Crossing Over Easy

by Nova Nelson

  He took the hint, and when I peeked over at the chair a moment later, it was empty.

  “You look terrible,” Ruby said the next morning in lieu of a proper greeting. I lumbered into the parlor at seven thirty, according to the analog lock on my bedside table, hoping I hadn’t missed tea. I needed tea. Lots of it. She stood with her back to me as she topped up her cup and poured me one as well. She no longer wore her midnight blue nightgown, dressing instead in multiple layers of plain robes, each a more washed-out shade of brown than the next. The loose fabric of them swished around her ankles as she shuffled around the kitchen, which was hardly more than a nook of the large parlor, which itself seemed to make up the majority of the first floor.

  Tea would be nice, though what I could really use was a double espresso. But if this town made those, Ruby’s was not the likely place to find one. She struck me as the type of person to drink the same kind of tea every morning for her entire life.

  “I didn’t get the best sleep last night,” I said, feeling for some reason that I owed her an explanation for my disheveled appearance. “And I usually shower first thing in the morning.”

  “Oh, we don’t shower here,” Ruby said, her back still to me. “Waste of water.”

  “Ew,” I said impulsively. “I mean, um …”

  “No, no, I thought the same thing at first. But it’s much better this way. Magic does the trick just as well. I’ll show you after breakfast. Don’t even need to undress.”

  I was intrigued and, I’ll admit, relieved that I wouldn’t have to undress anywhere in the downstairs of her home. The place with all its dangling totems still gave me the heebie-jeebies.

  “Bacon might be a little cold by now, but help yourself,” she said as I scooted out a heavy wooden chair at the parlor table, the legs scraping noisily over her dry wooden floors.

  Then, as I reached for a piece of bacon (crispy, just the way I love it) plated at the center of the table, she added, as if nothing more than small talk, “Was it Bruce Saxon?”

  My dire need for caffeine lessened just a smidgen as her mention of my late-night visitor jolted me from my mental fog. “Yes. How did you guess?”

  She brought over the tea and set it in front of me then scooted out her chair without a sound, sitting gracefully for her old age. “Because he tried me first. I told him to get lost, of course, because I’m out of the game of helping everyone solve the problems they create for themselves. I told him to check down the hall if he needed a shoulder to cry on. Sounds like he listened.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Ruby eyed me boldly over the lip of her teacup as she tilted it back, sipping lightly. Slowly, she set it down on the saucer, cradling it between her hands. “I suppose there’s no way around this. I can’t very well retire, not properly, without training a replacement.”

  “A replacement for what?”

  She sighed. “I’ve been Eastwind’s go-to psychic medium since I stumbled into this place myself about, oh, sixty years ago? Don’t take that as bragging about my own abilities. The main reason I’ve been the go-to medium is that I’ve been the only medium. Until now.” She smiled at me, deep lines stretching out from the corners of her eyes. “My attempt at retiring hasn’t been the most successful up to this point, but here now you are. And you can be the one who gets harangued night and day by those who can’t take death’s hint and scoot along beyond the veil.”

  I wasn’t sure if I’d heard her right. Because from what I understood, she’d just implied I was a psychic medium. And while I admit that seeing Bruce the night before could be construed as corroborating evidence, I was pretty sure I would’ve had ghost encounters prior to last night if I were actually a medium.

  Plus, this town had fauns. Couldn’t it also have ghosts running around that everyone could see? Weird is weird, right?

  “I’m not a psychic,” I said. To be fair, I really wanted that to be the truth, and I thought saying it might help bring that into being. I think Oprah said something about that, right? Your thoughts bring things into being? Well, I’d rarely had time to watch Oprah, so I’d mostly gleaned that idea from the servers around me, who regurgitated it whenever I was being particularly cynical. “I’m not anything special. I’m just a human, and I really need to figure out how to get home.”

  Ruby tilted her head gently to the side and smiled sadly at me. “Oh dear, you’re never getting home. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you that.”

