His jaw dropped. “Is that all you have to say to me?”
Now what? She was in over her head and then some. “I don’t know what to say or do. I’m not the person to put in charge of the safety of others.”
“We can’t hide from this thing. Trouble will erupt. Let me know when you’re ready to confront the issue.” Looking disappointed, he stared at the jar. “Do you have two bud vases we can drink from?”
Chapter 7
A GUARDED SILENCE SETTLED over Estele and Val that neither dared to disrupt.
Val returned to the task of preparing supper.
Estele watched as he mixed drinks and puttered over the pot of soup, stirring and adding seasonings.
After some fuss and creative thinking, Estele managed to transform a large kitchen island into an attractive dining table, complete with a centerpiece of chunky white candles surrounded by tiny tea lights.
Her apartment had never looked or smelled so homey. This was nice—maybe too nice. Part of her dreaded getting used to homemade meals prepared by a handsome man and then losing the privilege.
Val ladled the steaming pozole into two large mixing bowls. He sprinkled grated jack cheese and squeezed wedges of fragrant lime on top, and served them both.
She pulled a tall chair up to the island and perched on the edge of it. The soup looked and smelled wonderful. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” He carried another tall chair to the island and sat opposite Estele. “I had to improvise a little, but I think things turned out well.”
Dipping a spoon in the pozole, she sampled the rich broth. It was the perfect balance of salty, tart, and spicy. “It’s good.” Dare she say as good or better than her grandmother’s pozole, although Abuela Lena’s pozole had been made with a heartbreaking amount of love when she needed it most.
Val tasted his soup. “Ah. It turned out nice.”
“It’s great.” The bits of pork were browned and redolent with garlic, melt-in-the-mouth tender.
Picking up a mason jar, Val raised it in a toast. “To allies.”
Estele picked up her jar and clinked it against his. “Cheers.” She sipped the spiced rum Val had concocted. It was mildly sweet and refreshing. “Oooo, this is good too.” Turning, she reached for a custard cup and poured a trickle of her drink into the dish. “For the captain. He’ll enjoy this.”
Looking puzzled, Val brushed a lock of black hair from his brow. “He’s a ghost. No mouth. No gut. How can he drink that?”
“He can’t.” Sliding off the chair, she walked over to the corner of the room and set the cup down on an end table. “When he’s ready, the captain will enjoy the rum on the etheric level. He’ll sniff it, hover over it, and absorb its essence.”
“You like the captain, don’t you?”
“We share an apartment. I have to make an effort to get along. Besides, he’s sort of a dear old pest.”
“You’re not afraid to call him a pest?” Val glanced around. “Where is he now? I expected him to hang around while I made dinner, but I didn’t get the sense he was near.”
She returned to the table and picked up her spoon. The pozole was thick with hearty hominy and juicy pork. It was the ultimate comfort food. “I don’t know where the captain goes when he’s unmaterialized, or whatever you call it when ghosts remain invisible. Maybe he inhabits another dimension, but the bottom line is he shouldn’t be here at all. The poor guy died when Queen Victoria was still on the throne and he deserves to move on.”
His dipped his spoon into the soup. “Why doesn’t he?”
“He’s trapped here. It’s like he can’t face the fact that he died in an asylum.”
“Asylum?”
“This apartment complex is built on the razed foundations of a nineteenth-century asylum.”
“Ah. Now I get it. A ward full of crazy ghosts equals cheap rent.”
“Yep, you guessed it. But not every unit in this building is as haunted as unit thirteen.”
Val sipped his spiced rum with a languid expression on his face. “Are there other ghosts in this apartment?”
“Yes, and there are some mean ones too, real Amityville Horror types, but the captain chases them away. He’s been my gatekeeper.”
“It sounds like you two need each other.”
“Me and the captain?” She laughed. “He doesn’t really need me. He doesn’t need anything. He’s dead, but he doesn’t want to face it. Between you and me, the captain’s a terrible addict, and now he seems to be addicted to life. He can’t give it up. I don’t see him being able to abandon ghosthood and peacefully cross over anytime soon.”
