witches of cleopatra hill 07 - impractical magic

by Christine Pope

  Now, though….

  Jenny tried to tell herself it was stupid to feel this way. She’d only been with Colin for a week — if you could even call the few times they’d been together being “with” someone. A couple of dates did not exactly constitute a relationship.

  Problem was, she knew that what she’d felt for him, what she’d allowed herself to feel, was utterly different from what she’d experienced with anyone else. She’d dared to let herself hope that he might be the one.

  Pesky thing, hope. It usually ended up screwing you over in a spectacular fashion.

  The elders weren’t happy with her, but as the week had worn on and nothing about the McAllister witches ended up splashed on the front page of the National Enquirer, they seemed to relax a bit. Besides, Thanksgiving was the very next day, and they had more important things to deal with. She got the impression that they were primed to do damage control if necessary, but in the meantime had decided it was better to get on with the business of the clan.

  Jenny couldn’t think of anything she wanted less than to deal with the overwhelming family togetherness of the holiday, but she knew there wasn’t much she could do about it. This would be the first Thanksgiving since they’d lost Roslyn, which was bad enough, but this whole mess with Colin had just made the whole situation that much worse.

  The prima and her family had come to stay in the big Victorian up on the hill, and Angela had texted Jenny, saying that she wanted to talk to her. It was definitely a conversation she would rather have avoided, but Jenny knew she didn’t have much of a choice. You didn’t turn down a direct request from the prima, even if you had a good five years on her.

  At least Angela was coming down to Jenny’s flat, rather than saying that the audience must be held up at the big house that had once been their Great-Aunt Ruby’s. That particular request had probably been made in order to avoid having Angela’s twins interrupt their discussion than out of any concern for Jenny’s feelings, but she still couldn’t help feeling grateful. Way better to get raked over the coals in the comfort of her own home.

  Angela came up the walk, dark hair shining in the bright sunlight. It was a gorgeous day, crisp and clear, with only a few big white clouds to mar the perfection of a sapphire sky. Jenny had closed the gallery for the day; the town got huge crowds the day after Thanksgiving, but the Wednesday before was always a total graveyard. No point in hanging around and pretending to work when there was nothing to do.

  “Hi, Angela,” Jenny said as the prima came up the steps. There might not have been anything natural about this situation, but she figured she might as well try to act as normal as possible.

  “Hi, Jenny,” Angela replied. She was dressed casually, in jeans and a dark green sweater and her beloved black cowboy boots. At first glance, she probably wouldn’t have attracted much attention. It was only when you looked a little closer that you noticed the way she carried herself, confident without being arrogant, as well as the keen light in those brilliant green eyes of hers. She didn’t look like a girl anymore, which was how Jenny still tended to think of her. But being prima — and a mother — could definitely change a person.

  “Come on in,” Jenny said. There didn’t seem to be much point in idle chitchat, since she knew Angela was here just to give her an extra helping of grief for her indiscretions with Colin Campbell. Even so, she had to add, “Do you want some water, or coffee? I just made a fresh pot.”

  “Coffee would be great. Thanks.” Angela went ahead and settled herself on the couch in the living room while Jenny got busy in the kitchen, pouring two big mugs of coffee, then setting a pitcher of cream and a bowl of sugar on a tray.

  She brought it out and set it all down on the coffee table. Angela picked up one of the mugs and got busy doctoring her coffee with cream and sugar, then settled back against the couch as Jenny sat down on the accent chair to the right of the sofa.

  What the prima said next startled her. “So…tell me about Colin Campbell’s interactions with Maisie. I just spoke with her, but I wanted to hear your — or rather, Colin’s — side of things.”

  It still seemed strange to hear Angela refer to “speaking” with Maisie in such a casual way, as if the ghost was just another ordinary citizen of Jerome. Maybe to the prima, she was. “Well, this is all just from one of my ‘flashes,’ but — ”

  “It’s okay,” Angela said as she picked up her mug, but only cradled it in her hands rather than lifting it to take a sip. “I know you can’t give me a blow-by-blow. But I’m just curious how she looked to him.”

