by Valia Lind
Dean doesn't answer right away, and when he does, he doesn't really meet my eye. Only a fleeting glance.
"No, there's nothing else."
Now, why don't I trust him?
10
The police are still conducting their interviews, but I need a moment to get my head straight. The moment I step inside our bungalow, my phone rings. Glancing down, I see it's Auntie Grace and answer right away.
“Good morning, honey bun. How are you doing?”
“I’ve been better, Auntie Grace,” I reply honestly, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "Dean is the prime suspect, it seems. And I think he really is holding things back from me."
“Oh, I'm so sorry sugar plum. But I do have some good news that will hopefully help. I think there is a way for you to talk to your phantom.”
"You mean outside of him invading my dreams and disappearing when it's convenient for him?"
"Yes. There's a spell that can call forth a spirit. It's typically done over the body, right after passing. Sort of like a last goodbye before the person moves on. But since these circumstances are different—"
"It's worth a try," I finish for her.
It does feel a little like cheating, getting information from the deceased himself. But it's not like I'm a real cop, right? It doesn't matter how I find out my information. Except if the detective asks. Then I'll have to come up with a story, but that's a problem for another time.
"Okay, what do I need?" I ask.
"Me."
The voice comes from behind me and I'm a little ashamed to admit that I jump off the bed with a little squeak. I turn to watch Birdie push her way into the room, my eyes narrowing.
"Umm, Auntie Grace, why is your cat here?" I glare at the feline, and I swear she glares back.
"The cat can hear you," Birdie replies, stretching her back a little as she slowly makes her way farther into the room. "And is this the kind of thanks I get for hauling this dumb pouch all this way?"
That's when I notice a small bundle around her neck.
"Birdie brought you a pouch with all the ingredients you need for the spell," my aunt says while Birdie and I have a mini stare down. We're constantly coming to terms with each other and clashing. I think it's just a thing now.
"Thank you," I say, stepping up to the cat. I swear Birdie throws a glare my way before jumping onto the bed. I'm almost positive she wants to snip at my fingers as I reach for the pouch, but thankfully she doesn't. I unwrap it carefully, letting the items drop into my hand.
A crystal, a rolled-up piece of paper, and some charcoal sit in my palm.
"All the instructions are there, honey bun. Let Birdie help as well. She'll amplify your powers."
I swear Birdie heard that and is now looking extra smug. I simply roll my eyes.
"Also, make sure you have at least an hour of no interruption. It might take a moment longer than usual to call him out, and you don't want to be disturbed halfway through."
"Thank you, Auntie Grace. Have you been able to find anything out about why I’ve been seeing him?”
“Not yet. But I’m still looking. Blessed be, Cassie.”
We hang up, and I stare down at the cat.
"Alright, should we do this?"
"You're the witch. You tell me."
I swear, this cat is way too snarky for her own good. But instead of engaging, I pull up the favorites tab on my phone and dial Penny. I'm going to need a bit of help with this one.
Once I've explained to Penny what I'm doing, she agrees to stand guard, so to speak, to make sure I have the bungalow to myself. Pulling all the curtains tightly closed, I set out the items on the floor in front of me before sitting down cross-legged. Birdie takes her place across from me, watching expectedly.
"I really wish you wouldn't stare like that," I say.
"Tough luck, witch. I have to pay attention to make sure you don't mess things up."
“I liked it better when you didn’t talk.”
“Oh, I could always talk. You just didn’t know how to listen, witch.”
"Are you sure you're a cat and not just a cranky old lady who was turned into one?" I mumble. I'm pretty sure Birdie's gaze narrows, but I ignore it. I need to focus on the task at hand.
The instructions are pretty simple. I light a candle, then I say a little chant while holding the quartz crystal in one hand and charcoal in the other. Between the light and the dark, it's supposed to cleanse and balance the vibrations out.
It's also a little bit intimidating and scary because I don't do magic like this. Most of my magic is intuitive. Now I'm required to be intentional. Part of me thinks I'm not ready for that, but then again, when is anyone ever ready for the things life throws our way?
"Are you planning on sitting there all day?" Birdie's voice breaks through my mini freak out, and I turn my attention to her, making sure to glare extra hard.
"You should really work on your bedside manner, cat."
"You should really work on your magic, witch."
We stare at each other, unblinking, for a solid thirty seconds before I realize I'm having a battle of wills with a feline. What has my life come to? Shaking my head, I glance down at the paper in front of me. Picking up the crystal and the charcoal, I place my hands on my knees, palms up. I can still hear people outside the bungalow, but the moment I focus in on the spell, that all seems to fade away. I take a deep breath, focusing my energy on the task at hand, and begin to recite.
"Mother Nature, hear my plea,
I am seeking a guarantee.
Help and guide, like seasons past,
Bring this spirit as a guest."
I close my eyes, breathing the words in and pushing them out of my body on a sigh.
