Giving Up the Ghost

by Magenta Wilde

  20

  I wanted to hang my head down in shame after my little outburst, but Tom’s declaration lightened my mood considerably. Vanessa tactfully ignored me, and it helped that we had brisk business that evening.

  I was looking out the front shop window when I saw a young man walking in front. He peered inside and made his way in. He was tall and lanky, with pale skin that looked almost translucent. He had a wavy mop of dark brown hair, and deep brown eyes. The stubble on his face was shaped just so, and he wore a battered army jacket with some interesting patchwork on it.

  I offered him a cookie, which he happily took.

  A few more customers floated in and out while he looked around.

  “You’re staring at him,” Vanessa said, appearing by my side.

  “He’s almost home, but not quite.”

  “What?”

  I came back to earth. “Huh? What did I say?”

  Vanessa repeated the sentence.

  I shook my head. I didn’t recall saying that. “Oh, nothing. I guess it was just some random thought that came to me. There’s something about him, though. He’s striking.”

  “Uh-oh. Should Roger be worried?” Now Vanessa’s teasing was going to start.

  I shook my head. “No, I don’t find him attractive the way I find Roger attractive. But there’s just something about this kid – he can’t be more than 18 or 19, right? – that is grabbing me.”

  “He is kind of pretty,” Vanessa agreed. “He actually makes me think of a beautiful gay man. You’d befriend him. Go shopping with him. Go dancing with him. Then after three drinks you’d start entertaining thoughts of making out with him.”

  “That’s convoluted, but I totally get what you mean.”

  I was pulled away to do a reading, and when I returned the beautiful young man was gone.

  Soon another familiar face made her way into my shop. It was Marie Montgomery.

  When Vanessa spotted her, she sidled up to me and said, sotto voce, “Try to bring up the locket Wyatt tried to sell at Thingamajigs.”

  “Good evening, Marie. What brings you back so soon?”

  “I just thought I’d stop by,” she said, looking around.

  I approached her, took her hands and said softly, “Has anything happened since I saw you last?”

  “Yes.” She looked somewhat agitated. “And I guess I was hoping you could help make sense of things,” she said.

  I ushered her behind the curtain and we settled in. I still had my candle lit, and sprinkled a bit of salt around it, to be safe.

  “Tell me what has been happening.”

  “I’m not sure if I’m imagining things,” she started, her eyes wide with concern, “but when my son Roger stopped by the house earlier this week, I swear I saw … something … trailing him.”

  “Like a shadow, or something out of the corner of your eye?”

  “Sort of. I’ve seen flashes of things before, but always thought it was a trick of the light. This time, I’m not so sure.”

  “Does the presence feel threatening or welcoming?”

  “To be honest, both.”

  Interesting. “I’ve seen Roger a couple of times since we spoke,” I said, “and I also have noticed a presence lingering around him.”

  “Could you call my daughter to me?” she asked, her eyes hopeful.

  I pulled out the vial of special blended oils that Lady Silvia had suggested would briefly dissolve the barrier that separated the living and the dead.

  I put three drops in the palm of Marie’s hand and told her to put just a dab on each eyelid, and one between her brows.

  “Three drops?” she asked.

  I nodded. “One for each eye, and the last drop for your third eye.”

  “This will work?” She looked doubtful.

  “Depending on how much psychic juice you have, so to speak, you should at the very least be able to hear your daughter. It may sound like a phone call with very bad reception, or a very old recording. The more magic you have in you, the clearer the image will be.”

  “But I’m not a witch.”

  “That doesn’t matter,” I told her. “Being a witch isn’t what makes the magic. Rather, it is the magic that makes the witch.”

  I held her hands in mine and concentrated, trying to conjure an image of Ivy. I called out to her, and a moment later I felt a spark of connection.

  “What was that?” Marie asked, looking around.

  “What was what?”

  “I felt something. It was like a key unlocking a door.”

  I had a feeling she’d be able to see the dead.

  “Ivy,” I called out again. “Do you hear me? Your mother wants to see and speak with you.”

