Quit Your Witchin' (7 page)

The chimes on the door rang, thwarting my story as Bianca arrived with Maggie in tow. Despite the warmth earlier in the day, the rain had returned, and with it, cooler temperatures swept in.

The wind from outside blew at the edges of the tablecloth, the damp air sending a chill up my spine.

Seeing Maggie, her wide chocolate eyes swollen into slits in her head, rimmed in a shade of red I didn’t know was possible, almost made me reconsider Win’s suggestion.

But then I saw Bianca, with her skepticism all over her flawless face, and I girded my loins. I would only be feeding her cynicism by pretending I could talk with Tito if I really couldn’t. She wouldn’t know it, but I would.

Behind Bianca and her mother came Bianca’s siblings, Mateo and Juan Felipe. They surrounded Maggie, hovering behind her, their eyes stricken with grief.

I moved slowly toward Maggie, unsure how much English she knew or how receptive she’d be to my sympathies. She’d always been a hearty woman, robust in not just appearance, but in personality.

Now, she looked so frail, so cracked around the edges, I was desperately afraid to stick my interfering paranormal finger in the tiny fractures for fear they’d bust wide open and she’d fall apart.

Holding out a hand, I offered it to her. “Mrs. Bustamante, I’m so sorry about Tito.”

She took it, her fingers cold and clammy. When she gripped my fingers, she trembled. “
Si, gracias.
Tell me you can find my Taco
. Por favor, Senora
. I
need
to speak with him. You help,
si?
” she whispered before her voice cracked.

Now was the time for honesty, and the time to ignore Bianca’s icy glare. “As I told your daughter, Mrs. Bustamante, I’ll do my very best. Please…” I motioned to the table, wrapping my arm around her waist and leading her to the chair next to mine. “Sit down. Make yourself comfortable. Can I get you something to drink? Water, maybe?”

Maggie slipped into the chair, her spine almost collapsing as she did. She tightened her shawl around her shoulders, shivering before she looked up at me, her eyes so bloodshot from crying it was all I could do not to cry, too. “Water,
por favor
.”

“Of course.” I looked to Tito’s sons, avoiding the beautiful Bianca’s eyes altogether. “All of you, please gather round the table and get comfortable. I’ll be right back.”

I scurried off into the back room and went for the fridge, finding my hands were cold, too. I was sick with nerves about this. If I couldn’t contact Tito, would that tip Maggie over the edge?

This felt wrong. So wrong.

“Win? You here?” I whispered, looking around the dimly lit back room the way I always did, hoping against hope to catch a glimpse of him, knowing that would never happen without my lost powers.

“Always.”

“Any news from the Plane?” I prayed he’d found the woman who’d reached out to us previously.

“No. Not a bloody peep. I’ve talked to anyone who’ll listen to me, and no one can remember a woman with a Spanish accent being here in limbo. It’s like it never happened, but I swear to you, she existed.”

Swallowing hard, I inhaled and pulled a cold bottle of water from the fridge. Wishing it was a beer I could guzzle to take the edge off. “And no Tito, I suppose?”

“No Taco Man, either. But here’s something to hang on to. No one’s seen him here, or on
any
plane throughout the planes. If he crossed, there would have at least been a sighting, don’t you think?”

“I would think so, but what do I know about the afterlife except for what I’m told? I’m told an event like choosing to cross is a big deal. So yeah. I think you would’ve heard if he’d gone over. But then again, how do I know the information I’ve been fed all these years is right? I’m worried, Win. I don’t want this to be the straw that breaks Maggie’s back. She’s very clearly on the edge. Ugh, I want to strangle that Bianca. How could she think this would make Maggie feel better?”

“I’d like to think she knows her mother better than we do and the reason she’s being so forceful about it is because she just wants the best for her. So let’s at least try, Stevie. I’ll give it all I’ve got, both engines.”

The murmurs from beyond the back room were hushed, intermittently broken up by a soft sob from Maggie, raising the levels of my anxiety.

I checked on Belfry, napping as usual under the banana leaf plant, and stroked his tiny back to wake him. “Bel? Time to wake up, partner. We have work to do. You know what to do, right?”

He snuggled against my palm as I tucked him into the pocket of my caftan. Bel was aces at picking up signals from not just outside—where, were he anything but a familiar, he’d spend his days—but from people, ghosts, and even plants. You name it, he could tune into it, and tonight he’d be my gauge for Maggie’s mood.

