Twenty-Six
Ghosts are like Labrador retrievers and become destructive when bored. Keep them entertained by infusing your life with plenty of drama, romance, and depression for them to enjoy, or they’ll start breaking things.
Legends and Superstitions, Expanded,
Tempest Family Grimoire
I tail the agentof chaos outside into late-September sunshine. “What do you think you are doing?” I shout.
His grin is fiendish. “Taking a walk. Lovely day, isn’t it?”
“You can’t swipe another person’s library books. That’s criminal.”
He waves his stack in a taunt, stride quickening. “Got ’em for the next three weeks. Six, if I renew. Forever, if I decide to be dastardly; and I do so love to be dastardly.”
Curses. “Why doyouneed books on mice?”
“Because you do, gorgeous. If I cannot get your attention the normal way, I will get it the annoying way. There are many paths to success!”
I throw up my arms. I do not understand this man. I need to inspect him with a microscope, reference books, and PPE clothing. He is practically a wildlife specimen—I’ve never met anybody like him, and damn if that doesn’t make him all themore fascinating to me. I am hereby charging the lizard hemisphere of my brain with treason. “I wasn’t trying to ignore you,” I insist. “It’s just that I was reading. And when I am reading, I am not hearing. I am not noticing anything else.”
He cuts down an alley toward The Magick Happens. Over the stone wall of our courtyard, I can see that the green “pumpkins” on Romina’s roof have vanished. I strongly suspect Romina has learned they were indeed round zucchini, and destroyed the evidence rather than risk me gloating.
“I’ll give them back if you include me in whatever it is you’re doing,” he says, stopping short. I bump into him.
My braid is a mess, my resting murder face glassy with sweat. There are burs all over my shirt. But strangely, I do not feel at all awkward; Morgan is looking down at me with dancing eyes and a crooked smile, as if this is a most exciting turn of events, as ifIam the unpredictable half of our duo and he would rather love to examine me under a microscope, as well.
I drop my gaze, glowering at his mouth. Sweet, wanton treason is spreading from one half of my brain to the other like dye in water. It is getting my reproductive system involved. This is seditious conspiracy. “You are despicable.”
He bends his knees to meet my eyes again. “Is that a yes?”
I square my shoulders. “I’m searching for information on mice, so that I may learn anything there is to potentially know about the mouseplant.”
Morgan arches an eyebrow. “The what, now?”
I explain what I saw in the woods. (Or near the woods—I haven’t breached it by myself, as the forest is treacherous to navigate alone, and I am not about to become a bray.)
“Where’re all your books on plants, then?” he wants to know. “You said the paranimal had leaves coming out of it, but your only focus here seems to be mice.”
I slap my own forehead. “See, this is why you need to be a more dependable investigative partner. For some reason, you’re able to think of things that I don’t.”
“For some reason?” he repeats. “Mildly offensive.” But he doesn’t look upset. He’s teetering on the balls of his feet, an electrical scribble of anticipation. “Do you know whodoesown plenty of books on plants?”
“Romina! Morgan, you’re a genius.” I high-five him.
His cheeks bloom with color, and he smiles at his shoes.
We confiscate Romina’s books (she only ownselevenof them and they’re all about plants and the language of flowers), then spread our findings across the kitchen table up in the apartment. Morgan pores over my notes while I sketch the paranimal. I have to draw what the leaves looked like before I start researching pictures of leaves, or else they’ll all meld together and I won’t remember what’s what. “Mouseplant is a terrible name,” he comments. “It has no pizzazz.”
“It’s likehouseplant, but with a mouse. Puns are whimsical.”
“You must consider the dignity of the animal, Zelda.” His face is grave. “A wee mouse with leaves poking out requires a stately name, so that all the bigger woodland paranimals will pay it its due respect.” He thinks. “Leaf Erikson. Stuart Laurel.”
“No. You got to pick the name for the gingersnappus. I’m picking for the mouseplant.”
“The word.Mouseplant.Doesn’t have.Pizzazz.”
“Oh, like you’re the gatekeeper of pizzazz,” I hiss. “This isthe stupidest conversation I have ever been a part of. I cannot believe I ever thought you were a smooth talker.”
