Eyes wandering around the dark, dank, musty-smelling stone-walled room, my gaze landed on a hopeful, although sad, Mrs.Brumfield.Dressed in vintage black Chanel from head to toe, she could’ve given Jackie O a run for her money, and not just in the clothing department.The widow was adorned in diamond and pearl jewelry that I knew cost at least half of the national debt of a small country.Her hair was a color of silver that Mother Nature had nothing to do with and was perfectly coiffed– not a single hair out of place.Not to mention, the bag she carried had all the bells and whistles of a Hermès Himalaya Birkin, which I knew had a price tag somewhere in the mid- to high six digits.She was what I imagined when people used the term ‘well-adjusted rich’.Not a show-off or a braggart, she simply let her classic taste and refined manners speak for her– and boy howdy, they told a story that read like a fairy tale where she was the good, benevolent Queen.
Smiling at my own silliness, I had to bite my tongue to keep from gasping aloud when a sudden pang of sorrow hit me like a gut-punch from the heavyweight champ.The poor widow had really loved her husband– and it wasn’t about the money.She was hopelessly devoted to Edgar Brumfield, and it didn’t matter that he was a philanderer and by all accounts, an asshole.She loved him with all her heart– and although she had tons of good memories, all she felt in that moment was soul-crushing pain and unending loss.Wrapped around her like a thick, heavy, black fur coat in the Texas desert, it was stifling her in every way.
Wondering if I would ever love anyone like that, my gaze traveled to the girlfriend.A young, bleach-blond with oversized boobs tucked right up under her chin, she wore a leopard-print tube dress that hugged every single curve and outlined the fact that she was most certainly not wearing panties.Add to that an attitude that said the only person Belinda Broman loved was Belinda Broman, and I instantly disliked her more than over-stewed collard greens and burnt cornbread.
My momma would’ve used the phrase, “Bless her heart,” if she’d been there.I would’ve agreed, then added, “Isn’t she precious?”Then we would’ve looked at each other, winked, and chuckled silently.Damn, I missed her.
Anyway, as I was lookin’ at the snooty mistress, I thought about telling her that the jewelry Mr.Brumfield gave her was as fake as a three-dollar bill.Oh, every piece was a really good, and I’d imagine expensive, fake, but they were still just hunks of glass.After a few seconds, I decided to let her find out when she tried to pawn them.It was the least she deserved.There was no doubt in my mind that Edgar hadn’t been the first older man Belinda had slept with for monetary gain, and he wouldn’t be the last.She was the epitome of ‘the mistress’ from every romance novel and rom-com ever written.She wasn’t sad that Mr.Brumfield was gone.If anything, she was glad to be rid of him, wanted the money she thought she was owed, and was ready to move on to her next Daddy Warbucks.
It was disgusting.Belinda had only been with the millionaire for five years and only saw him as a means to an end– namely, a paycheck.On the other hand, Mrs.Brumfield had given him fifty-three years, four children, even more grandchildren, a happy home by all accounts, and would have given him fifty more years if she’d had the chance.She wasn’t concerned about the money.She was worried about the family name and making sure that her grandkids and great-grandkids received a good education and the little nest egg they’d planned for those perfect children’s futures.She wanted the Brumfield name to mean something for generations to come.
She believed in her husband and everything he’d told her.She was sure he would not have gone back on his word when it came to her and the kids.She knew he had put everything they talked about in writing and that speaking to him was the only way to prove her point and get rid of the freeloader who was trying to besmirch her family’s good name.
Wanting to see Mrs.Brumfield proved right and Belinda with a proverbial egg on her face, I was tired of waiting.Opening my mind to Aunt Ginnie’s, I was just about to ask her what was taking so long when the breath in my lungs felt as if it had been turned into huge blocks of ice.It was hard to breathe.I damn sure couldn’t move even the tiniest muscle, and my mind was spinning like the Tilt-A-Whirl at the County Fair.
I was just about to throw up when my mind connected with hers, and everything calmed down.Inhaling deeply, I opened and closed my hands at least ten times a second and scrunched my toes back and forth in my shoes.Taking one more deep breath, there was a flash of bright, white light in the forefront of my mind, and then I saw everything– and I do mean everything.
On one side was the Land of the Living that looked like a regular day in beautiful downtown Gravesland.I felt like one of the constables on a BBC cop show watching everybody on CCTV.It was pretty weird but also cool in a ‘I see what you’re doing, and you have no idea I’m here’ way.
On the other side was the hustle and bustle of the Afterlife.It was pretty much the same, but in muted colors with a gray sky that promised thunder and lightning in the near future.It was the weirdest thing I’d ever seen, and nothing like books and movies had made me believe.
Life had not stopped for the Deceased.If anything, it had picked up right where it left off, except for the fact that they were dead and in the Afterlife.Focusing on the scene before me, I saw a mirror image of the Land of the Living.Mr.Lake, who’d passed on about ten years before, was opening his grocery store, Lake Foodland, just as he always had.I even heard the jingle-jangle of the huge set of keys he wore on his belt as he walked up the steps to the front door of the market.
