Giving Up the Ghost

by Magenta Wilde

  Roger raised his eyebrows at my comment. I realized that was going too far. I mumbled an embarrassed apology. He continued staring at me, a look of surprise on his face.

  “What? I apologized. I admit what I said was cruel,” I snapped.

  “That’s not it,” he said. “Well, what you did say was cruel, yes. But you were just doing something … my sister used to do.”

  I realized I’d been tugging on my ear. It felt hot, like I’d been pulling at the lobe for a while.

  His eyes narrowed a bit at my gesture. I saw some kind of recognition in there. He might not have known what was going on, but he knew something was happening.

  “We’d better get back to Thingies, so Heather can get her hand looked at,” I said, changing the subject. We made our way in haste back to Tom and Mom’s shop. There, Roger began helping Heather into his truck.

  “Do you want to come along,” he asked.

  I shook my head. “I’ll bring the dogs back in and head home for the night. I’m sure you have this covered.” For a moment I thought maybe I should go along, but I felt too rattled by the magical firepower that had just gone down.

  A moment later my mother came out, a cigarette in hand. “What’s going on here?”

  Heather showed my mother her injured hand and sobbed as she recounted what had happened to her.

  “That does look nasty,” Mom agreed. “We could put some honey on it. That’s good for burns.”

  Roger looked hopeful. “Would that work?”

  “Honey is good for burns. Very good,” I agreed.

  Heather recoiled at the suggestion. “Some sweet gooey stuff isn’t going to help this. It hurts really bad. I need to see a doctor!”

  Roger simply nodded and sped off with the girl, heading up a side street to the hospital.

  “Why was it there were two of you when you left,” my mother started, “and now that dumb girl is back in the picture? And did she say sparks just flew out of nowhere and burnt her hand?”

  I nodded and recapped what happened just moments before. When I finished, my mother simply replied. “Nice use of your power, Poppy.”

  “Nothing like that has never happened before,” I replied.

  “True,” my mother agreed. “Lately you seem a bit off. At times you’re your usual self, but at other times it seems like you’ve turned into an angry teenager or something. Is your period due?”

  I rolled my eyes at the suggestion. “It’s not tied to my period. Not everything is,” I chided.

  “Then when’s the last time you masturbated?”

  “Mom! I’m not discussing that kind of thing with you!”

  “You could go and pick up a personal massager at the drug store. The Rite Aid is open late. I suggest you go on your way home.”

  “No,” I seethed.

  “Oh, we could take a trip to the dirty book store and pick something up for you. I want to get some handcuffs to use on Tom anyways. Maybe they have a sex swing …”

  “No. Please don’t tell me such things!” I clapped my hands over my ears in protest.

  She turned and looked me over for a moment, then reached out and tapped at my right breast, pointing at it like she was going to present a convincing argument. I brushed her hand away. “What’s the big idea there? Can we keep some things a mystery, please?”

  She waved me off. “You realize, you’re my daughter and have at least half of my looks. Plus,” she said, pointing at my breasts, “you have those. You got those from your father’s side, actually. Those Polacks have big tits sometimes. You’re no Vanessa, mind you, but you do all right.”

  I rolled my eyes. She always did go back to looks and breast size.

  “Hey. I know your friends call me Filter-Free Fiona. You’re all aware of the way I speak and act.”

  “You’re just jealous because mine are bigger than yours,” I uttered.

  “Damn straight. And here, deep down you wanted to thwart that silly girl, but she ends up with severe burns and a nice broad shoulder to cry on.”

  “Don’t I know it,” I muttered, crossing my arms and shaking my head in defeat.

  “Maybe you should take up meditation,” my mother mused. “Or smoking. It’ll be a good distraction and you won’t even need a lighter.”

  I don’t know why I wasn’t telling my mother about Ivy. Maybe I was hoping she’d stop talking about finding me a man and notice the bigger crisis that was brewing.

  23

  A couple days later I was still feeling on edge.

