I do not remind her we are all in our mid-twenties. I’ve been attending to business all week, from my grandmother’s ashes to Abraham’s death to all the aspects of starting a new store. I’ve had enough of adulthood. For tonight, at least, I’ll be content tosit here and make crappy granny squares as Nathan reads tarot for Edie, and Keelie and Riley argue over what to get Cash for her birthday.
After snipping off my third square and finishing my second sweet tea, I need to hit the bathroom. The stairs are old and steep—the whole bar is ancient, the wood worn and wearing decades, maybe centuries, of carved initials and curse words. I trail my fingertips along the ancient boards, thinking about a younger version of Farrah sitting cross-legged with my mom and Tina McGowan, making their own crappy granny squares and sharing French fries.
On my way back up the stairs, I see a woman standing on the landing in a long dress, staring up toward the party room. I stop, not wanting to bother her. There’s something so sad in her eyes. I wonder if maybe she used to date Riley or something. She looks down and sees me—
And dissolves.
“So you saw her, too, huh?”
I turn to find Farrah smirking as she stands there holding a tray piled with all of our food like it weighs nothing.
“The…ghost?”
If I didn’t already know Farrah was a witch, I would feel like an idiot saying it.
She nods, her bangs bouncing. “She’s been around since before I was born. My dad called her Mrs. Mac.” Farrah shifts the tray. “You see ghosts a lot?”
There’s something private about the landing, hiding us from the raucous people downstairs and the gossipers upstairs. And there’s something about Farrah that makes me trust her, maybe because she was friends with my mom and didn’t take shit off Maggie. “I didn’t even know about magic until this week, but Ithink I’ve seen a couple of ghosts already. I saw a dog at the inn, but Shelby says there isn’t one. And I’ve got a poltergeist in the storage room.”
Farrah nods, looking serious now. “Let me go deliver this food, and then we’ll have a little talk, you and me. Wait here.”
I do what Farrah says because she is slightly terrifying, like a tornado of glitter that could either give you a makeover or ruin you if she wanted to. She’s back in under a minute, and when she leans in, I lean in, too.
“If you just found out about magic, and your mama and grandma have both passed, I take that to mean you don’t know about ghosts, either?”
“Nothing. And Shelby says witches don’t talk about magic stuff, so I don’t know what to do. I need my bookstore to do well, but nobody wants to shop with an angry poltergeist.”
Her hand lands on my arm. “Oh, honey. All poltergeists are angry. If they weren’t angry, they’d just be normal, harmless ghosts like Mrs. Mac.” She huffs a breath like she’s making a decision. “There’s a spell to calm them down. It’s not hard. Are you good at following directions?”
“Yes, ma’am. I used to get awards for coloring in the lines.”
She barks a laugh. “Your mama hated coloring in the lines! But it definitely helps with the magic. I’ll write the spell down and slip it in your bag on your way out. This building’s had so many angry ghosts that I’ve got it memorized.”
Farrah turns to leave, and I blurt out, “But I thought witches didn’t share magic.”
She raises her chin. “Good people help good people. I don’t know what went wrong around here, but folks got real weird about magic a while back. Nobody’ll talk about it, but I will. That’s why I was always at odds with your grandmother. I swear,that woman could make a preacher cuss. Thought she knew everything! No disrespect, but I do things different. I’m not gonna let a sweet kid get run out of town by an ornery ghost. Hell, I’d cast the spell for you, but”—Farrah flashes a pageant grin—“it’ll be good for you. Builds character.” She pats me on the arm and bustles back downstairs.
So I eat my burger and make my granny squares and laugh and laugh and laugh, and as I’m heading out, Farrah stops to say goodbye and slips a piece of paper into my bag.
I get home, find an empty journal in one of my plastic tubs, and turn to the second page to write my very first spell in my grimoire.
Tomorrow, I’m gonna bust a ghost.
35.
With so manynon-witches around at Craft Night, I never got the chance to ask Shelby about her mom, so I text her first thing in the morning and ask her where her mom lives and if she’s up for a visit. When she asks why, because who wouldn’t ask why, I tell her: I think she has my cockatoo.
Soon we’re in Shelby’s electric car, zipping a few miles down the road to her parents’ house.
“But why wouldn’t she tell you?” Shelby asks for the hundredth time. “She knows you’re the only person in town with a bird like that! Oh my God, do you think she took down the flyers, too? If so, that woman owes me ten dollars’ worth of printer ink. What the hell is she doing with a bird, anyway? They make her sneeze. I had to rehome all her damn chickens.”
Tina McGowan lives in an adorable ranch with a beautiful garden full of hummingbird feeders and sheet metal goats. An older man with a comb-over and mustache waves to us from the open garage door, where he’s sitting in a lawn chair, smoking a cigar. “She’s in the bedroom,” he calls. “Bein’ foolish.”
“Thanks, Daddy.”
Shelby bursts in the front door, shouting, “Mama, you’d better not be harboring a bird fugitive!” When Tina does not immediately enter the room, she mutters, “I know you’re in there, soaking your feet after church.”
The first thing I notice is my pink bird backpack sitting on the kitchen table, surrounded by bird supplies. The second thing is a loose stack ofLost Birdflyers, a few of which have been shredded by a bored and enterprising parrot. The parrot, however, is not currently in attendance. Which is probably good, as a cat meows and rubs against my shins—a young tortie. A sleek black cat watches from the hearth, while a hefty tabby is curled on the couch.So this should’ve been Maggie,I think as I reach down to stroke the tortie’s head. I’m not a cat person, but I’m glad Moon and Artemis found a good home with Tina. Judging by the number of cat trees, toys, and beds strewn around the space, they’re happy enough here.
