Ghost Garages_A Boston Technowitch Novel Page 4

  It didn’t feel lucky when Aunt Ti came charging out of the bathroom because the mirror had showered glass on her. Lucky that there were no cuts on her face, yes, but not good in any way. I hid in a closet for hours afterward, feeling guilty because I’d wished something would happen to her. When Aunt Ti found me, she told me not to be silly, of course I hadn’t done it. But I started paying attention. I noticed the pull of energy leaving me when I was angry, when I wanted something to change. And I noticed that something always changed.

  It wasn’t luck at all.

  I sighed and switched the topic back to Carole. “No chance she’ll be at the reunion, then?”

  “Pretty sure not. Her itinerary has her going all kinds of places, from Zambia to Nice, from the bayous of Louisiana to San Francisco. I don’t even know where she is right now without looking.”

  “Maybe I’ll give her a call.”

  “I don’t think she has international roaming on her phone.”

  “Like that matters to me.”

  It was Maggie’s turn to sigh. “Make it do whatever you want?”

  “What do you do with your magic? It’s linked to your Sight, isn’t it?”

  I’d often been curious, although not curious enough to go to one of the witchy meet-ups that Maggie put together. The other witches called themselves a coven, sometimes, but I got the feeling it was mostly so I would know that I didn’t belong. I wasn’t one of them. That was fair; the antipathy went both ways. I could only take so much “My patron this” and “My patron that,” not to mention the way they looked down their noses at me when I told them what I was good at.

  The upshot was I didn’t actually know what Maggie’s magic was, just that she could See when others had magic, notice spells around her, and track things that were going to affect her, like people showing up on her doorstep. None of which was active magic.

  “You could say that. I used to help students focus better. Now, I subtly encourage executives to see new ways of looking at problems.”

  “And to see things from the other person’s point of view?”

  “If I need to, yes.”

  “Hmph. You’ve always accused me of poking at other people’s emotions, and you’re doing the same thing.”

  “It’s not the same thing at all. Your emotional outbursts have a ripple effect that you’ve always ignored. If you would talk to your patron, I’m sure you could learn to contain it.”

  There we were, back again. “I don’t have a patron!”

  “Fine, lie to yourself. But you’re affecting more than just the people around you. At our meet-up last week, the others were talking about how they were feeling revenge undercurrents everywhere they went. You could at least try to be subtle.”

  “I haven’t done anything bigger than hexing a friend’s landlord, and that was today. Anything you were all feeling last week wasn’t me.”

  If it was real at all. It helps to have a creative mind when working with magic; unfortunately, that means that most witches also have overactive imaginations. And they were more than willing to sit around gossiping about anyone who wasn’t there.

  “I’ll pass that on, but I don’t think they’re going to believe me.”

  Of course not. I took another sip of the chardonnay. “Thanks. As long as I have you on the phone, what do you know about ghosts?”

  If I couldn’t ask Carole just yet, I could at least find out what Maggie knew.

  “I’ve never run into any myself, but with the Sight running in my family, I’ve heard stories. I know they’re out there. Where’d you see one?”

  Something about her tone rang alarm bells in my head, so I was careful in my reply. “I think there’s one in the neighborhood, and I was wondering how to go about getting rid of it.”

  “I’m sure I wouldn’t know. Circle of salt? Splash it with holy water? Maybe lay it to rest by figuring out why it’s haunting the place, if you don’t already know?”

  “If I don’t—” I broke off in a huff, before I said something I was going to regret. Maggie honestly believed I’d killed someone with my magic and turned them into a ghost. The light next to me flickered, and I took a deep breath then exhaled slowly to try to calm myself. “I’ll try your suggestions, see what happens. Thanks.”

  None of her suggestions were anything unusual — common enough stuff in fiction that might have a basis of reality. No harm in trying them.

  If Maggie noticed my thanks sounded insincere, she didn’t say so. Instead, she said, “I’ll ask around, see if anyone else has some experience with ghosts or knows someone who does. Don’t forget to stop by tomorrow after work to get the dress.”

  I thanked her again and hung up. Now she was going to gossip about me with the other witches, but there was nothing I could do about that. Maybe I should pour myself another glass of wine and queue up Supernatural on Netflix, see if Sam and Dean had any better advice for me to try the next day.

  Chapter 5

  Gavin was dragging his feet the next morning. “I don’t want to go to school. Everybody likes Tina more than me.”

  Ah, another bout of sibling rivalry. Just what I needed on top of everything else. “That’s not true. What about your buddy Adrian?”

  “Adrian doesn’t talk to me any more. His mom said that I was a bad influence because I talked about magic.”

  I groaned. I didn’t even talk much to the kids about magic, but they listened when I least expected them to. “Aw, sweetheart. I’m sorry.”

  “I’m not. He didn’t believe me anyway.” He thrust his lower lip out and dared me to feel sorry for him. “But now I don’t have anyone to play with.”

  “Play with your sister.”

  He just rolled his eyes at me, like I should know better than to even suggest such a thing.

