Page 1 of Pumpkin Spice & Poltergeist

1

JORDYN

There were many productive, rational ways to use my magic. Summoning the ghost of my ex-girlfriend on the anniversary of our breakup wasn’t one of them. Yet here I was, drunk at three a.m. in a circle of salt. Smoke from the dried lavender burning in the bronze ritual bowl swirled around me in misty ribbons. I passed my right hand through them and over the summoning board in front of me.

I stared at my ex’s flannel button-down, cleared my mind of any ill intentions or feelings, then spoke her full name to call her to me.

“Louella Samantha Wong. Come here to me.”

I squeezed my eyes closed and imagined the last time I’d seen her. What she’d worn. The way her short hair had been effortlessly styled. That coy, knowing smile that had curled the edges of her lips.

“We never got to say goodbye.” I held her shirt up to my face and took in the scent that still clung to it. Drunken tears streamed down my cheeks. “I just don’t understand what happened. I can’t let you go. I can’t move on, not until I see you.”

The air around me felt like it took a big inhale, and then I heard a fizzle followed by a pop!

My eyes flew open and there she was, sitting across from me like not a day had passed. Lou looked exactly as I remembered her: short black hair, warm brown eyes, an open plaid button-down, baggy cargo pants, and shiny black loafers.

Was this the outfit she’d died in?

Had she been relegated to an immortality of wearing the lesbian staple outfit of chunky shoes and cargo pants?

She shifted, and that was when I saw it between the gaps of the button-down: my faded Fleetwood Mac T-shirt. The one she’d sworn she hadn’t borrowed.

“Did you seriously take my favorite shirt to the afterlife?”

Lou casually leaned back on her arms and gave me an incredulous look. “That’s what you wanted to ask me?”

“Right. Sorry, Lou,” I said sheepishly. “That’s not why I’m here.”

“This is such a you thing to do, Jordyn,” she said in her normal bored, monosyllabic tone. “Why exactly did you disturb my eternal rest? Needed a ghost’s help picking an outfit?”

I was suddenly very aware of my cuticles and that the reason I’d called her to the land of the living was too embarrassing to admit out loud.

“So . . . how’s the afterlife treating you?” I asked, adjusting my wire-rimmed glasses. “What’s it like?”

Lou shot me a sideways glance. “You know I can’t tell you that. There are rules. Even if I wanted to tell you, my spirit wouldn’t be able to speak the words.” She zipped her lips and threw away the imaginary key.

She’d always been playful, but there was something freer about her spirit. I’d half expected her to yell at me when she appeared. We didn’t exactly end things on good terms . . . which had been my fault.

“I thought you’d be a little more vengeful and less, uh, mellow.” I toyed with a strand of my long chestnut-brown hair. “You’re not mad at me?”

She cocked her head and watched me closely. “For summoning me or breaking up with me?”

“Breaking up with you.”

“I was.” Lou rolled her eyes. “When I was alive, I was very mad at you for breaking up with me for absolutely no reason other than you were scared of your own damn feelings. But I’m over it now. I don’t have those sorts of worries now that I’m dead.”

“You sound a little mad.”

She crossed her arms. “I’m not mad!”

The floor trembled, and I heard the distinct sound of spell jars rattling on the shelf behind me.

“The shouting isn’t helping the whole ‘not mad’ thing.”

“Fine!” she blustered, throwing her hands up like she used to when we fought. “Did you summon me to be an angry spirit or something? Would smashing mirrors and possessing bodies make you feel better about yourself, Jordyn?”

The more she raised her voice, the more present she felt. It was as if she were shifting from ether to flesh and bone.

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