  I felt something electric shimmering to life in the room. The candle flame flickered, nearly going out, before the flame turned purple and shot up several inches before quickly dying back.

  Leaves of ivy began climbing down from the green velvet curtains. Marie’s mouth dropped open in amazement. “Is that from my Ivy?”

  “I think so,” I said. “Ivy, are you trying to show off for your mother?”

  Suddenly Ivy’s spirit form settled in the chair to Marie’s right, an impish smile on her face. Now I noticed how much Ivy looked like a younger version of her mother. Ivy giggled and said, “Cool trick, isn’t it?”

  Marie attempted to speak, but instead broke into tears. Ivy tried to reach out to touch her mother’s hand, looking devastated when their fingers slipped through each other’s.

  “Oh, that’s cold!” Marie exclaimed. The shock seemed to slow Marie’s sobbing, and the woman caught her breath as she swiped tears from her cheeks.

  Ivy quickly pulled her hand back, and Marie immediately tried to reach for her daughter. “No, sweetheart. I didn’t mean it like it hurt. It actually shocked me back to my senses. I needed that.” She smiled at the young girl, her eyes drinking in every inch of her.

  I remained quiet, knowing she’d need a moment to absorb the appearance of the apparition.

  “Ivy,” her mother started. “Are you all right? You don’t … hurt or anything?”

  Ivy shook her head. “No. I don’t feel any pain. I’m not cold or hungry or anything. I’m just annoyed with my butthead of a brother.” She blew out a frustrated sigh.

  Ah, teenagers. They’re the same whether they’re living or dead.

  “Which one?” Marie was puzzled. “Are you talking about Roger or Wyatt?”

  “Roger, of course!” She slammed a ghostly fist on the table. We heard no impact but the candle flame flickered in response. “He’s just such a downer, and he keeps pulling me into his orbit. I just wish he’d let me go already.” She crossed her arms and adopted a frustrated expression.

  Marie turned to me, her expression hopeful. “Is there anything you can do about this?”

  Ivy cut in. “Poppy has been trying to help me. She saw me when Roger first came into the shop days ago – at least I think it was days ago. Sometimes I lose track of time. She even told Roger that she could see me, and that I wanted him to let me go.”

  This was news to Marie. She turned to me. “He knows you can see Ivy, and what she wants?”

  “Yes, but I’m not sure he believes me, or I’m not sure he’s ready to believe me,” I added. “I also don’t know why he’s taking it so hard, except that he somehow feels guilty.”

  “You must fix this, Poppy Blue,” Ivy said in a fake spooky voice, “or I’ll be forced to haunt you! Or worse!” She contorted her face into a grimace. She was going for levity, but the result was more fiendish.

  “That’s not funny,” I replied.

  “She’s right,” Marie said. “It’s really not.”

  Ivy adopted an expression of regret and apologized.

  I shrugged. “Teen drama. No big deal. Marie, I’ll try and fix this. I do think he believes me when I say that I’ve seen and spoken with Ivy. He’s just not ready to admit it.”

  Marie’s expression flickered between
hopeful and hopeless. “God, I hope so. Sometimes it feels like I’ve lost him, too.”

  “You shouldn’t have named me after a pesky climbing plant, Mom,” Ivy teased. “I’m relentless.”

  Sadly, I suspected she was right about the unyielding part. I felt some hyper teenage mania seeping into my mind and was certain she was fueling the emotion. I stood up and started to excuse myself.

  “Marie. I think you’ll be able to see Ivy without my presence for about another fifteen minutes. How about if I leave so you and Ivy can speak alone?”

  Marie looked at me, her eyes moist with emotion. She nodded breathlessly. I went over to her and gave her a quick, brief hug. “Go catch up with your little girl,” I said as I escaped the confines of the curtained area.

  Twenty minutes later Marie emerged from behind the drapes, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. I could see she’d probably had a good cry, but her mood was somewhat uplifted. The experience must have been cathartic.