  And I thought I could be cynical sometimes. Sheesh. “I have to get home. I have a business to run and a—”

  She’d been sipping her tea when I started talking, but slowly she lowered her cup and cleared her throat, cutting me off. “Witches may come and go from Eastwind as they please … so long as they don’t enter on the Fifth Wind, as was the case for you.”

  “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be impolite—after all, you opened your home to me when I came wandering into town—but you’re going to have to back up a few steps here. Explain it to me like I’m an idiot.”

  She smiled, but I sensed impatience behind it. “Of course. There are four winds that everyone, regardless of species, can feel blow against their skin. The North Wind, the South Wind, the West Wind, and, the namesake of our dangerous yet beloved town, the East Wind. Each one is associated with a season and an element. And each witch can harness one of those winds and all its strengths. But while you are most definitely a witch, you aren’t a pyromancer of the South Wind or an aeromancer of the North Wind. You, Nora, are master of none of the four winds.”

  I refrained from sarcastically saying, “You mean because I’m not a witch?”

  She continued. “You’re of the Fifth Wind, of that chill you feel on your skin that comes from no earthly direction. Witches like you and me are rare, mostly because we’re so powerful, but also because we’re so tricky to create. May I ask you something personal, Nora?”

  Was this not already personal? It sure as heck felt personal. The woman knew more about me than I did. “Sure.”

  “What is the last thing you remember before you woke up in Eastwind?”

  “I was driving down the road, and I passed a sign for Eastwind, Texas, and—“

  She held up a hand and I stopped with my mouth hanging open. “Actually,” she said, “how about I tell you the last thing I remember before I woke up in Eastwind.”

  “You weren’t born here?”

  She shook her head. “I’m from Illinois. It was February. I was twenty-nine years old, driving home after visiting a gentleman friend. Eastwind was one of the small towns I passed through on my way.” She sipped her tea as her focus drifted to the air above my head, and the lines around her eyes softened with calm nostalgia. “I could hardly see three feet ahead of me through the snow, so I was driving cautiously, but not cautiously enough, it seemed. Suddenly, a dark figure appeared in the road ahead. In that split second between when I spotted it and when I swerved, I was so utterly confused. Amid all the white, it was jet black. And it stood there like it was expecting me. It didn’t move a muscle as my car headed straight for it.” She shook her head slightly and her eyes refocused on me. “I hit something, I couldn’t tell what in the white out, and the next thing I knew, I woke up on the edge of the Outskirts and the snow was gone. So was my Studebaker. Sound familiar?”

  Whoa, doggy. I didn’t know what to say. Yes, it sounded familiar.

  Okay, so maybe I would listen to what Ruby had to say. She might actually know a thing or two. “You’ve been here ever since?”

  “Yes. And slowly I discovered the ability that you now have. I could see ghosts.”

  I scrunched up my face. “That’s not a thing everyone can do?”

  “No, Nora. It’s not. The only people who can see ghosts at this point, that I know about, are sitting at this table.”

  “Dang.”

  Ruby rolled her eyes. “You have no idea. But let me ask you something. Before you came here, did you have a family?”

  I s
hook my head quickly.

  “What about a boyfriend?”

  I thought of Neil, then I shook my head again.

  “And let me guess, you never felt like you belonged anywhere that existed in that world. You felt compelled to create somewhere for yourself where you were integral to it, where you belonged. Somewhere that couldn’t function without you.”

  The hustle and clatter of Chez Coeur floated around my mind. “You’re good at this.”

  She waved that off with a flick of her wrist. “It’s not that hard to guess. You felt like you didn’t belong and you didn’t anchor yourself there with romance or a family because that wasn’t where you were meant to be. Your life was leading you here. And I know that’s a lot to digest at present, but I speak from almost sixty years of experience in this town. This is where you’re supposed to be. This town has a place waiting for you. It’s where you’re supposed to settle down, meet a nice man.” She arched an eyebrow at me slowly, drawing it out.

  The memory of Tanner setting two plates of pie in front of me surfaced. I could practically smell the warm crust, the way it made me feel, like I had just come home after a lifelong business trip.

  “Got any coffee?” a man’s voice said, cutting through my reverie. “I’m not much of a tea drinker.”

  The spirit of Bruce Saxon walked into the parlor, passing straight through the front door of the True residence.