  Jenny paused, doing her best to sort through the barrage of images and thoughts and impressions she’d received during that one brief burst. When she had one of her psychic flashes, oftentimes what she “saw” didn’t remain with her for very long — just as well, since she often was bombarded by memories and feelings that she really didn’t want to retain. In this case, though, she’d done her best to keep going over what had come to her from Colin’s mind. It hurt to know how he’d lied to her, but on the other hand, the future of the clan might just depend on what she’d seen and absorbed.

  “He didn’t see her appear,” Jenny said then, leaning over to pick up her own mug of coffee. “It was more like he glanced back and saw her walking toward him. So of course he just thought she was someone who lived here. And he did notice a number of details about her — the way she wore her hair piled up like this” — Jenny scooped up her own long hair and approximated a messy Gibson Girl hairstyle as best she could — “and the lace on the high collar of her blouse, and how fine her skin was. She definitely looked like a normal person to him, except for the way she was dressed. But he just thought she was a reenactor or something.”

  Angela nodded. “That’s how she always appears to me, too. Every once in a while the color of her skirt will change — sometimes it’s dark blue, sometimes gray — but her hair and her blouse always look the same. I know she’s a ghost because I just know, but I can see why a civilian like Colin would have been confused.”

  “He saw her disappear, though,” Jenny said. “That was when he realized she couldn’t possibly be a normal person. It kind of freaked him out.”

  “I can imagine,” Angela replied, her mouth lifting a bit at the corners. It wasn’t quite a smile, but her amusement was fairly obvious. “Nothing like having your entire view of the universe upended.”

  Jenny hadn’t really thought about it that way. Yes, she’d felt the blast of his remembered shock and astonishment. At the time, though, she’d been far too overwhelmed by his betrayal to spend much time dissecting his feelings about being confronted by a ghost. He was a practical person, though, not the type to come to Sedona to experience the vortexes or to have his palm read or whatever. Coming to the understanding that ghosts were real — and therefore the world contained far more in it than he’d wanted to believe — had to be difficult.

  “Anyway,” Angela went on, “Maisie was worried that she’d upset him. She wanted to know if he was all right.”

  “Seriously?” Jenny demanded, not bothering to keep the annoyance out of her voice. “She’s worried whether Colin’s all right? What about me?”

  The prima’s mouth quirked again. “I’d tell you to talk to her yourself, but I know that isn’t possible. I did try to tell Maisie that he’d come here under false pretenses, but she only shrugged and said she knew that. She said she’d told him he needed to make things right with you.”

  “She did?” Jenny’s head was swimming. That particular piece of dialogue had been missing from the explosion of memories and feelings and thoughts that had hit her. She’d seen that he’d talked with Maisie, had felt his utter disbelief when she dematerialized right in front of him, but it had all been visuals and sensations, with no real words attached.

  “Yes,” Angela replied. “I asked her why she thought it was so important. That is, I pointed out that Colin hadn’t exactly been truthful with you, and that wasn’t the best way to begin a relationship.”<
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  “That’s for sure.”

  An awkward pause. Angela looked as if she wanted to say something reassuring but didn’t know the best approach to take. They’d never been close, after all. Cousins, sure, just like they were cousins with half the population of Jerome, but that wasn’t the same thing. They weren’t friends in the way Angela was best buddies with that civilian, the one who used to live in Cottonwood but now had a winery in Page Springs with her new husband, or the way the prima was friends with Mason, Jenny’s own sister-in-law.

  “I don’t know what to say about that,” Angela continued after a noticeable hesitation. “I mean, what Colin did was crappy, no doubt about it. On the other hand, Maisie seemed to think it was very important that the two of you patch things up.”

  This was getting better and better. “So now she’s bored with the afterlife and has decided to play matchmaker?”

