it was fine that dogs had those piercing eyes, soulful and deep. But now that she could talk, I was more unnerved.
It was an awkward silence that lasted until I heard footsteps coming up the stairs. I headed for the door, opening it before she could knock. Wren’s bright purple hair was reassuring in a way I hadn’t expected.
“Hello,” Wren said, something between amusement and bewilderment on her features.
“Help,” I said desperately, almost dragging her inside. I didn’t know what she was laughing at, but I hoped it wasn’t me. “It just appeared in my apartment.”
Mocha looked up at this, her attention flickering between Wren and me. Wren looked back although she still didn’t look as panicked as I would have expected.
“Mocha,” the dog said impatiently. “I’m a woman. And I’m a beagle.”
Wren looked between Mocha and me, not seeming to hear any of it. “It’s talking?”
Well, there was the confirmation that I was the barking mad one. “She’s talking. Her name is Mocha. Or so she says.”
Another long pause.
“So when do I get locked up?” I asked, wondering exactly how much wrong-er my evening could go. “Since I’m obviously hallucinating.”
Wren let out a surprised laugh as if she was finally getting the picture. “You don’t know you’re magic, do you?”
I heard the words, but they made little sense. “What?” It wasn’t helping, but I couldn’t think of anything else to say.
“You don’t know you’re magic.” Amusement flashed across her face like it was some inside joke I wasn’t privy to.
“Magic.” I’d been the victim of practical jokes, but this was a new one. “You’re kidding.”
Chapter Three
“You should come with me,” Wren said, her face more serious now.
I narrowed my eyes, suspicious. “You’re not taking me off to some dark corner to kill me or something, are you?”
“What do you do in your free time?” Mocha asked, disbelieving. “Who did I get stuck with?”
‘I didn’t stick you with anyone,” I said, a hand on my hip. If we were going anywhere, I should have probably put some more clothes on. My robe wasn’t going to impress anyone.
Wren looked between the two of us. Mocha was sitting there, chill as a cucumber, looking entirely unimpressed by the entire situation. She had a leather-y collar on that I hadn’t seen before.
“What’d she say?” Wren looked curious.
“She’s criticizing my life choices.” That was a good summary. I looked back at Wren. “We can’t talk here?”
“Not everyone’s here,” she said, almost absently. “It’s best done in a group setting.”
“Now you make it sound like I’m about to be sacrificed.”
Wren gave me a weird look. “I think I may have to join Mocha on judging your life choices.”
This time I was the one to look unimpressed.
“Just trust me,” Wren said, trying to sound reassuring.
“Because no one’s ever said that before they try and murder someone,” I muttered under my breath. “Let me go change–”
“You’re fine the way you are,” Wren said. “It’s late.”
I paused, half a step towards my bedroom. “At least let me put on a bra.”
Wren hid a smile with her hand although I could see it in her eyes. “I’ll wait downstairs,” she said. “Don’t take too long.”
She was out and heading down the stairs before I could say anything. Not entirely to my surprise, Mocha followed me to my bedroom, and watched as I not only put on a bra, but jeans and a shirt. Flannel pajamas was just asking to be seen as crazy.
I stuck my phone in my pocket, heading out to the living area and looking for my car keys.
Wren snickered. I jumped, because so much for waiting downstairs. “We’re just going down the road. You won’t need to drive.” She was standing in the doorway, still texting, even with her eyes on me.
I figured I was already going crazy, so what could more crazy hurt? Maybe I’d learn something, or maybe everyone would be as mad as I was.
“It’s been a long time since the last one,” Wren said cheerfully. “They’re excited.” A glance down at her phone. “We’re going to go to my Nan’s house,” she said. “Everyone’s there already.”
“Everyone?” My stomach did a flip, nerves making me nauseous. It reminded me of what she said earlier. “Family?”
She nodded, heading down the stairs. I locked my apartment, nearly tripping over my own feet when I noticed Mocha standing at the top of the stairs, since I hadn’t seen her leave. She looked at me, as if daring me to comment, and then trotted down the stairs. I followed.
“You said down the road?’ I as
ked once we got outside, glancing at the buildings. They didn’t seem residential, but maybe it was hiding. Wren had already pushed open the gate, leading me out front.
Wren looked thoughtful. “I’m guessing you’re not into flying?”