For the longest time, I fought against my heritage. I thought magic was nothing but a nuisance, something that made my whole life difficult and unnatural. But in recent months, I've learned magic is the most natural thing to me and that I can trust it. It has saved my butt more than once already. But it's more than that. The more I learn and practice my magic, the more I feel like myself. Leaving Monroe Cove was my way to try and find out who I was, but I was only running from what was right under my nose. I'm trying to be better about not doing that.
Taking another long breath, I curl my fingers over the items in my hands and close my eyes.
At first, nothing happens. But then, it's like a veil is lifted and the space around me comes into focus. Once again, I'm in a large room, but this time, I can see past the immediate area and what I find are walls of trees. It's like the room turns into a forest, with no doors in between. Looking around, I try to see if the man is here, but there's nothing but the darkness. Making sure to stay in the moment, I do my breathing exercises as I wait for the spell to work. For some reason, I know it will.
When I hear a slight noise in front of me, my eyes spring open and there he is. He’s standing in the middle of the room that's not really a room, looking confused.
"What did you do?" he asks when I meet his confused gaze.
"I called you here for a little one on one. We need to talk."
"I don't know what you mean."
"What do you mean you don't know what I mean?" I take a step toward him, cocking my head to the side. “You know you’re—”
“Dead. Yes.”
"Okay, then we need to talk about the fact that you were haunting my dreams, even before you died. How do you explain that?"
"If I could, then I would," he replies, studying the mist that's gathering around us. It’s moving closer. I've also noticed, but I don't take my attention off Arthur, afraid he'll disappear.
"Fine. What was it that you were involved in that got you killed? Let's start there."
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
I throw my hands up in the air, completely exasperated.
"You're seriously going to tell me that you haunted me for a week before you were murdered, with no reason, and you don't know why we
have the kind of connection that allows you to do so. And that whatever you were involved in just happened to get you killed the week I'm here for vacation?"
"Yeah, that's what it appears to be," he says, raising his eyebrows. Okay, this man is officially getting on my nerves. I mean, he has been since he started this haunting of his, but this is another level.
If he wasn't dead already—
Okay, Cassie, calm down, and we're going to have to keep that train of thought from forming because we are supposed to be nice to people, even dead people these days.
"Let's think of this logically. You were a gardener with your own business, who came out to the resort a few times a year to redo the gardens..." I trail off, trying to organize the different points of information. From everything I've learned, Arthur was in a bad place. But how do I make a ghost realize that and admit it? Or even remember it? Ghosts are notorious for forgetting basically everything once they die. But he visited me before his death, there has to be a connection there.
"Should I leave you alone?" Arthur says, interrupting my mental ramblings.
"No, do not move, we are figuring this out." I point at him, another list of questions forming in my mind. "Have you ever experienced anything weird in your life? Maybe supernatural?"
"Not that I can think of."
"Except where you showed up in my dreams," I raise my eyebrows at him, and he shrugs.
"As far as I know, that's it."
“How did that work for you?”
“I went to sleep, and then I was in your dream.”
“Always screaming at me to help you,” I point out.
“It was an impulse; I couldn’t control it.” He shrugs again.
This is truly going nowhere.
"Okay. How did you get the job? Are you from these parts?"
"No, I moved from out west. I wanted to work with my hands and live somewhere where there are seasons. I started in Boston, now I’m here."
I can understand that. We do have the prettiest seasons around here. It would be especially appealing to someone who loves nature.
"While you worked at the resort you didn't have any problems with anyone? Any arguments you can recall?"
Arthur opens his mouth to reply, but then stops. I feel like he was about to deliver another one of his flippant remarks, but something stops him. He seems to actually be thinking over my questions now. The gears are turning as the mist creeps closer and closer.
"There was something. But I can't really grab onto the memory enough to remember it. Why is that?"
My heart softens a little at the way he looks at me. It must be so scary. He seems to be aware of his death, but I still tread carefully.
"When someone passes, their memories become jumbled. It’s almost like the reset button has been hit and the brain has to rebuild itself. Except now that you are no longer living, the brain doesn't rebuild the same way."
"That's not very helpful, is it?"
"No, I suppose it's not. But we'll figure it out. Someone knows something."
Arthur is quiet for another minute as I approach the question I've been eager to ask. The mist is almost upon us, and I know our time here is short.
"Arthur, you knew Dean." The man looks up at me, slightly surprised. "You saw him last night. Could you tell me what happened?"
"Are you asking if he's the one who hurt me?"
Ghosts may not remember a lot of things, but they sure hit it on the head when it comes to these inquisitive questions.
"Did he hurt you, Arthur?"
There's a pause, as his gaze gets far away.
"I mean, you're the detective here. I'm just the dead guy." And with that, he disappears.
11
“So did he say it was Dean or not?” Penny asks a little while later. She's sitting on the bed, petting Birdie while I pace. After Arthur disappeared from the room, the spell kicked me out. Birdie said I was only under for about a minute, even though it felt way longer than that. Something I made a mental note to ask Auntie Grace about. I always seem to be missing some rules about how it all works.
“He didn't. But I think maybe he would've if Dean was involved?” I'm not sure if I'm grasping at straws here or not.