  “You’re not much of an anything drinker now, Bruce. You’re dead,” Ruby reminded him.

  She pulled out a chair at the table since he couldn’t do it himself, and he sat, his butt sinking through the wooden surfaces slightly. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, shoot. I guess you’re right. I keep forgetting.”

  “I assume we can help you with something else,” said Ruby.

  “Such as?” he said, then he remembered before Ruby could respond. “Oh right! My murder. Yes, yes. I need you to figure out who killed me.”

  He’d addressed Ruby, but she shook her head and pointed to me. “I’ve already told you, Bruce. I’m retired. That’s your girl, now.”

  I pointed to myself dumbly. “Me? I already told him I don’t know anything about solving murders.”

  “Great,” mumbled Bruce morosely.

  “You absolutely do, dear,” Ruby said. “It’s part of the gig. As a master of the Fifth Wind, you have a strong connection to the stars. You can read the signs.”

  “You mean astrology?” I asked dubiously. I’m not sure why, after everything I’d seen and heard since entering Eastwind, astrology was the straw that broke the camel’s back when it came to my suspension of disbelief.

  “Sort of like that, except you haven’t studied astrology. It’s a complicated science that takes years to master. What doesn’t take years of study, though, is your intuition and logical reasoning. You’re able to spot patterns well. One day that will allow you to learn divination, but for the time being, it just makes you a little smarter than the average witch in these kinds of situations.”

  “Let me get this straight,” I said. “I can’t do all the fun witch stuff you see in movies, and instead, I have to be a private investigator witch?”

  “That’s about the long and short of it. Glad to see you’re finally catching on.”

  I turned to Bruce. “If I refuse to help you, what will you do then?”

  He shrugged his translucent shoulders. “Haunt you, I guess. I got nothing but time now.”

  I glanced at Ruby, who gave me a look as if to say, “See what I’ve been dealing with?”

  I groaned, took a long drink of my tea, then relented. “Fine. What’s the last thing you remember before your death?” I ignored Ruby’s almost imperceptible fist pump.

  “I was almost done making a steak in the kitchen of Medium Rare, when I could’ve sworn I heard the back door of the restaurant slam. I thought it was Tanner, but then a second later, he charged in the kitchen making a beeline for the employee bathrooms that were in the same direction as the back door.

  “I’d been hearing strange noises in the days leading up to that, but those were more garbled hums and whines, sometimes mumbling voices, not loud slams. So I put the steak on a plate with the eggs and went to investigate. I walked around the kitchen, looked in the storage and the freezer, but didn’t see anything. Then I went to check my office, and then … all black.”

  I looked at Ruby, who was clearly struggling to keep her mouth shut. Retirement must not be second nature to her yet.

  I tried to think back to the few episodes of Law & Order I’d watched in my spare time.

  They were no help.

  But I did remember one tidbit that was useful: means, motive, and opportunity. A killer would have all three.

  “Do you know of anyone who would want you dead?” I asked.

  Bruce thought about it, screwing up his face like he was in pain. “I don’t think so. I mean, I know Jane hates me, but I didn’t think she’d want to kill me. She was more the type to want me to suffer. Death would be too easy.”

  “Who’s Jane?” I asked.

  “My ex-wife.”

  I glanced at Ruby, who nodded.

  “Okay. I’ll start there, I guess. Where can I find her?”

  “She’s a manager over at the little pizzeria downtown. Franco’s Pizza, I think it’s called. She used to manage at Medium Rare, but obviously, that was no longer a viable option when she stopped loving me and started hating me. When people in this town want comfort food, they either go to Medium Rare or they go to Franco’s Pizza. They’re our biggest competition, for sure. She could’ve gotten a job at any of the dozens of little cafes or restaurants around town, but she went there, and I’m absolutely certain it was to spite me. She knew I’d want her to work anywhere but Franco’s Pizza.”

  “And your ex-wife. She’s a …” I let the sentence hang, not wanting to be rude by asking what kind of creature she was.

  “Bitch,” he said plainly.

  “That’s not very nice,” I said.