  A lift of the shoulders. “I think it’s more than that, but when I pressed her as to why it was so important for you to be with Colin, she just shook her head and said it was, and that she knew a time when people didn’t ask questions when they were being given advice from beyond.”

  “I wasn’t aware that she was this great spirit guide.” Jenny took a sip of her own neglected coffee. Actually, it hadn’t cooled down that much, and sent a flood of welcome warmth down her throat and into her stomach.

  “Well, she isn’t. She’s just a ghost who’s bound here because she’s afraid of what lies ahead for her. I’ve tried to explain to her that there is no hell, just a new sort of life for her to experience once she lets go of this world, but she won’t listen to me. Product of the Victorian age, I guess. She was a prostitute — through no fault of her own — but she thinks because she died while she was still living that life and never had a chance to repent or reform, then she’s going to go straight to hell if she doesn’t stay here.”

  Poor girl. Jenny supposed there were worse places to spend eternity than Jerome, Arizona. Even so, all the McAllister witches believed in the power of the otherworld, and the enlightenment that came with passing beyond the veil to that next place. It seemed tragic to her that Maisie wouldn’t let go because of superstitions that had no place in the real world.

  “But I know there isn’t anything else I can say that will make a difference, so I don’t bother anymore,” Angela continued. “As to why she’s suddenly acting like she has messages or directives from beyond, I have no idea. I’m just telling you what she said to me.”

  “As arguments go, this one isn’t very convincing,” Jenny said dryly.

  “I know. But I also know that Maisie isn’t a liar. She can be difficult to deal with sometimes, just the way all ghosts can be difficult. Their priorities are different from ours, and they see the world very differently from how we see it. Once you get past that, though, you can tell when something is important to them. And you being with Colin is important to Maisie, for whatever reason.”

  “Maybe she just thinks he’s cute or something.” As soon as Jenny made the remark, she wished she’d kept her mouth shut. Not because Angela suddenly looked judge-y or anything like that, but more because Colin’s face appeared in Jenny’s mind’s eye, the laughing glint in his hazel eyes, the nice lines of his jaw, the mouth with that half-buried dimple at one corner. Strange how clear he was to her, when guys she’d spent six months or more with had now become blessedly hazy memories.

  “Maybe,” Angela said, her tone carefully neutral. “And maybe at some point Maisie will stop beating around the bush and will actually tell me what’s going on. But I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

  “So…what now?” Jenny couldn’t believe she was asking advice of this girl who used to be her little brother’s major crush, but desperation knew no shame, apparently.

  The prima’s expression held no judgment, however, only worry and possibly a little pity. “I guess that’s up to you. I’m not worried that Colin Campbell is going to say anything to reveal who we are, even if he is a reporter.”

  “You’re not?”

  “No.” A quick flash of a smile before she added, “Which makes me absolutely crazy in Boyd’s eyes. But I’m not as paranoid as Boyd. Anyway, I’ve got a feeling that everything is going to be okay.”

  “A psychic flash?”

  “No. That’s Caitlin’s thing, not mine. And I’m sure if she’d seen anything, had any weird premonitions, she would have contacted me, even when she was on her honeymoon.” Angela paused, fiddling with the turquoise ring she wore on her right hand. “She was very apologetic about the wedding announcement when I talked to her a few days ago. She said it was mostly Alex’s idea because of his work, and that if she’d had any idea of the trouble it would cause, she would have put her foot down.”

  “It’s okay,” Jenny said wearily. The last thing she wanted was to be putting a guilt trip on her cousin over something as silly as the wedding announcement. True, it had been the thing that got Eileen Kosky’s spider sense tingling, but something else just as silly could have set her off. Seeing Alex at the grocery store, or his photo on the TV station’s website. Goddess only knew. Sometimes events got set in motion, and there wasn’t a damn thing you could do to stop them. “Shit happens.”

  “That it does,” Angela agreed, setting her half-drunk mug of coffee down on the cocktail table. “Well, I need to get over to Spook Hall and check on a few things for the shindig tomorrow. You going to be okay?”