He pointed with his spoon. “Is the captain trapped here? Do you think he can leave this apartment?”
“Oh sure, he can leave the apartment. I know he takes strolls to Cemetery Park at the bottom of the hill, where he’s buried, but he prefers to spend most of his time here, where he lived.”
“He visits his own grave, so he definitely knows he’s dead?”
“Of course he knows he’s dead! I tell him all the time. I constantly remind him, ‘Captain, you don’t need any more curare lozenges from the apothecary, you’re dead! Enough already.’”
Val shrugged. “I suppose he’s hanging around for some reason. He’ll figure it out.”
The pozole was so delicious she quickly reached the bottom of the bowl.
“There’s more.” A proud smile curled Val’s lips. “Would you like seconds?”
She slid her empty bowl toward him. “Yes, please.”
Taking her bowl in hand, he walked to the stove and refilled it, garnishing it with grated cheese and lime. “Seconds are the highest compliment to a chef.”
“You’re a good chef.”
“I’m an alquimista de sabor.”
“That’s right.” She nodded. “An alchemist of flavor. It sounds so official, like it carries authority with a preset pay grade. You’re lucky. I’ll bet the title comes with some respect too. When you say the term ‘witch,’ especially to people outside the enchantment community, it becomes a catchall phrase. ‘Witch’ doesn’t really tell you anything. What sort of witch? What level of skill? A witch could be an exalted sorceress who can turn a hurricane offshore or just some Goth chick who smokes clove cigarettes. You never know.”
He dipped his spoon into the bowl and ate a heaping mouthful of pozole. “What sort of witch are you?”
“An incompetent one.”
A look of concern knotted his brow. “Why do you say that?”
“Because it’s true.” She continued spooning soup into her mouth. Oddly, talking about it wasn’t hurting her appetite in the least. It was a relief to say it. “I am a terrible witch and it’s sad, because I want to be a good one. I really try. My heart is in the right place. I would never dabble on the dark side or take advantage of someone, and yet I just keep fucking up!”
“You sound a little self-pitying.”
“No! That’s not it at all. I feel sorry for the innocent people who get caught in my crosshairs.”
His gaze dropped. “What have you done that was so awful?”
Where should I start? “Just this morning, I accidently turned a salon full of women into stone statues, and once they were magically revived, they woke screaming. That was today. Last week I—”
“Wait. You turned the women to stone? You have that much power? That’s incredible! You didn’t do it maliciously, did you?”
“Of course not. I was distracted and I made a terrible mistake with my spellcasting. But that’s part of the problem, I’m always distracted.”
“What distracted you today?”
Her shoulders tensed. “I was hungry.”
“I could have taken care of that.” Val lifted his hands into the air. “Maybe that’s why I’m here, to ground or balance you.”
What was his angle, wiggle his way into her life and solve all her problems? Why her? “I’m used to being on my own.”
“But that’s not how allies wor
k. Allies are catalysts and add exponentially to the other’s power. Alone, an ally is like an electric cord without the electricity.”
“I’m not convinced I’m anybody’s ally or their electricity.”
Val pushed his sleeve back and pointed to his pinup girl tattoo. “Then what is this about? I was given this tattoo as a sign that it was time to seek my ally. That’s you, there’s no doubt about it. Even the initials E.E.E. have appeared. What’s your middle name?”
“Ernestina.” Things were getting a little intense. Did he really expect her to come through for him on a professional level? Talk about setting himself up for disappointment, he was doing it in spades. She waved his comment off. “There’s no guarantee E.E.E. stands for Estele Ernestina Esposito. It could be Eldora Ezmae Earwax or Edwina Elberta Eggbaum....”
“And Eldora and Edwina are witches living in San Buena who happen to dress and look just like you?”
“Um... there is no Eldora Ezmae Earwax or Edwina Elberta Eggbaum living in San Buena.”