“You bet. Use my sonar to sense signs of too much stress in Maggie. If she looks like she’s cracking, send the signal.”

“And the warning signal is?” I prompted, more for my own peace of mind than a reminder to Belfry.

“I screech like a seagull.”

Using my fingertip, I pressed a kiss to it and stroked his head. “Perfect. I love you, Bel. You’re the best familiar ever. Win? You ready?”

“I am indeed,” he said, but his tone held a hint of concern.

I’d learned a lot of things about Win since we’d become entangled in each other’s lives, and one of them was how much he cared about those around him. I suppose that would make him a crappy spy—messy relationships and emotions and all—but it made him a great partner in the afterlife.

“Then let’s do this.”

I made my way back out and headed for the door, where I turned off the neon sign and flipped our open sign to closed. Scooping Bel discreetly from my pocket and setting him by the cash register, I dimmed the lights in the back where the reading table was and turned off the lights in the front entirely.

My stomach was in an uproar, but I ignored the churn and handed Maggie the water. “Are you ready, Mrs. Bustamante? Everyone?”

“
Si
,” Maggie said, her chest heaving a shuddering sigh.

“Could we just do this?” Bianca asked, her impatience crystal clear as she ran her red-tipped fingers through her waterfall of midnight hair.

Could I just poke you between the eyes?
Oh, this woman brought out the absolute worst in me, and it wasn’t just because she was about as close to physical perfection as it got.

“Bianca! Don’t be so rude,” Mateo ordered, then said something in Spanish with a glare in his sister’s direction.

Both Bustamante men were as good looking as their sister. Tall, chiseled, olive-skinned, thick and shiny black hair, and lots of rippley muscle between them.

Bianca clamped her mouth shut, pushing her hair behind her ear and, rather than responding to her brother, turned her glacial stare on me.

I’m not one to have my feathers ruffled often, but there was something about Bianca that chilled me to the bone, and I couldn’t quite pinpoint what.

But I had no time to try to figure out what made her tick. Spreading my arms out, I offered my hands to Maggie and Juan Felipe, sitting on either side of me. “Did you bring the personal item I asked for?”

Mateo nodded short and quick, reaching into the pocket of his tight-fitting gray T-shirt and pulling out a picture of him and his siblings. They were all smiling carefree grins against the backdrop of the Puget. Boats sailed behind them; the sky was a gorgeous blue, cloudless day, the sun shined, and Mateo held up something that looked like a certificate of some kind.

Upon closer inspection, I noted it was the permit for the Salty Sombrero.

“Papa never went anywhere without this. They gave it to us today at…at the hospital with the rest of his things.” The Adam’s apple in the column of Mateo’s sleek throat bobbed as he swallowed.

I was still having trouble with what Forrest told me about Tito and his catting around. All outward signs said he loved his family if you looked at this picture. Yet, he and Maggie were separated because she’d caught him cheating, or so went the story. That had been confirmed by Chester just this afternoon, when he’d stopped by to drop off the final plans for the gardens.

“Yep. She told me all about it one night at bingo over at the VFW Hall,” he said, shaking his head as if he, too, didn’t understand how Tito could cheat on someone like Maggie. “Don’t get it. Nice lookin’ wife, nice lookin’ kids, healthy business, and he goes off and sticks his chimichanga where it don’t belong.”

Looking at the picture, I said, “Set the picture in the middle of the table, please, Mateo, and let’s all hold hands. First, I want you all to know, you’ll sometimes hear me say some odd things that won’t make any sense to you, but I want to warn you not to interfere. Please. It’s important you let me do this without questioning some of the strange things you’ll hear so that we garner the best possible results. Can we all agree?”

Everyone nodded, even Bianca, though she did roll her eyes.

“Now, I want you all to close your eyes. Picture Tito—then recall a happy moment you shared with him. I’m sure there were many, but any memory will do.”

I waited as Bianca relayed the message to her mother in Spanish, and then I closed my eyes, too.

Readings were always easier if I could block out everyone but the spirit I was contacting. I imagine avoiding Bianca’s skeptical eye rolls wouldn’t hurt either.