  “I’m fine,” Jenny said, her tone stiff. Of course she was far from fine, but no need to turn this into a pity party.

  Angela gave her a searching look, green eyes keen under the finely arched brows. But she only said, “I’m glad. We’ll see you at Thanksgiving tomorrow,” and then stood up.

  Jenny rose as well so she could see the prima out. Once she was gone, Jenny shut the door with a weary sigh. That had gone better than she’d expected. No recriminations, no blame. Angela appeared willing to let the whole thing go.

  As to why Maisie was so insistent about making sure things worked out between her and Colin, Jenny couldn’t begin to guess. He was a civilian. It wasn’t as if being with him would patch up a feud and break a curse, the way Angela’s relationship with Connor Wilcox had. Colin was just an ordinary enough man, and Jenny knew she was a very ordinary witch. A kind of sub-par one, when you got right down to it. So what was so earth-shakingly important about making sure she had her own happy ending — assuming she could even find it in herself to forgive Colin?

  Right then, she wasn’t feeling very forgiving.

  * * *

  Thanksgiving might have been a national holiday, but it wasn’t a given that Colin would have the day off. Someone had to be on shift in case anything catastrophic happened. This year, however, Ryan was the one who got the short straw and had to watch the store.

  “I hate turkey anyway,” he announced, fooling absolutely no one. “And I can watch the games on the break room TV.”

  Well, that part was probably true. They had the full cable package in there, mostly to keep an eye on any breaking national news. Still, unlimited football didn’t seem like a fair tradeoff when it came to spending time with your family. Ryan was divorced, true, but he had a large extended family here in Tucson, and would probably be missing out on homemade tamales in addition to the turkey he supposedly scorned.

  As Colin headed toward Phoenix on Thanksgiving morning, he couldn’t help wondering if maybe he should have volunteered to take on holiday duty. His parents and sister would have been disappointed, but something about having to work on Thanksgiving appealed to him, as if by depriving himself he could somehow do penance for what he’d put Jenny McAllister through.

  Which, he knew, wasn’t very logical. Problem was, a lot of feelings didn’t have to be logical.

  He’d brought his overnight bag with him, since his mother always insisted on him staying after Thanksgiving dinner. “Too many drunks on the road,” she said, which wasn’t entirely inaccurate. She didn’t bother to ment
ion that she wanted to make sure her son wasn’t one of those drunks. The wine did tend to flow freely at the Campbell holiday get-togethers.

  This year would be small, though, just his parents and his sister, since his Aunt Lynne and Uncle Rob were cruising in the Mediterranean, and their three kids had conveniently scattered to visit friends. Just as well, because Colin didn’t think he could put up with a crowd this year. It was bad enough that he had to socialize at all. His mother was sure to notice that something was wrong — and Kate, too. She’d always been a bit too perceptive for Colin’s comfort.

  Too late to back out now, so he’d just have to make the best of it, and try very hard not to think about Jenny McAllister and what she must be doing about now. Did they have an early Thanksgiving dinner, or did they wait until it was dark to sit down and eat? And was it a huge clan gathering sort of thing, or did the individual families have their separate dinners in their own homes?

  You might as well stop wondering, he told himself as he pulled into the driveway of the big two-story home his parents owned in Tempe. Because you’re never going to be able to find out for yourself.

  He dismissed that self-pitying thought as best he could while he got his bag out of the trunk and headed up to the front door. It was a nice neighborhood, but his parents always made sure to keep the house locked up, and he didn’t have a key. Why would he? This wasn’t the place where he’d grown up, just a house that his parents had bought after relocating to the Phoenix area.

  After he rang the doorbell, he waited and took a quick look around the covered walkway. A fall wreath hung on the front door, and chrysanthemums in autumn hues were clustered to either side. His mother’s handiwork, trying to make it look as if they were enjoying a traditional Thanksgiving, even though temperatures had hit the mid-eighties today. Colin was wearing a short-sleeved polo shirt. Not exactly Thanksgiving attire.