  “Whether you want to go or not, you’re going. School’s not optional. Now grab your cap and let’s go.”

  Tina stood next to the door. Someone else might have thought she was waiting patiently, but the smug grin she flashed at her brother told me otherwise. She wanted to be the good twin.

  Josiah Quincy Elementary School wasn’t walking distance. Not even when we managed to leave home early. At this hour, the tourists hadn’t arrived yet to clog the sidewalks, so the wait was quiet, if not pleasant. It was already warming up to be an unpleasantly hot day for June, and I was looking forward to getting to the coffee shop, which I kept at a sane 75 degrees — cool enough to notice, but not frigid when you came in out of the heat.

  “Remember that I’m going to be late today, so you need to stay in after-care.”

  “You know they close at six-thirty, right?”

  “I know. I’ll be there before that.” I should be, anyway, even with the trip to Maggie’s, since I only worked until three o’clock today. Of course, I owed Rich for coming in early, but it wasn’t the first time we’d swapped hours.

  From the bus stop, I usually went north to head to work, but today I wanted another look at that ghost. Okay, honestly, I didn’t want to get anywhere near her, but I’d grabbed my carton of sea salt from the kitchen this morning, the one I used to refill the salt shaker, and I wanted to see if it would help.

  The walk wasn’t pleasant. Neighbors bickered. Strangers argued. One boy punched another twice his size then stood his ground and got a black eye. The emotions coming from the ghost festered inside people who were usually pleasant. No doubt the other witches had noticed this, and one or two of them, who didn’t like me anyway, had decided I must be to blame. No benefit of the doubt for me. And Maggie wondered why I didn’t want to come visit more often!

  The garage was starting to fill by the time I got there, and I had to pretend to be waiting for a friend when I was really waiting for the bystanders to clear out, all the while ignoring the ghost who paced in the same spot, pausing only to glare at me. Finally, I got a break.

  No one had parked in the spot where the ghost stood, a mark of how bad the waves of revulsion coming off of her were. Bostoni
ans would park anywhere, whether it was supposed to be a spot or not.

  The empty space everyone had left gave me plenty of room to move around, shaking my salt to follow the lines of the parking space. Was it my imagination, or did the line of salt mute the feeling coming from the ghost?

  She glared at me, as unhappy at my attempts to lock her in as my kids would be at being sent to bed early. Okay, so it was my imagination — the salt didn’t mute anything. The hate was still there.

  I finished tracing the third line of the space and rubbed my nose. Enough salt dust was getting in there to irritate me, and I was developing a runny nose. Exactly what I needed on top of everything else.

  Time for the fourth line. I stretched out my arm and was shocked when the drowned woman hit me. I hadn’t even known that was possible. It would have been useful if her touch gave me a flash of understanding — a glimmer of who she was, a memory of who killed her, a hint of something she had seen. Instead, I got a gut full of hate. I wanted nothing more at that moment than to reach out and hurt someone. If I’d seen someone, I probably would have reached out with my magic to strangle them. Or maybe do something even more violent, although I hoped not.

  However, the only one around was the drowned woman. Before I could do more than think of her, my power lashed out, striking at her. Glee bubbled around me, like air pocketing around seaweed in the shallows, and I knew she was pleased — no, not her. She was still angry and unhappy, so the feeling had come from someone else. The one whose power had created her. I wanted to find that person and destroy them.

  I shuddered. I was not a killer, filled with hate, and I would not lash out to kill in anger, not even someone who had killed others. Slowly, I breathed in, centering myself, binding my power, wrapping it tightly around me like a scarf around one of my children in the winter. Keeping my magic contained was something I had learned to do before I’d met Maggie and Carole. They had helped me learn to control it — before that, my only option had been to swaddle it so none could escape. I resented being driven back to this, and I was, to put it mildly, not happy with whomever had put me in this position.

  There would be revenge, but it would be cold and slow, not hot and furious. I would not be who they were trying to make me.

  Taking a deep breath, I flung the salt in a vague line, making a barrier to keep the ghost and her feelings away from me long enough for me to do a better job. The second line I laid down was straighter and thick, as close to a physical blockade as I could come with something so small.

  I left the garage shaky but determined. I would put the ghost to rest, and I would stop the person who had done this before it happened again.

  The shift outside was noticeable.

  There were still people exchanging sharp words on the street, but the anger had dimmed. I was on the right track — if I could get rid of the ghost completely, everything would go back to normal. All I had to do was figure out how to do that. I hoped Maggie found someone who knew something. And that she would trust me enough to tell me.

  My thoughts were interrupted by a jolt I’d felt once before and the sound of traffic lights popping. Yesterday had been the first time I’d felt this surge, but I had no doubt Haris was near. I paused on the corner and looked around.

  Yes, there, at the other end of the block on the opposite side of the street, talking with some floozy in short shorts. Jealousy choked me, and my fists clenched. The walk sign near me exploded, and the traffic lights overhead oozed smoke.