“Exactly. I got the call from my spirit that trouble was afoot in San Buena. The sense of trouble came through clear as day.”
“Like firing up the Bat signal?”
“Yes, it was an internal Bat signal. The call went into the void, and I felt it in my heart and saw it in my mind. Tio Bruno felt the call to come here too. We drove the taco truck straight to the Master Mage Magic Academy, and you walked out the front door. We were meant to meet and be allies.”
Poor guy, he looked so sincere when he said it. She cringed. Didn’t he know the Esposito witches were cursed? Their magic went astray and their husbands ran away. Nothing ever went right for them. “You seem like a nice guy, Val. I’m sorry I’ve been so standoffish with you. Listen carefully, because I’m telling you this for your own good: you don’t want me for an ally. Whatever good you try to accomplish, I’ll manage to undo in a spectacular fashion. You spill a glass of water, I’ll cause a flood.” She pushed the empty bowl away. “I loved your pozole. Thank you, but you should find another ally while there’s still time. There’s no way the safety of San Buena should be in my hands. Look around. I don’t even have a pet. I’m scared I’ll screw up!”
He grasped her hand and looked into her eyes. “Estele, there is no other ally. It’s you. You have to help me expose and neutralize the bubble of malevolence. We can do this. Have some confidence in yourself.”
“Confidence? I’m not delusional. I know what I am and what I can expect from myself. Trust me, I disappoint me every day.”
“Why is that?”
“Because I love people. I want them to like me, and I just keep doing things that frighten everyone or make them angry.” Terrific, her voice was trembling and she sounded like she was eight years old. “When I’m spellcasting, everything starts okay, but then I get distracted. Power builds under the surface. I’ll think, ‘Wow, is all this juice really coming from me?’ There’s this high, a feeling of taking off, like a condor swooping over a canyon. The rising wave of power overwhelms me every time. Things start to happen. I start seeing results. Then I’ll think, ‘Maybe I can’t handle a double-black-diamond slope. Maybe I should take it down a notch.’ There’re too many thoughts in my head at once and bam, I remember I’m a fuckup and sure enough, I fuck things up.”
Val took her hand. “You sound like a frightened child.”
“Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” He brought her fingers to his lips and kissed them. “Estele, you’re not a child, and you don’t have to be afraid to wield power. Uncertainty is something that can be conquered.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“I’ve been afraid too. I was afraid to alienate my family or make a bad choice. Telling my mother and father that I wanted to study and become a brujo caused endless fights. My father is still patiently waiting for me to snap out of it.” His lips smiled but his eyes were sad. “Committing to the path and apprenticing can be lonely. Doubt walks at your side every day. But if you know that you were born to do something, stop listening to doubt. Do what you were born to do and do it well.”
“But I don’t do it well....” He was talking to her like she mattered. She set down her spoon. The pozole had to be enchanted, because every mouthful brought sweet memories of her grandmother to mind. Abuela Lena’s presence grew so intense it was as if her spirit had been conjured to fill the room with a loving feeling of peace and belonging. No one else had ever loved her so completely, not even her mother. At that moment, thinking of Lena was almost too much to bear in a bittersweet way. “Your cooking is inspired. When you practice magic, no one gets hurt—they just get happy and full.”
“Thank you, but I’ll never have the skill or talent to turn someone to stone. You are exceptional. If I had your level of power, I would be over-the-moon enthusiastic and ready to learn how to harness it.”
She gently pushed the empty soup bowl away. “Trust me. You’d never want to be me.”
“Now you’re just feeling sorry for yourself.”
“Actually, I feel sorry for the people who get caught in the wake of my magic.”
Crossing his arms in front, he leaned onto his elbows. “Maybe I can help you. I can do more than cook. I have some wizardly skills and I’m a good teacher. Let’s do a beginner’s exercise in allies training. Do you want to try?”
“I have no idea what you want me to do.”
Val slid forward on his elbows, gazing into her eyes. “It’s a simple magical team-building exercise. Something we could do together that uses our strengths to advantage.”
“Like what?”
