Page 24 of Big Witch Energy

“This is a rough guess, of course, but this is the neighborhood of what you’re looking at,” Cole said, holding out his pad.

Caroline eyed the piece of paper, where he’d scribbled a rough estimate of what it would cost to fix the ceiling, the upstairs bedroom, the outside dining area, the porch—a big, old six-figure estimate. “My family will cover a quarter of the repairs.”

And they were going to have to borrow money to cover that. The emergency fund had just been completely blown out of the water. Or maybe into the water. She didn’t know. It had been a long fucking day.

“Done,” Riley said, shaking Caroline’s hand. “Cole, draw up a work contract with a formal estimate and let’s get started. Any chance of the Rose being open for the tourist season?”

“Not for Memorial Day, but maybe by the end of the summer,” Cole said, pursing his lips. “I’ve never had a job pitch go this way.”

Snow was peppering his dark beard with white flecks, giving him a sort of grumpy wizard appearance. Riley patted him on his shoulder, or at least, what she could reach of his shoulder. Riley wasn’t much taller than Caroline. “Welcome to Starfall Point.”

“Well, I guess it works,” he grumbled. “Celia asked me to inspect the building for the state’s oversight offices anyway. I’ll make some phone calls, come up with supply lists, formalize the estimate.”

He stalked off, muttering under his breath.

“Is it possible that you’ve become a little too accustomed to throwing your financial weight around?” Alice asked gently.

“I’ve been told where and how I’m going to live for the rest of my life,” Riley said. “One of the benefits of this gig is having money to throw at problems. I’ve never had that before. Also, it sort of solves some problems for me. Plover is still pitching a fit about the renovations. Poor Edison basically has a disapproving live-in father-in-law…except not living.”

“So really, this is to help you, not me,” Caroline mused.

“Eh,” Riley waggled her hand back and forth.

“What was all that about the Shaddow family contributing to the deterioration of the Rose?” Alice asked.

“A little bit of improvised motivation. We don’t know that the ghost lady in the barroom didn’t contribute to the cave-in,” Riley insisted. “For all we know, the temperature variations that come along with hauntings, changes in air pressure, humidity—that can all mess with the integrity of construction materials.”

“I’m not sure about that,” Caroline said, pulling her jacket tighter against the wind.

“In particular, I don’t think that humidity thing is correct,” Alice added.

“I’m grasping at straws here,” Riley admitted. “But I can’t let you face this on your own, particularly when I think the ghost lady contributed to the bar falling apart, somehow. Even if the bar isn’t her attachment object and she can’t physically interact with it. Something…something was off about the look on her face, right now, watching the aftermath of everything fall apart around you. I don’t trust her.”

Caroline turned toward the building and its gaping wounds, through which she could see the purple-dress ghost pacing back and forth, an unsettling grin on her face as she prowled the inside of the bar like a shark tracking injured prey.

“That seems reasonable,” Caroline said.

“And you’ve never seen her before the other day?” Alice asked.

Caroline shook her head. “Not once, but you know, the ghosts only show themselves to us when they want us to see them. I mean, she would have to be connected to my family somehow, right, to be showing up around the Rose? Maybe she was trying to warn us of what was coming?”

“So, it was a warning smirk?” Riley asked, arching her brows at Caroline.

“OK, probably not,” Caroline said.

Caroline scanned the crowd again. Ben was pulling a sizable splinter out of Iggy’s hand. Her dad had changed positions, far away from the crowd, his coat collar pulled up around his ears. Her brothers, predictably, had set up camp near the rugalach.

“I’m gonna go check on my dad,” Caroline told them. “Can you make sure my mom doesn’t wear herself out?”

Alice and Riley nodded solemnly.

Denny was staring at the second floor, his expression haunted. He’d been a tall, heavyset man once, but time and heartache had whittled him down. Caroline had gotten her eyes from him, but now Denny’s were shadowed and framed by deep lines.

“Maybe we should just let it fall apart and slide into the water,” Denny rumbled, though Caroline wasn’t sure whether he was talking to himself or to her. “Maybe we should just burn what’s left.”

“Well, that’s one plan,” Caroline acknowledged. “But we kind of depend on the income to buy food and stuff.”

“I’m sorry, baby,” he sighed. “I’m sorry you kids are stuck with this, stuck in this place. I wish things were different for you.”

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