“Dean didn't do it.”
I glance over to where Birdie is stretching out under Penny's hand and narrow my eyes.
"How would you know that, fur ball?" Penny looks up at me, startled, before she realizes who I'm talking to.
"It really is super weird and cool that you can talk to Birdie," Penny comments.
"Yeah, that's only because you can't hear Birdie talk back," I reply. The cat hisses a little, before rolling over and getting to all fours.
"Dean didn't do it."
"But why do you keep saying that?" Penny waves her arm.
I translate. "She keeps saying Dean didn't do it."
"I would be inclined to agree with Birdie." Penny shrugs, and I don't admit that I do too. But that's more of a feeling than fact. And there's no way Detective Ames is going to go off feeling.
"Dean doesn't have a dark heart. He would never."
"A dark heart? What are you talking about, cat?"
But Birdie is clearly done with me, because she jumps off the bed and heads toward the window.
"Really?"
She's up and out of it before any of us can do anything else.
"That cat—"
"Is adorable."
I glare at Penny but don't comment further.
The whole conversation with Arthur gave me absolutely nothing but a practice run at my spell casting. I'm grateful for that, of course, but I would've liked it more if I came away with some kind of information I could use.
"So, what's our next move?" Penny asks. I turn my attention back to her.
"I wish I knew. I should probably go see if I can talk to a few more people. The more information I gather, the better my chances of figuring this out. But—"
"But what?"
"It's hard to stay objective when Dean is involved."
And of course, I had to circle back to this. Because it's causing way too many problems in my brain. Penny doesn't comment, so I glance over at her, noticing she’s trying to hold back a smile.
"Okay what?"
"Nothing."
"Spill it."
"It's just that—I'm glad you're not running from this anymore."
Whatever I thought Penny was going to say, this isn’t it. I stop pacing and turn to her more fully. She gives me a sheepish smile and shrugs again.
"What is that supposed to mean, Penelope?"
"It means," Penny doesn't hesitate, getting off the bed and walking to stand in front of me, "that whatever happened in your childhood can finally be left there. You're trusting your heart and your friends over the memories that may or may not be true, and I think that's amazing. I'm proud of you."
Being the only person, besides Auntie Grace, who knows about my magical powers, Penny is in a unique position to understand me better. I told her all about how my aunt messed with my memories to protect me. Well, not “messed.” That sounds so bad. Basically, not everything I remember is how it happened. A side effect that she is beyond remorseful about. I've been trying to work through the memories and the information I'm receiving from people to piece together what actually happened, especially the part where my mother disappeared.
But now is not the time nor place to be thinking about any of this. Just then, a knock sounds on the door. Penny rushes over it, pulling it open. Pricilla Janson stands on the other side, as prim and proper as ever.
"Good afternoon," she says. "I just wanted to come by and remind you personally that the game night dinner is happening tonight."
"Even with everything going on?" I ask.
"Yes, it has been approved by the detective. Hope to see you at seven."
With that, she turns on her heels and walks back down the steps. Not wanting to miss my opportunity, I dash after her.
“Excuse me, Miss Janson?�
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She stops, spinning around to face me. There’s no pretense of a customer service smile on her face. Her face is blank as she watches me.
“I’m sorry, I just wanted to see how you were doing. I know Arthur was like family around here and I—”
“You do not need to concern yourself, Miss Duke,” Priscilla interrupts with no emotion on her face. “We are all grieving, but we are fine. We will see you for game night tonight.”
She doesn’t wait for a response, cutting me off completely. I watch her retreat, narrowing my eyes. As I make my way back to the bungalow, Penny shuts the door slowly, turning to me.
"You know what this means, right?" I ask.
"What?"
"Detective Ames is putting everyone under one roof. We're about to play games with a killer."
For the rest of the day, I'm restless. Birdie has disappeared, and Penny is simply trying to keep me from walking up to every guest and bombarding them with questions. I can't be one hundred percent sure, but I think performing the spell was like a caffeine boost. I have way too much energy inside of me right now.
We haven't seen Dean or Finn since this morning, and Detective Ames only nodded in my direction when I went back to the dining area for lunch. I've asked a few guests the basic questions about seeing Arthur or anything suspicious, but most didn’t even know there was a gardener on the premises. None of these questions lead me anywhere, and I would like to find at least one person who would be willing to talk to me. I tried cornering Priscilla and Lizette again but both have been sidestepping me. Who I do find is Victoria, still at the same table she was at when I met her, watching people walking by.
"Hello Victoria," I say, stopping by the table. The woman looks up at me, a small smile on her lips.
"Hello, meddling girl. Is this your trusty sidekick?" Victoria points to Penny, who curtsies.
"Sorry, I'm not sure why I felt like I had to do that," She giggles as I try to hide my smile. "I'm Penelope. But my friends call me Penny."
"It's nice to meet you, Penny. Take a seat, you two. You're hovering."
Penny and I sit immediately as Victoria reaches for a cup in front of her and takes a sip.