He waved a hand through the air in an arcing loop. “Name a magical practice that you can do.”
“Spellcasting.”
He frowned. “I’m not good with raw spellcasting.”
“Apparently, neither am I.”
“My magic has to be grounded in the senses through taste, scent, sight, etc.” He picked up a soup spoon. “Let’s start with this. Something I can touch.”
She sighed. “Please don’t say ‘there is no spoon.’”
“I was going to invite you to cast a motion spell on it.”
Red flags waved. “Why did you choose a spoon? Don’t go Uri Geller on me.”
“I’m not asking you to bend the spoon. I’m asking you to move it.”
“For safety’s sake, I usually avoid enchanting metal objects. Metal is too conductive and magnifies the enchantment in unpredictable ways, at least for me. Miss Dahlia says, ‘With metal, even a whispered spell will ring like a bell.’ I’ve managed to get myself into trouble with something as innocent as bobby pins, so I’m cautious now.”
“What happened with the bobby pins?”
“I was styling a lady’s hair. Her daughter was getting married on the beach and I wanted her updo to stay put. I enchanted the bobby pins to give them a little extra grip, and instead the hairpins started to behave like territorial hornets. They flew around her head and wouldn’t allow anyone to come close to her hairdo without getting stung. Even the lady couldn’t touch her own hair. She came back to the beauty school in hysterics. I felt bad. I was just trying to help. There was a brisk ocean breeze that day, for crying out loud.”
“Estele, try to relax and enchant the spoon.”
“Cast a motion spell? Me? This is the part where someone loses an eye. That spoon could end up zipping around the room like an unguided missile.”
“It won’t.”
Her stomach ached just thinking about it. “How do you know?”
He grasped her hand. “Because I’m going to sit at your side, holding your hand, and we’ll cast the spell together.”
“Okay.” Their fingers tangled. Val’s hand was warm and reassuring, and she wanted to believe him. “Do we have a safe word or way to neutralize the spell if it goes bad?”
“Nope.” His dark eyes glittered by candlelight. “Once we start down the ski slope, we’ll have to work together to not break our bones.”
“But you won’t go over because I won’t let you. I’m your safety net.”
“How so?”
“You’re my ally and I’m yours. Our skills complement each other. Your weaknesses are my strengths. It will be all right.”
This gorgeous guy had no idea how bad things could get. “It hasn’t been all right in the past. I’m not even convinced we are allies. This whole thing is still pretty far out.”
“This isn’t the past. You’re not doing this alone. Things will be different with me.”
Was he mad or ignorant? “You do have confidence in yourself, I’ll give you that.”
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Enchant the spoon. Command it to rise.”
Oh man, he really didn’t know what a Pandora’s box he was opening. Hopefully, he really could protect them from the worst of the fallout. She mentally summoned all her knowledge of levitation and flight along with every tutorial Witch Griselda, Miss Dahlia, or Fredi had ever performed in front of her. Surprisingly, her thoughts were crystal clear. Perhaps having the Heart of Hecate in her purse and Val’s encouragement was helpful after all? She pointed at the spoon and sang her best James Brown impression. “Get up! Get on up—”
Untouched, the spoon rose vertically, twirled on its end, and started to hop around the table.
She stared in shock. “Look! It’s working.”
He smiled. “So far so good. Can you make it fly?”
She winced. “I was afraid you’d say that. Me making it fly is not a good idea.”
“Do it. Don’t be afraid.”
She lifted her hand into the air like a mime and made her fingers flutter like a bird’s wing. “Fly little spoon, fly!”
The spoon chaotically zipped around the table, knocked over a lit candle, splattering hot wax everywhere, and then struck Val in the side of the head.
“Ouch!” Val ducked the unmanned utensil as it headed toward a window and tapped frantically against the glass as if trying to escape into the wild. He grasped Estele’s hand and said calmly, “You can’t just shout ‘fly!’ and leave it at that. Guide the spoon with your intentions. What do you want it to do?”
Alchemy With Benefits Page 12