I froze. Before I could respond she giggled, waving a hand in front of her. “Sorry, sorry. I couldn’t resist.”
“Tell her she needs new jokes,” Mocha muttered.
“Tell her yourself,” I said tartly. I didn’t want to dig a hole further here.
Wren chuckled, although I wasn’t sure what she was chuckling at. Then she started off, heading down the sidewalk. I followed, Mocha walking at my heels. She’d stop here and there, like a regular dog, to sniff random things. But she’d always catch up, no matter how far behind she got.
Wren turned down an alleyway, which was dark and somewhat shady. My heart raced, various bad news situations spooling out in my mind. But after ten feet, it opened into a residential neighborhood.
“It’s a shortcut,” Wren said, as if reading my mind. “The actual road is further down.”
I stopped where I was, apprehensive. I didn’t know why I was nervous. None of this was real. Or something. But I’d never been a big fan of denial. There was a part of my brain shouting that I needed to get with the picture, and accept that it was a thing.
I wasn’t quite sure what to think about that yet.
“They’re excited to meet you,” Wren said, her voice gentle.
I wasn’t sure what to say to that, so I didn’t say anything. She nodded to a house with bright lights, wide windows, and a red car parked in the driveway. It wasn’t really what I’d expected. If magic really was a thing, wouldn’t it be more… dramatic? Bats swooping, maybe an owl or two?
Then again, that would have been quite conspicuous. And stereotypical.
“This’ll make so much more sense in a few minutes.” Wren looked at me again as if she was worried about my mental state.
That was a nice thing to say, but I would have much preferred that life started making sense now, and not ‘in a few minutes’. But, patience. Or something.
“Who all is it?” I asked, tucking my hands back in my pockets.
“Gram, Mom, Auntie Beth, and I think Theo and Ethan.” Wren frowned thoughtfully. “We’re Sam’s family.”
It was self-preservation and not as much paranoia that made me skeptical. It seemed too coincidental. But Mom had been raised in Elder. It would have made sense that she had family here even if she’d never told me. Paranoia was safer. Maybe it was some weird, convoluted scam.
Mentally I pushed my paranoia aside to deal with later. Wren walked up towards the front door and I followed, trying to straighten up and stop feeling terrified. It had definitely been the right choice to change out of pajamas. Worst case, I left town, and I would never see them again.
As the door swung open, a deep bell-like sound reverberated. It was like a doorbell, except she hadn’t pushed anything. It sounded almost like a gong.
“We’re here,” Wren said cheerfully.
A small, almost wizened old lady appeared, looking both tired and more alert than Mildred at the same time. Her hair was immaculately curled, grey curls pinned up. Her eyes were sharp. “This is her?”
“This is Lou.” Wren smiled at me in encouragement. “Lou, this is Grandma Lettie.”
“I told you not to call me Grandma,” Lettie said seemingly out of rote.
“She prefers Aunt,” Wren said in a softer voice that seemed to be just for me. “Or just Lettie.”
Lettie seemed to look me up and down, then she walked in a circle around me. “Doesn’t look like much.”
Wren leaned over to whisper in my ear. “She likes you.”
“Theo beat you here,” another voice said from inside. I couldn’t see who it was, but it sounded vaguely familiar.
Lettie turned and headed towards the voice, presumably into the living room or something. Wren nodded in that direction and then looked at me with a question in her face.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
“Which is not at all,” Mocha commented.
“Are you even allowed in here?” I hissed as I followed Wren. Mocha was trotting at my side as if she’d been doing it her entire life.
A calico cat darted out of the main room to twine through Wren’s legs, making happy-chirps and rubbing her face against Wren’s thigh.
“Cleo.” Wren’s face brightened. She reached down, scooping up the cat and hugging it. “This is my familiar, Cleo.”
“Hello,” I said, not sure of how to greet a cat that could presumably talk.
Wren’s eyes went slightly unfocused and she laughed. “She says hello back.” Leaning down, she let Cleo go, who then walked up to Mocha and sniffed her nose. Mocha sat on her haunches, looking unimpressed. It seemed to be her default expression.
I followed Wren another handful of steps towards the living room, my nerves skyrocketing. That was a side effect of anxiety. Well. Plus, a reasonable response to walking into a situation like the current one, not that there really was a standard set of instructions on how to deal with it. If it was a plot to murder me, it was a really complicated one.