  She came over to me and pulled me in for a warm hug. “Thank you,” she whispered in my ear as she choked back a sniffle. “I have wanted that for years. I think she’s in a good place now.”

  I nodded and patted her back as she continued to collect herself. She set her hands on my shoulders and pushed me back a few inches. Her expression was serious.

  “Poppy. I want you to be careful.”

  That was unexpected. “Of what?”

  She looked around. “Is Ivy gone?”

  I cast out a mental net and found no evidence of her presence. I nodded.

  “Ivy’s always been high-strung, impulsive and impatient. Terribly impatient. Right now, she’s impatient with you. She is thrilled to have met you, but she also wants a quick fix.”

  “I wish I could do more for her,” I told her honestly, “but magic can only do so much.”

  “I know,” Marie continued, “but Ivy seems … what’s the right word? … consumed. No, obsessed with breaking this connection she has to Roger.”

  “It is a rather unusual and long-lasting connection,” I conceded. “Can you think of any reason why he’d take Ivy’s death so hard?”

  “Roger has his own stubborn streak,” she replied. “He’s intense and obsessive in his own ways.”

  I felt a little warning ping at that statement. Part of me desperately wanted him to be obsessed with me, to be consumed in some mad passion. I cast the thought from my head and focused again on Marie.

  “You seem to have some kind of magical talent yourself,” I said, “given how clearly you saw Ivy this evening. Do you think Roger is somehow trapping her with his own magic?”

  Marie shook her head thoughtfully. “I don’t know.”

  I glanced up and caught Vanessa motioning to me. She held her necklace up, motioning to the pendant that hung from it, and pointed to Marie and then over to Thingamajigs. She mouthed “Wyatt” and “opal.”

  Marie started to move, but I held my hand out to stop her. “There’s one more thing,” I started. “Are you missing something? Something small? Maybe valuable.”

  She paused, and reached to her neck. “Why yes. I’ve misplaced a gold necklace with an opal and diamond pendant.”

  So, the necklace Wyatt was trying to sell did belong to his mother. I closed my eyes and concentrated. “I see a young man digging through your things,” I started. “Is there anyone close to you or who has access to your private space who might be in need of money?”

  She nodded. “Wyatt, actually. He’s always trying to get my husband to give him a raise or payday advances. I did catch him in my powder room not so long ago.” She paused, the wheels turning. “Maybe I’ll question him on why he was there. I’d love to find that necklace again. My husband gave it to me after Ivy was born. I had hoped to give it to her when she turned eighteen. Now, I hope to give it to my future daughter-in-law.”

  Her eyes grew clear again. “Did you really have a vision of someone rifling through my things?”

  I looked over at Vanessa and shrugged. “Let’s just say not all my powers are quite so mystical in nature.”

  As she walked out the store I went over to the counter. The daffodils were receding from the vase. When one was left, it tipped out of the container and moved in my direction, like a feather blown by the wind. I picked it up and held it between my index finger and thumb. I breathed in the scent and I was certain I heard Ivy whisper, “I’m sorry.”

  21

  A few days later my mother invited me over for dinner. She told me to bring dessert and to be at the house on time.

  I showed up five minutes before seven, a pumpkin chiffon pie in hand. It was something I was trying out early in preparation for Thanksgiving.

  Tom greeted me at the door and examined the dessert with intense curiosity.

  “Pumpkin chiffon?” he asked, when I told him what I’d brought. He pulled back the lid and inhaled.

  “Yes. It’s a new recipe I stumbled across. It’s a bit lighter in texture, and has a meringue topper. I sampled the pumpkin chiffon part, and it’s really good.”

  “Oh, to be able to lick the bowl every time you bake,” Tom said. “Sorry, that probably sounded dirty.”

  “I know what you meant. You can try the line on Mom some night.”

  I went into the kitchen, placing the pie in the refrigerator and greeting my mother and the beagles. She had a roast in the oven, replete with potatoes, parsnips and carrots. My stomach began to growl when the scent hit my nose.

  “You’re going all out tonight. What’s up?”