  Vanessa was watching my store. I’d been banished for the evening because I’d been prowling around, taking things off shelves and re-arranging them. After my third go-through and me muttering something about painting the walls a new color, she insisted I get out and do something – anything – to distract myself.

  “Go, run a few miles. Go play pool with someone at Murphy’s. Go see a movie,” she said as she made shooing motions to usher me out the door. “The way you’re pacing around, you’re likely to wear down the floor boards.”

  I decided I’d go and see a movie.

  We had several big box stores and a multiplex on the main business spur by one of our city’s two interstate exits.

  I instead opted to go to the old theater downtown, which had recently been renovated. There they screened a couple movies a week, and a local theater group staged the occasional play.

  The theater was a short walk from my shop – and the house I rented – so I decided to hoof it and burn off a bit of steam at the same time.

  I bought a ticket for a show, some independent movie I had never heard of, even though it didn’t start for nearly a half hour. I decided to walk around a while instead of waiting inside.

  The city had gone through its ups and downs over the years, but lately it had been enjoying a resurgence. The chamber of commerce and development authority made it a priority to make the downtown area in particular more tourist- and pedestrian-friendly.

  As I walked around I took in the fall decorations that were starting to populate the sidewalks and storefronts. Pumpkins, huge pots of chrysanthemums and corn stalks were set up along every lamp post. The trees lining the sidewalks were draped in orange and yellow lights, which were just flickering to life as dusk began to set in. Ornate wrought-iron benches were placed at regular intervals so visitors and locals alike could sit and relax. Not too many people were out – it was near suppertime – so the people watching wasn’t too good.

  I paused and peered in a few storefronts. Emily’s Eatery was getting ready to close for the night. I waved inside at Emily, who was chatting with an elderly lady who was making a purchase. The tall blonde waved back and pointed at a pumpkin figurine on her counter. “Keep at it!” she mouthed. I gave her a watery smile and a thumbs-up gesture.

  I kept walking and peered into the bookstore. Native American writers were often featured, especially Ojibwa authors. There were also some books focusing on the flora and fauna of as well as the lore and history of the city and of the Great Lakes region.

  Next door was an art gallery. Watercolors of freighters were arranged on one side of the shop door, and an oil painting of an autumn scene took up most of the window area on the opposite end. Frames in an assortment of colors and finishes were displayed in a geometric pattern behind the fall painting.

  A moment later the shop door opened and two people walked out. I looked up, recognizing the young woman and the man to whom she clung tightly.

  “Oh, it’s you!” Heather said, the expression on her face was sour when landed her gaze on me. “What a surprise.” She pushed herself firmly into the crook of Roger’s arm. She looked a little bit drunk, with a faraway look in her eyes. It took me a moment to realize she’d most likely been heavily dosing herself with the love potion she’d purchased in my shop some days earlier, despite my instructions to take a couple drops at a time.

  I sensed the flowery scents I usually associated with Ivy’s presence, but also some sour tang of frustration
and a bitter, almost medicinal air of unhappiness. That warmed me in some ways. My lizard brain told me this wasn’t a happy date, but what my eyes took in irritated me. I felt my hand shoot up to my ear, but caught myself and put it back in my pocket.

  “Hello, Heather. How is your hand?”

  Her smile turned downward for a moment, and then she turned to Roger. “It still hurts,” she pouted, “but it’s better now. Thanks to Roger taking me to the emergency room so quickly.”

  “That’s great,” I said through gritted teeth. “Was the injury a bad one?” I directed the question more at Roger than Heather.

  “Second-degree burns,” he said. “She’ll be okay, but the doctor was perplexed by the injury. We couldn’t really explain it, either.”

  We? Did he just refer to Heather and himself as a “we”? I felt my stomach lurch.

  “I’m glad you’re on the mend,” I muttered. I wanted to look into Roger’s eyes, but I felt too uncomfortable, like doing so would reveal too much of my inner turmoil and jealousy.

  “What are you doing tonight?” he asked.

