The van’s engine growled to life.
“Yes.”
Headlights stared warily at the three of us. Dark smoke belched from the tailpipe. Margaret Wentworth backed out of her spot, then froze as the front door of the B&B swung open with the cheerful chime of bells.
A family emerged. The older child waved a carved wooden wand with feathers and a bit of rose quartz tied and glued to the end. The younger was sucking spilled maple syrup from her shirt. The man I assumed to be the father gave us a weary wave and asked, “Do you know how to get to the Real Pirates Museum?”
“It’s on Derby Street.” Jenny was always so quick to help. It didn’t matter whether it was exhausted tourists or a squirrel with a broken paw or a half-strangled sea serpent caught up in a discarded fishing net. She had a good soul, despite everything the Guardians Council had done to her. I wished she could see it.
She walked over to talk to the family, which confused me until I realized she was deliberately keeping them away from the haunted van. She joked with the kids and laughed with the parents and waved goodbye as they climbed into an SUV and drove off.
The instant they were out of sight, the van lurched forward. Annette reached inside her windbreaker for her knife.
“Stop that, both of you.” My spells might not have been as strong as they once were, but I could stillsee. There were no curses on this vehicle, and the presence inside was no cranky poltergeist.
Some people were born with 20/10 vision. Others with hearing that picked up frequencies and fluctuations few could hear. My senses just stretched further into the magical spectrum. It was probably a combination of genetics and growing up in that house with magic seeping into my cells like radon or lead paint.
Annette drew back her empty hand and waited. It warmed my spirit that despite everything, she trusted me enough to follow my lead.
Margaret Wentworth revved her engine.
I sent a tendril of magic through my cane and into the van, triggering the windshield washer. It sprayed twin fans of cleaning fluid onto the glass. The van reversed, jumping backward like a cat sprayed with a water bottle.
“We’re not here to hurt you.” I stepped closer. I felt Margaret Wentworth’s suspicion and mistrust. “Or your child.”
“We’re not?” asked Annette.
“She’s not trapped because she died violently or had unfinished business.” Those ghosts always had an edge of panic and adrenaline. Their presence made my palms sweat and wrecked my blood pressure. This one was different.
I placed my left hand gently on Margaret’s hood. “You stayed to protect your son.”
The wipers swiped once, clearing the washer fluid. I sensed wariness, worry, and a loneliness so powerful, it brought tears to my eyes.
“He doesn’t talk to you anymore, does he?” I asked. “He treats you like a van, not a mother.”
The headlights flashed once.
I used the bottom of my T-shirt to wipe a smear of bird poop from the hood. “I know you’re afraid. Afraid of fading and losing yourself. Afraid of not being here for the people you love.”
Another flash of headlights.
“Temple Finn, Van Whisperer,” said Jenny.
I kept my attention on Margaret. “We don’t know what Ronnie’s trying to do, but it’s important that we speak with him. If he keeps going the way he is, he’ll end up hurt or worse. You know that, don’t you? Let us help him.”
“Time out,” said Annette. “This isn’t some wounded kitten you found on the porch. That kid is dangerous.”
“Aren’t we all?” I asked.
“You’re both right.” Jenny stared into the distance. “I was like Ronnie when I was young. Stab first, ask questions later. I thought I was doing good. Things like attacking a harvester or spying on a magically warded house to see what danger lurked within its walls...they’re things I might have done. They don’t prove he’s evil.”
“Would you have sent your friends to try to murder an innocent succubus?” asked Annette.
Jenny appeared to ponder the question. “I’m sorry, are you describing yourself as innocent?”
I chuckled. One point to Jenny Winter.
“You know what I mean,” snapped Annette.