  “I can’t cook something special?” she asked.

  “You certainly can, but usually you reserve the big guns for the weekend meals.”

  She shrugged and sat down for a pre-dinner cigarette. “I felt inspired. Sue me.”

  A thought came to me from the other night. “So, during Autumn Daze, you read Wyatt’s hand?”

  “What about it,” she asked, a cigarette dangling from her lip.

  “He looked rattled when you were done with him.”

  “I told him to stop stealing from his mother.”

  “You really saw that in his hand?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “No, silly. Vanessa told me he tried to sell some jewelry to her. I also hear gossip about him being desperate for money, so I put two and two together.”

  “I’m impressed.”

  She smiled. “Sometimes magic is magic. And sometimes the magic is in who – and what – you know.”

  I couldn’t argue with that.

  Someone knocked at the door, and I turned to the direction of the sound, ready to go see who it was. My mother waved me off. “Tom will get it. Why don’t you go freshen up in the bathroom? Go, reapply your lipstick, and take your hair down.”

  Uh-oh. I sensed something was up. I heard Tom and another male voice chatting amiably in the store.

  “Let me guess,” I began. “You invited someone to dinner.”

  Mother made a shooing sound. “Go freshen up.”

  “Someone with a penis. At least that’s what my powers of deduction are telling me.”

  “Shoo! And when you come back in here, stand up straight so your chest sticks out.”

  “Is it Roger?”

  “Shoo!”

  I knew from hard experience that the best way to handle this was to give in. I sighed and made my way to the bathroom. I washed my hands and looked in the mirror. I looked a bit tired today, but I thought I looked okay. My hair had gotten a bit disheveled over the course of a long day at the shop. I released it from my standard topknot and played around with it a bit, ultimately wetting my fingers and raking them through to dampen my locks and revive the natural wave. I patted my cheeks to rev my circulation and impart a bit of color, finally capping off the effort with a quick dab of rosy nude lipstick. It would have to do, for whatever my mother and Tom had in store for me.

  I left the bathroom and made my way to the kitchen, where a flash of familiar cologne, and a hint of carnations hit my olfactor
y senses. I looked and there sat Roger.

  “Oh, you invited company,” I said dumbly to my mother and Tom.

  Roger, when he saw me, stood up and nodded at me.

  “You two know each other,” Tom said. “Now, hon, no flying dishes,” he chuckled, wagging a warning finger in my direction. “We’re boy-girl, boy-girl tonight, with no whiny Heidi or Hannah to make something odd out of what should be even.”

  “You mean Heather,” I cut in.

  “Whatever. She was hardly memorable,” Tom added, giving me a wink. “This gives you two a chance to get to know one another better.”

  My mother slapped at his shoulder with a dishrag. “Shush, you!”

  “My heartfelt apologies, my little cactus flower. I forget you’re the only one allowed to be blunt.”

  “You be still. Or you get no dessert,” Mom hissed.

  Tom grew quiet.

  Roger took his coat off and I went to hang it up. I folded it over my arm as I started to make my way to the coat closet. Something small fell out of the pocket and landed on the floor. It was wrapped in a napkin. I stooped to pick it up, and a gold necklace and an opal and diamond pendant tumbled out. I apologized and held it out to Roger, asking him if he’d prefer to hold onto it, or if I should put it back in his pocket.

  “In the pocket is fine. I trust you,” he said.

  My mother in the meantime had made her way over to examine the jewelry. “Oh, that opal is magnificent. Is this for a certain special someone,” she asked.

  Under her breath she asked if this was what Wyatt had tried to sell to Vanessa. I gave a curt nod.

  She handed it back to me and I returned it to his pocket before putting his coat in the closet.

  “It’s my mother’s,” he started. “She couldn’t find it and she’d asked me if I could help her track it down.”

  “It’s a good thing you did,” I said. “That looks like something you’d like to hold onto.”

  He nodded. “Yes. She originally wanted to give it to my sister, but …” he trailed off, swallowing a moment of discomfort.