  “Oh, I just am going to see a movie up the street. I was killing a bit of time beforehand.”

  “We’re going to the theater, too. Do you want to join us?” Roger offered.

  I paused, pondering how to respond, when Heather cut in. “No! She can’t! That’s where we decided to go for our date.”

  Inwardly I fumed a bit, but reminded myself to keep my rage in check. I could hear Ivy buzzing around me, her anger threatening to override any self-control I had left.

  Roger was about to say something when Heather interrupted. “This is just for us. I need you all to myself tonight,” she purred, running her finger along his lower lip. She was going for a pouty sexy vibe, but looked more cartoonish instead. He didn’t look thrilled with her intrusive gesture, and jerked his neck back so she was forced to stop touching his face. I liked seeing that but I had to continue to work at tamping down my building anger and adopted a friendly expression.

  “Ha. Heather’s right. I can’t go with you. I’m meeting someone. So you two go right on in,” I lied through clenched teeth as I waved them on toward the theater. “I’m just waiting for my … date … to show up.”

  “Date? It must be a charity case,” Heather replied, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

  “Oh, very witty, you little Oscar Wilde, you,” I quipped.

  Roger chuckled.

  “Who?” she asked.

  “My, what a well-read little snot,” I snapped.

  “He wrote some plays,” Roger explained. “They presented one of them at the college a couple years back. It was pretty good. My mom has a book of his works, too. He’s one of her favorite writers.”

  Heather’s expression was clueless.

  “Plus, I like to read,” Roger added.

  Heather shrugged and clutched Roger’s arm, pulling him in the direction of the theater.

  Inwardly I chided myself for lying about having a date. Fortunately, a moment later an idea came to me, and I pulled out my cell phone.

  Ten minutes later Scott arrived. I handed him the ticket I had purchased for him and we went inside. When we joined the line for concessions, I spotted Heather and Roger ahead of us.

  I saw the girl turn and assess Scott. He didn’t look like Roger, but he was good-looking. He was a couple inches shorter than Roger, but still tall, and he boasted a stockier build, which worked well and came in handy in case he needed to evict a rowdy patron from the bar. His hair was a medium brown – though it turned a dark blonde when he grew it out long enough – and clipped short to his head. His eyes were a dark hazel flecked with green, and his jaw was squared. He’d shaved off his stubble and had donned a sharp grey suit. He looked like he belonged at the head of a company, though he was his usual casual self, eyes lit with mirth.

  “What’s with the fancy duds?” I asked, eyeing him over. I was always happy to see him, but he looked good.

  “I was at the bank earlier, applying for a loan.”

  “Oh really? For what?”

  “I want to open my own bar – a brew pub – so I thought I’d try and look respectable.”

  “Well, you could have fooled me,” I winked. “That’s great, though. Do you have a place in mind?”

  “I do. It’s just up the road, by the bridge.”

  I nodded in approval. “That’s great. I hope you get it.” I continued to look him up and down appreciatively.

  “Like what you see?” he asked.

  “You always are a breath of marijuana-infused air,” I said, “but you wear this really well, too. I should have had you dress up like this when we were dating. It would have made for good role play.”

  “Miss Secretary asking her boss for a raise or the banker for a loan?”

  “Exactly,” I laughed.

  “Just for the record, I’m a free agent at the moment. I could be persuaded to degrade myself in some capitalistic fantasy for your perverse pleasures,” he said, wrapping an arm around my shoulder, pulling me close. I picked up the scent of some sort of bay rum cologne intermingled with marijuana. “Are you wearing a new perfume?” Scott suddenly asked.

  “Not today. Just the usual 4711.”

  “It’s different. It reminds me of something the girls would wear when I was in junior high.”

  Suddenly I picked up a whiff of Love’s Baby Soft and realized I had company. I felt a slight intrusion into my thoughts and discovered Ivy was poking around in my mind.

  “Did you use to date him?” she whispered. “He’s so cute. He was around the other day, but I didn’t get a good look at him then.”