  “Huh?” He seemed genuinely confused. “It’s true, though. She’s a female werewolf.”

  “They’re called bitches around here,” Ruby said gently. “I know, it took a bit for me to get used to it, too.”

  I looked back and forth between the two, wondering if I was being messed with. “Okay. Um, I hope it’s alright if I just call them female werewolves.”

  Bruce shrugged like he couldn’t care less.

  I finished the last of my tea. “I guess I’m off then.” I stood from the table.

  Ruby did as well. “Not before you clean up a bit, dear.”

  “Oh right.”

  “You”—she pointed to Bruce—“wait here. And you”—she pointed to me—“follow me.”

  She led me into the bathroom, which was remarkably clean. I’d expected it to be grimy, given the state of the rest of the downstairs, although, when I thought about it more, nothing downstairs was unclean, it was just old, dim, and those things hanging from the ceiling … yuck. They seriously gave me the creeps.

  “Step under here,” she said, motioning toward a small enclave that looked remarkably similar to a shower, except without a drain.

  I started to take off my overcoat.

  “Nope,” she said. “You keep that on. You won’t get wet. Eastwind doesn’t waste water the same way our home world does.”

  “Oh, um. Okay.”

  Where a showerhead would have existed in a normal shower, a smooth wooden knob protruded from the wall, just above my head.

  “Now what?” I asked.

  “Now nothing. Just give it a minute to decide how to approach your particular kind of filth.”

  “Oh gee, that’s lovely.”

  Suddenly, it felt like warm sunlight touched every inch of my body. The sensation was invigorating and accompanied by the scent of lilies and something else …

  “The scent of sage is just part of it,” Ruby said, as if reading my mind. “Side effect of witch-made magical items. Bu
t it’ll wear off once you air out a bit.”

  “That’s it?” I look down at my clothes, which were suddenly wrinkle-free, despite having slept in both the shirt and trousers for lack of other options.

  “That’s it. And I got a hose out back that works just like it, if you get around to bathing that stinky familiar of yours.”

  “Noted,” I said, though I was distracted by my reflection in the mirror. My greasy hair was suddenly fresh and full of body. “There’s a good chance the past twelve hours have been an extended hallucination,” I said, running a finger through my clean hair, “but if that’s the case, I’ll take it so long as it means I get things like magical showers.”

  She chuckled. “If you don’t watch out, Eastwind will spoil a girl like you. I know, because it spoiled a girl like me for a solid ten years before I managed to get over myself.”

  Ruby led me back into the parlor and then said, “I’d better feed Clifford.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “Clifford. My familiar.”

  “You have a familiar?”

  Ruby and Bruce shared a condescending glance at my expense. “Yes,” she said. “All witches do. Clifford isn’t an early riser, though. He seems more intent on retirement than I am. But he gets a little cranky if he goes without breakfast.”

  “Clifford,” I said. I remembered her slippers from the night before. “Is he by any chance big and red?”

  Bruce looked confused, but Ruby nodded. “Ah yes, it is nice to have someone around who understands my references. Yes, you guessed right. He’s big and red. Or at least he used to be red. Now he’s mostly gray.” She made for the staircase but paused and snapped her fingers when she remembered something. “I should probably teach you how to anchor.”

  “How to what?”

  Instead of answering me, she scurried over to the kitchen, pulled out a copper bowl, and a few small, wooden boxes with carvings on the top, which she stacked one on top of another and brought to the parlor table.

  Setting the things down next to my tea, she opened the boxes one by one, revealing a rich, earthy scent of dried herbs. “You may not be a terramancer, but you can do a few things. Most useful is the anchoring spell. Forget to do it, and you’ll have these types”—she nodded at Bruce without taking her eyes off the herbs—“following you everywhere you go.” She took a pinch from each of the boxes, crushing the leaves and stems between her fingers before sprinkling them around the copper bowl. Then she looked up to make sure I was paying attention. “Trust me when I say that gets old quick. Besides, just because someone’s dead doesn’t mean they’re suddenly self-reflective and wise. Their inability to accurately judge the character of others can affect your rational thinking when it comes to finding a killer.”