Momma had been right.She’d always told me that no matter how much I thought I was ready, my first brush with the Dead– one that wasn’t a vision, but a true Summoning– would blow my mind– and in that moment, my little gray cells were exploding at the rate of about a hundred per second.
I had so many questions.My mind was working overtime to pull up everything I’d been taught and put names to places, so to speak.Thank the Great Goddess I’d actually paid attention to all my lessons and read all the books, grimoires, and tomes.Of course, I still had questions, but I had even more answers, and that was cool.
For instance, I knew that the Afterlife we saw every time we summoned a Recently Deceased depended on the person being summoned– and that tracked.You see, one of Edgar’s poker buddies was Mr.Lake.
It was also a well-known fact among Necromancers that the Afterlife was a mirror image of the Land of the Living, where the Recently Deceased we were summoning lived.It was not where they had passed.That was a misnomer among the non-Spiritual and humans, and we kept them in the dark.I mean, everyone must have a secret or two.
It was also taught to all Necromancers, whether they were Royal or not, that Hell Fire, Demons, and Ghouls did exist in the Underworld with all its layers, levels, Pits, and the like.The Devil loved to compartmentalize, and he did it with flair.I knew the day would come when it would be necessary for me to speak to someone in the Underworld, but I was prepared to put that off until absolutely necessary.There was an extensive process that included getting Lucifer’s approval– and I wasn’t ready for a one-on-one with the Devil.Nope.Not even a little.
As I kept ticking things I’d learned off my mental list, Edgar Brumfield finally came to the party.
Looking just like the picture so lovingly placed atop his tomb, the millionaire reminded me of W.C.Fields without the belly, the cigar, or the cane and with a headful of wild, gray curls.Then it occurred to me, the only thing that reminded me of the actor was the recently deceased man’s suit and his age.Go figure.
Walking right up to the metaphysical representation of my Aunt Ginnie that she was projecting across the veil, he held out his hand, cleared his throat, and in a deep, Texas drawl introduced, “Hello, ma’am.My name is Edgar G Brumfield.I believe you called for me?”
“Yes, sir.I did,” Aunt Ginnie quickly responded.Smiling, she shook his hand and added, “My name is Virginia Heatherton, and I am here on behalf of your wife.”
“My sweet Edda Mae?”His voice was little more than a breath, but the love and devotion he still felt were palpable.In the blink of an eye, the millionaire snapped back to his public persona, gripped the left lapel of his jacket, and asked, “How is she doing?Are the kids taking care of her?”Looking over one of my aunt’s shoulders, then the other, he added, “Is she here?Is my bride here?”
“Yes, sir,” Ginnie confirmed.“Would you like to speak to her?”
“Oh, yes, please.”In his own way, Edgar was instantly nervous, giddy even, to speak to his wife.It would have been sweet had his mistress not been standing ten feet away, rolling her eyes and grunting under her breath.I thought about suggesting we show Belinda the door when Aunt Ginnie tossed me out of her mind and whispered directly into my brain, “I love you, Kiddo, but you’re not ready for a possession.”
Grabbing ahold of the stone column to my right, I batted my eyes to get rid of the black dots and took a couple of deep breaths to keep from falling on my well-padded butt.When the room stopped spinning, I was just in time to see a Magical hologram of Edgar Brumfield superimposed over Aunt Ginnie, hear his deep Texas drawl roll out of her mouth, and see his muddy brown gaze shine through her emerald eyes.
“Oh, Edda Mae, I have missed you so much, and I am so sorry for being such a bastard.”Across the room in the blink of an eye, my aunt– being possessed by the spirit of the millionaire– wrapped her arms around the shorter, thinner woman, laid her lips to hers, and kissed her like they knew each other in a truly biblical sense.
It was the weirdest and coolest thing I’d ever seen.The long Edgar’s spirit stayed inside Aunt Ginnie, the more I forgot she was even there.I only saw the older man and the love he had for his wife.
Their kiss grew more passionate.There was a lot of smacking and moaning, and that’s pretty much all I can tell you because I was looking anywhere but at them, and humming to drown out as much sound as possible.Well, at least that’s what I had been doing before a wail that rivaled any Banshee’s I’d ever heard reverberated off every surface in the Brumfield Family crypt.Joined by the scuffling tap of stilettos on stone, and the ting-a-ling, jingle-jangle of at least twenty-five bangle bracelets bouncing up and down on the bimbo’s arm, the cacophonous ruckus reached an ear-bleeding decibel as Belinda Broman launched herself at the couple with her arms outstretched and murder in her eyes.
Opening my mouth to scream, “Watch out!”I didn’t even get as far as inhaling before Aunt Ginnie’s right arm flew out from under the Magical hologram of Edgar and from around Mrs.Brumfield’s waist.Her fingers stretched upward.Her palm was open wide, and bright, white Magic flew from the very center.
Shooting across the room with the accuracy of William Tell, it hit its mark with a pop, sizzle, and flash.Instantly, a huge, glittering web covered the area from ceiling to floor and captured the screeching mistress just like my pet spider Achilles caught his dinner every other day.