  I concentrated hard to try and squeeze her out of my head. It took a real mental push before I felt like myself again. I also felt alarmed that the girl was so strong, so insistent. I’d never experienced anything like that before.

  Heather craned her neck around again and I leaned in a bit to Scott, more for familiar comfort than anything. I could feel Ivy’s presence return, nipping at my consciousness. I felt a headache start to creep in due to the effort I was expending in fighting her off. It didn’t help that I was still a bit angry to see Roger on a date with Heather. Hopefully Scott’s good mood would put my temper at bay. Also, seeing Heather try to get a better look at Scott warmed me. I suspected she was both impressed with his good looks and the sharp suit he wore.

  “Do you know that girl?” Scott asked, tilting his head in Heather’s direction.

  I nodded. “I’ve run into her once or twice. I don’t know much more than her name, though.”

  “And she’s on a date with Roger. Good on him.”

  I tensed at the statement.

  Scott paused, and turned to look at me, concern in his eyes. “Does that bother you? Do you have anything going on with Roger?”

  “No. We’ve only talked and had lunch once. He’s never asked me out. He’s never kissed me. He was at mom and Tom’s the other night for dinner, though. I think they’re trying to fix us up.”

  “And…?”

  “And nothing has happened. We took a walk after dinner, and then Heather spotted us and latched onto him.”

  “I see she has a bandage on her hand. She’s injured, I presume?”

  I quickly recapped what had happened a couple days earlier.

  “Did you call me because you saw them together?” Scott asked.

  I looked at him sheepishly.

  “You did.”

  “Okay, I was a bit annoyed. I don’t think I’d be as annoyed except she’s a brat. She came by on Autumn Daze and was kind of snotty.”

  “And that’s all that bothers you,” Scott muttered, nudging my ribs. “Nothing else, right?”

  “I am going to plead the fifth.”

  “I would expect nothing less from you.”

  I turned to Scott, scrutinizing his face for signs of anger. I saw none. “Are you mad at me? I guess I’m using you a bit, but you’re also a friend, so …” I stopped, chewing my
bottom lip as I waited for a reply.

  He shrugged. “I guess I was a bit caught by surprise, but hey, we’re not a couple, and if I’m being used as arm candy to make someone jealous, that’s not a bad way to be used. Besides, the way that girl keeps checking me out is flattering.”

  “Well, you look both very handsome and very rich,” I mused. “It has been known to be an attractive combination.”

  “And we’ll let her hold onto her illusion, right?” Scott teased.

  “Who says we can’t be rich with imagination?” I asked, stepping up on the balls of my feet to plant a playful kiss on his cheek.

  I turned to look at the concession menu and caught Roger and Heather both looking at us. Roger, looking flustered, quickly turned away. I felt a pang of guilt, mostly because I was worried the peck I planted on Scott might be misconstrued as something more. Heather kept looking, however. She tried to hold on tighter to Roger’s arm, but he stood stiffly, not paying her any real attention. She turned to look at him and then back at us. In a way I felt a bit of pity for her. I didn’t like her, but to be out with someone who wasn’t at all receptive had to hurt. And while Scott and I weren’t a couple, we at least looked like we were having fun.

  In the meantime, the pressure was building in my head as I tried to keep Ivy out. I lost my focus for a moment. I felt the girl poking around my mind again. “Why don’t you go out with Scott?” she pressed. “He’s so hot. Why don’t you kiss him so I can feel what his lips feel like.”

  I gave another strained mental push and shoved her out again. I felt her fighting to maintain her foothold, and I felt her frustration building. That’s when a light blew out above us, sending glass flying. Scott and I both startled at the sound and ducked from instinct. I felt a shard of glass sail past and scrape against my cheek.

  “What was that?” he asked.

  “I have no idea.” I could smell Ivy’s perfume once again, getting sickeningly strong.

  “You’re not … fuming and about to go all Firestarter on someone, are you?”