When I entered the living room, there was Lizbeth from earlier, and another woman about the same age who had platinum-blonde hair that seemed almost out of place. Given Lizbeth had the red hair, she was probably Ethan and Theo’s mother. Would that make the blonde Wren’s mother? Theo was leaning and half-sitting on the arm of the couch, while Ethan was sprawled on an armchair staring at his phone with a frown.
They looked so—normal.
“Ethan,” Lizbeth said, disapproving. “Sit up for our guest.”
Glancing up like a naughty child who’d been caught in the cookie jar, Ethan shoved his phone in his pocket and sat up straight, although his face was a comical mess of amusement and annoyance.
“Am I crazy?” I asked, although I wasn’t really sure who that was addressed to.
“Only as crazy as we all are,” Lizbeth said, her voice reassuring.
“I don’t think that makes me feel less crazy.” Not that I meant to offend any of them, but we had talking pets and magic had been mentioned and all I’d done was move to Arizona. I hadn’t asked for any of it. “If that was meant to reassure me, it didn’t work.” I at least tried to sound polite.
Lizbeth fought to keep a straight face. “I’m sorry dear,” she said. “It’s just been such a long time since we’ve had a new witch.”
I held up a finger. “Witch?” This was turning into one of those cute, good-feeling movies, where someone moved to a new place and got to know the town and a family and then of course there was the hunky Sheriff and—okay, maybe I had been watching too much daytime TV. Mom had liked it.
“Your mom never told you?” Lizbeth asked, sadness and curiosity in her voice.
“No,” I said, startled at the thought. “Mom never mentioned it.” I frowned. “Should she have? She never talked about magic or anything.” Or demonstrated any signs of it, as far as I knew. But given what was happening, I obviously didn’t know as much as I thought I did.
Lizbeth’s face was a mix of sadness and regret. “I’d always wondered,” she admitted. “We didn’t know you existed.”
I frowned for what felt like the umpteenth time. There was a story behind that, there had to be. There was some guilt, too. Had Mom had a falling-out and left? Was I insulting her memory by talking to people she’d apparently disowned?
The door opened and closed although I saw nothing go in or out. My jaw dropped. Mocha was still at my feet, and Cleo was still leaning against Wren and getting pet.
“Has she died yet?” Theo asked, suddenly more animated than she had been.
The platinum-blonde made an exasperated noise. “Will you stop trying to scare the woman?” She gave Theo a Look, then turned to me. “My name is Ella. I’m Wren’s mother.”
“And this is Theo, and this is Ethan.” Lizbeth pointed to Ethan and
Theo in turn.
“Mom,” Theo said, sounding faintly exasperated. “She knows who we are.”
“It’s polite,” Lizbeth said primly. That got an eyeroll from Theo. She made an exasperated noise, as if it was a battle they were used to fighting but knew she would never win.
It was the kind of comfort that existed in a good mother/daughter relationship, one I’d enjoyed with my Mom. It seemed to almost be a group here, with the aunts as close as the mother. I shoved the sadness down. There wasn’t time for it at the moment.
“From the beginning, please?” I asked, still feeling like there was something going on that I was the only one who hadn’t figured out yet.
“You’re magic,” Lizbeth said, apparently taking point.
“Magic?” She’d said witch, too, but the words still weren’t making sense to me. Then again, it was almost eleven. I’d been up way too late.
“You’re magic.” This time Theo was one who said it. “Not sure why your mom didn’t tell you, but you’ve got magic in your blood, like we do.”
“Sam lived here for a long time,” Lizbeth said. She glanced over at Lettie, settled in a recliner with sharp-looking knitting needles. Lettie didn’t seem to be looking at me, instead she was focusing on whatever she was doing. She looked eighty or older, and still looked like she could kick my butt.
“She was my daughter,” Lettie said, her voice matter-of-fact. She seemed stoic, but I had a feeling it was an act. “She left us years back, never revealed why.” She glanced at me. “I have a feeling you’re tied to the reason why.”
But it didn’t sound like there was any blame in there, more contemplation. Like she’d wondered why Sam had given them up, instead of attempting to depend on her family. I wanted to go to her defense, but I didn’t have any idea why. I hadn’t even known she had a family, not really.
“I heard she’s since passed?” Lettie asked, pain underlying her precise words.
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