  Startled, I released my fists and drew in a shaky breath. What was I doing, acting as though I had some proprietary interest in this muse, this weird stalker who I’d only met the day before? I wanted to blame my reaction on my already-shaky control of my emotions since I’d run into the ghost, but I knew that wasn’t honest. I’d had just as extreme a reaction to him when I’d first seen him. As he’d said, sparks flew.

  As they were flying now.

  The sparks drew attention up and down the block, but Haris didn’t look at the lights. He looked directly at me.

  Busted.

  His teeth flashed, and a bit of warmth bloomed in my middle that had nothing to do with all the rage and anger that had been floating around. I toyed with the thought of crossing the street, grabbing him, and completely skipping work today. I knew I’d never do it — responsibility was ingrained in my bones — but it was a nice fantasy.

  As if he’d heard my thoughts, he winked and turned away. The next time we talked I’d have to ask him about that. I was certain there would be a next time.

  Chapter 6

  Rich had skimped on clean-up the night before, as usual. The free papers by the door were scattered every which way rather than being stacked neatly, and the bulletin board looked like a couple of people had gotten into a land war. The papers took only a few seconds to jog into a neat pile, but the bulletin board required taking everything down, then placing one of each flyer or business card back so that each could be seen. I threw the extras into the recycling bin on my way to stash my purse in my locker.

  As I swung past the office, Kendall called out to me, “I need to talk to you.”

  She couldn’t see me, so I rolled my eyes. “In a minute. I need to put my purse away first.”

  It didn’t take long, although I noticed the paint cans had been shuffled around, making it harder to get to the lockers. Had the workmen actually been in, or was Rich just being obnoxious about the supplies?

  I slid into the chair across from Kendall. Her braids were pulled back from her face, but hung loose around her ears, swaying as she moved.

  “What’s up, boss?” I decided not to mention that Rich was the one who really wanted to talk to her. From the stack of papers in front of her, she knew that quite well.

  “We’re coming up on your annual review, and I wanted to chat about where you see yourself going in the next couple of years.”

  “Going? I’d intended to keep working as assistant manager, as long as you’ll have me.” This felt uncomfortably like the talk my college advisor had had with me when I’d tried to stay a sixth year without graduating. Five had been — barely — acceptable; six meant he kicked me out with a degree I didn’t want.

  She smiled politely. “I wasn’t expecting you to tell me you were moving to a different shop for better pay or benefits. You are the least ambitious management-type I know. That’s why I want you to take over as manager, while I shift to less involvement as the owner.”

  “You want to promote me because I’m not ambitious?”

  “Exactly. That’s why I promoted you to assistant manager, you know. You get things done, but you’re not worried about credit, just doing the job. That’s what I need now.”

  Translation: she wanted me doing the work, and she wanted to be able to take credit for it.

  “What about Rich?”

  “He’s not who I’m looking at right now.”

  “No, I mean — you promoted me because I didn’t care about credit. Why did you make him assistant manager?”

  “Because he was the best worker I had that was willing to work close. Most of the shops around here close earlier than we do. By staying open late enough to catch the students, we can double our take half the months of the year. So I need a closer, and he’s it.” She brushed back her braids. “And that’s why I’m not promoting him to manager, or at least part of the reason — his shifts would change, and we’d wind up cutting hours.”

  “You could see if he can find someone else willing to fill that slot.”

  “Look, do you want the job or not?”

  Better pay, more flexibility with hours … I was tempted. But more responsibility, too, and probably more hours, at least at the outset, which meant less time with the kids. “I’m going to need to think about it.”

  “No ambition.” This time, it didn’t sound like a compliment. “Fine, you can have a week. Or you and Rich can both have a week to prove yourselves. You get the contractors to come in here and get the job done
that they’ve already been paid for. He can get someone else to take his position at close.” She glanced at the pile of slips on her desk. “Two people for close, one as worker and one as assistant manager. After I see what you get done, I’ll reconsider.”

  My head spun. She had offered me a promotion, insulted, and made the offer conditional in less time than I had taken to fill out my original application form. I needed to get out of here before she changed the terms again.

  I pushed my chair back and stood up. “I’ll call the contractors after Ximena comes in to watch the front, if you’ll leave the contact information here.” I paused. “Rich has been getting antsy about his vacation application.”

  “And if you’d taken the job when I offered it to you, you could have given it to him. Now it’s none of your business whether he gets it or not.”

  I left before she got any more upset. This wasn’t like her. Maybe there was some residual energy from the ghost? But it seemed a little far for those negative emotions to reach.

  I probably didn’t need to worry about it being anything supernatural. Before yesterday, that wouldn’t even have occurred to me as a reason, even though I was the resident witch. Kendall was just having a bad day. It happened.

  Kendall wasn’t the only one having a bad day, either. Ximena showed up for her shift an hour later looking as wrung out and stressed as I’d ever seen her.

  “Landlord smoking cigars again?” I did my best to hide my annoyance. That was a solid hex!

  “Not really, no.” She skittered toward the back room, and I did my best to wait patiently for her return. When she came back, she said, “He knocked on my door and woke me up this morning. He wants to put in HEPA filtration units and wanted to schedule it when it would be convenient for us.”