Chapter 20
NOTES OF ROMANCE
I was tipsy by the time I wandered back inside, although I’d put my lowered inhibitions to good use with a meme-texting session with Dad, who’d sent me some zingers involving rain frogs, whichdidlook like furious avocados, now that I thought of it.
My ring crackled, and I set down my phone, picking up Josephine’s diary instead. I pulled out one of the cheap Bic ballpoint pens I loved and tapped it against the diary, thinking.
Then I set pen to paper.
Hi, Josephine.It’s Molly, I wrote. All right, not the most creative start, but if you were doing a séance, you started with the basics. I figured the same applied here.
For a moment, nothing. Then Josephine’s swirling handwriting appeared on the page.Hello, Molly.I’m glad we’re finally getting acquainted.
I dropped my pen. Pandora had been right. All I had to do was write back.
I’m torn between two boys, I scribbled, hoping that Josephine could read my handwriting.They’re brothers.
There was a pause while Josephine considered. Or whatever it was that ghostly people inside diaries did.
A dilemma, she wrote in her familiar curly script.
Yep, I scribbled back.
But you must know your heart, deep down?
I spun the pen in my hand.Did you?
I did. Eventually. But a happily ever after isn’t always willing to wait.
As I pondered this, Fleetwood Mac jangled from the music room, sounding slightly crackly on the old record player Charlie had loved so much. It was one of a few that lined the walls – he’d also had an ancient 1930s model that played a special type of record I’d never seen anywhere else, as well as an old radio cabinet that hummed when you plugged it in and turned it on. If the magic was just right, you could hear it playing vintage songs from the era. Finn claimed that he’d once heard aWar of the Worldsbroadcast, but he’d pranked me enough times in the past that I was holding out judgement on that one.
Drawn by the music, I set down Josephine’s diary and wandered down the wide hallway that Rosie had been industriously attempting to wallpaper the other day. Thankfully, after quite a bit of griping and swearing, her magic had behaved itself in the end, and she’d managed to charm away the bubbles and crooked bits.
My bare feet squeaked against the polished hardwoods when my gait got off centre, taking me off the soft shag carpet runner. Oops – the sangria really was stronger than my control over gravity.
‘Who’s that?’ came Finn’s voice. ‘Is it that pesky ghost again? Because no, you can’t do that to my body, not even if you’re incorporeal.’
‘I’m not sure I want to know,’ I said, leaning against the doorframe. ‘Hey, you.’
Finn glanced up, breaking into a grin. He didn’t seem surprised to see me, just appreciative. He gestured for me to come in.
‘Always nice to have you darken my door.’
‘I’m quite good at it, too.’ I took a seat on the long leather couch below the wall of guitars, making sure not to bash my head against Charlie’s prized Gibson. I was in no danger ofthat, but sangria always made me a poor judge of distances. Better safe than sorry.
Curiously, I noticed that there was bedding piled up on the other couch. Either Finn had been using it to keep cosy while he listened, or he’d been sleeping in here. My heart twisted at the thought of the latter. As cool as he was playing things, he was clearly hurting.
‘Brownie?’ he asked, drawing my attention away from the bedding. ‘Mom dropped off a plate earlier. I’ve done my best, but I think I’m fifty per cent chocolate at this point.’
I never turned down a brownie. Especially one of Rosie’s – you never knew what gentle charm they carried. During college exams, I’d lived for the focus-inducing ones she’d pop in the mail for me.
‘Are you mutilating that guitar?’ I asked around a mouthful of cakey chocolate. Typical me, biting off more than I could chew.
Finn had a sunburst-patterned guitar out on the workbench at the other end of the room, and was fiddling with a clamp and some glue.
‘Hopefully the opposite,’ he said, tongue sticking out slightly in concentration. Magic glimmered at his fingertips. ‘Dad was making this one when he …’
He trailed off, letting the silence fill in the rest of the sentence for him.
