“Where did you spend the coins?”
“One should be in Louisiana.”
I mentally tapped the Crossroads. It had already rummaged through all the reference material in the house and come up with the top five most likely places in Louisiana where he would have spent the coin. I was pretty sure it was number one on the list.
“You went to the swamp. You went to Lilt Keyva, the swamp siren, didn’t you?”
“You’ve gotten really fast at that,” he said. “If you ever get tired of the Crossroads gig, you could do a mind-reader side hustle.”
I stomped up the stairs. “Go drink tea and leave me alone.”
“Come on,” he said. “Put a few signs up along Route 66, lure in the tourists. Fake-read minds, haul in the cash. That is a good idea.”
“You know how I know it isn’t a good idea?” I asked. “Because you came up with it.”
He made an offended noise. “I come up with wonderful ideas. Creative. Daring. I come up with ideas that will change the world.”
“Did you get the buy-one-get-one free on delusions, or did you pay full price for all that crazy?”
He barked a little laugh, and I tried not to smile.
“Says the woman who chose to become besties with a house.”
“Crossroads is more than a house.” I paused with my hand on the door to the notions room.
I couldn’t see Card at the bottom of two flights of stairs, but his voice carried.
“More than a house,” he sang out, “but you know...still kind of a house.”
“I can order it to eat you,” I yelled. “Bury you. I could tie you up in the cellar and the Crossroads would fill it with ants.”
“You’ve put some thought into this, haven’t you?”
“There’s always the boiler room! I mean I don’t have one, but I’m sure I could rig something up.”
“You’ve always been handy with power tools,” he agreed. “Wouldn’t even have to bring in a contractor to assemble my death machine.”
And dammit, I liked this. I remembered this kind of banter between us. This had been good.
But having it again just reminded me of how long he had been gone.
“Dammit, Card,” I said quietly to myself. “Why do I miss you?” Then, at a volume meant to carry, “Wait for me downstairs.”
He must have heard the catch in my voice.
“Right,” he said. “I’ll just go wait in the...which room?”
“Kitchen,” I said. “Pour yourself tea and wait for me.”
“Right. Good.” I didn’t hear him move away, could still feel his hand on the finial like a ghostly echo.
“You’re burning minutes, Card, and you do not have them to spare.”
“I just wanted to say, if I get a choice, I’m all for the cellar ants.”
“You don’t,” I called out, but I was smiling again.
His chuckle was soft, then his footsteps finally sounded on the floor, moving toward the kitchen.