Settling into my chair, I breathed deeply, letting the ambiance of the room and the things I loved on every shelf—my crystals, some of my favorite snow globes I’d placed around the store—soothe me.

“Tito? Your family’s here. Their hearts are broken, especially Maggie’s. Are you with us? Won’t you come talk to us and ease Maggie’s sorrow? She has a question for you.”

Maggie’s muffled sob flitted in my ears, but nothing else.

“Nothing yet,” Win muttered. But then he said, “I beg your pardon, sir. You are most certainly not Tito. Do avert your eyes, you arse! There will be no ogling the grieving.”

Sometimes wayward spirits, especially the bored ones, intrude on readings just for giggles. Popping my eyes open, I looked at everyone at the table and apologized. “Sorry for the delay, but an unexpected visitor popped in. He’s gone now, isn’t he?” I asked, making it appear as though I were asking the room.

“He is, the sod. I made sure of it.”

“I have confirmation he’s gone now,” I reassured them.

Bianca popped her cherry-red lips. “I bet you do.”

“Bianca!” Juan Felipe snapped in a hushed whisper. “No
mas
!”

Closing my eyes again, I refocused…and then something downright bizarre happened. The room became hot—not just warm-ish, but balmy hot, like we were on some topical island. I almost tasted the moisture in the air.

Was it Win? I cleared my throat, one of our signals to knock it off. But would Win play games at a time like this?

“Oh no. This has nothing to do with me, my dove. But I’m going to warn you right now, we have company.”

My heart skipped a beat. That didn’t sound good. “Who’s there? Tito? Is that you?”

Maggie’s fingers dug into the palm of my hand at the mention of his name as she muffled a whimper.

“Um, Stevie?”

I cocked my head as though I were listening to the spirit world. “Yes? Who am I speaking to?”

“We have trouble. Big, big trouble.”

W
in’s tone was ultra-serious to the point of making me squirm.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I tried to think of a response that wouldn’t alarm Maggie and her children as beads of sweat formed on my upper lip.

Scratch that. I didn’t want to alarm Maggie and her sons, true that. But I didn’t care if Bianca was alarmed. In fact, I know this sounds callous, but if she got sunburn from this little ghostly trick, I wouldn’t buy her aloe to ease the sting because she was mean.

“Explain, please,” I prompted Win, fighting the urge to tear my turban off.

“Someone is very angry with Tito. Red-hot bent, for lack of a better phrase. So choose your next words to Maggie and Co. carefully, but listen closely to me. This spirit is seething a Spanish word at me and I don’t know what it means. She just keeps whispering it.”

“What is it?”

“
Aventura
.”

“
Aventura
?” I repeated then clenched my teeth together. Crud. I hadn’t meant to say it out loud.

Belfry called out,
“Squaw-squaw
!”

My eyes flew to Maggie as Juan Felipe gripped my hand, his fingers damp from the ever-rising heat of the room when he said, “It means affair—a love affair.”

Maggie began to cry then, a soft mewling that kept picking up speed as she wiped at the glistening sweat on her face with her shoulder.

Oh no. I couldn’t tap that. Now way was I going to ask if that meant anything to Maggie. I knew it did.

“And something else, too.
Cochino, cochino, cochino
. She’s repeating it over and over. What does it mean?”

“
Cochino
?” I muttered in Juan Felipe’s direction.

“Pig. It means pig in the rudest sense of the word,” he answered, his voice tight, his T-shirt clinging to him, wet with perspiration.

“Er, yo, boss!
Squaw-squaw-squaaaw
!”

My eyes flew to the Bustamantes, but they didn’t appear to have noticed Belfry’s words.

“Stevie, I don’t like this,” Win said. “In fact, I’m becoming quite uncomfortable with the darkness of this spirit’s aura. She’s chanting this word over and over with her hot breath on my neck. I feel dirty, Stevie, and not in a toss-about-the-mud sort of way.”

I didn’t like how Win sounded. He came across as spooked, certainly not something I was accustomed to hearing from my coolly collected Spy Guy.

My throat was drier than the Mohave, my chest slick with perspiration, but I had to know what—or better still,
who
—Win was dealing with. Who could this be?

Was this in fact related to Maggie and Tito? Or was this some other malevolent force? My mind touched briefly on the idea that the spirit responsible for me ending up witchless might have something to do with this, and I wanted answers.