Page 15 of Ghosted
“Oh come on, she doesn’t hide her Gift nearly as much as I do,” I say, always ready to go to battle for my little sister, even if Aunt Clarissa means nothing by it.
She turns her glare on me, those blue eyes just like mine and my sisters' burning bright. “True. Both of you need to realize what a privilege you are blessed with. Do you know how few people have the Gift?”
I raise my hands in defeat, not wanting to get into this lecture again. “Okay, alright. Super cool that I see dead people. Now, what’s up?” She sniffs at my sardonic tone and begins straightening the display of teas at the register. She hardly comes into the shop anymore, especially unannounced. So her sudden appearance makes me nervous.
When she looks up from her task, she must read the concern on my face because she says, “You’re not in trouble! I have some ideas for the store, that’s all. I was coming in to chat about it. Do you have a minute?”
I nod and gesture her over to the fainting couch. Once we both get seated, I ask, “What’s up?”
“Well, I know you’ve been doing well with the online store, but I want to do something more to revamp the brick and mortar. We hardly have any foot traffic these days.”
“Yeah, but Halloween is just around the corner. That always brings an influx of customers, so I’m not too worried. We usually make most of our sales during October anyway,” I say, leaning against the backrest.
Aunt Clarissa purses her wrinkled lips and leans forward, sending a waft of old cigarette smoke and amber my way. “Right! So, how do we get our October customers to want to come back the rest of the year?”
I wait a beat to see if she’ll answer her own rhetorical question before asking, “Are you going to tell me, or do I have to guess?”
“Don’t be petulant,” she chides. She sits straighter and folds her hands together over her lap. “I know you’ve been hesitant to use your Gift in the past, but?—”
“Nope,” I say, cutting her off. I begin to stand, not wanting to finish this conversation.
“Wait! You haven’t even heard me out yet.”
I sit back down reluctantly and say, “Okay, fine.”
Aunt Clarissa readjusts herself, excess jewelry jingling. “I know your… ‘issue’ with using your gift in such a way stems from the lack of anonymity. Now, I may not understand why you want to hide your Gift from the light,”—she sniffs in disgruntlement and continues—“but, what if we could ensure no one knew it was you? Maybe we could have you behind a curtain? Could be very mysterious.”
“What, like theWizard of Oz? You know I can’t just summon someone from beyond anyway. There would be no way for me to do that authentically, and I’m not going to scam people.” I fold my arms across my chest. This is a conversation we’ve had so many times. Well, okay, the whole curtain idea is new, but still.
“I know that, and I know you hold yourself to some ridiculous moral standard,” I roll my eyes, but she barrels on. “But, I want you to try to summon someone. You’ve never allowed yourself to try because you don’t want any more power than you already have,” she says.
I purse my lips, annoyed at being read so easily. She’s right that I’ve never tried to actively summon a spirit. Honestly, most of the time, I do my best not to seek out the dead. If they find me, I’ll help, but I’m not going to go looking for Casper. It might be possible to summon a dead person, but I’m afraid of using that kind of power. For the most part, the spirits I’ve interacted with have been grateful for the help because they are the ones looking for me. What if I call on someone who doesn’t want to be found?
“It could be dangerous,” I say, which is honestly just a drop in the bucket of my concerns.
She waves that away with an elegant flick of her hand. “Pah. The dead hardly influence the living. It is no more dangerous than attracting butterflies to your flower box with aster.”
“That’s not true, and you know it. While the dead may not be as strong as the living, they can cause trouble when they want to. If we’re going to talk about this, be honest with me. Why the sudden need for extra income?” I ask, knowing there must be something else going on.
She sighs dramatically and grabs one of my hands with her own. “Alright, dear. I’ll be honest. You know I’m getting old and that I would like to fully retire soon. Do you remember my friend, Esther?” When I nod, she says, “Well, Esther moved to a fantastic little retirement community called Sunset Village down in Florida, and I want to join her.”
I can’t help the way my eyebrows shoot up to my hairline. “You? In a retirement community? Playing Bingo and riding golf carts?”
“That’s ageist, darling,” she sniffs. “Besides, bingo is quite fun when you’re with the right people.”
I shake my head incredulously. Never in my life did I think my larger-than-life aunt would want to do something as pedestrian as spending the last of her days in a retirement community. And besides, I’m not sure what this news has to do with the store or my Gift.
I take a moment to gather my thoughts before saying, “Other than checking to see if you’ve been switched with a body double, we have more to talk about. What does your retirement plan have to do with the store? Why are you so concerned with making more money?” Honestly, the store is mostly in my care, anyway. She hardly pays attention to the business side anymore. She likes to add in her opinion here and there, but for the most part, it’s all on me. I thought we were doing okay financially, so I don’t understand what all the fuss is about.
Her brows draw together, and for a moment, she genuinely looks her age, which is frightening in and of itself. “Mr. Beauhurst is upping the rent for this entire block of buildings, ours included. Even if I wasn’t planning on going to a nice retirement community, we’d need to make more than we are now to stay afloat.”
I sit back feeling more than a little stunned. The Veil has been both my home away from home, and myactualhome. I quite literally took my first steps in here, tripping over the rug as I did it. I got my first set of keys to a place that was all my own here. I can’t fathomlosing it.
I look around at the artfully crafted chaos of the store and try to imagine it as a brightly lit, uniformly decorated supplement store. Or maybe it would become a new Starbucks and push Brewed Awakening out of business. I shudder. “How much more do we need to make a month?” I ask, immediately shifting into problem-solving mode.
She clears her throat and says, “Sunset Village costs about five thousand a month, and our rent is upping an extra three thousand per month.”
I feel like I’m going to be sick. “We need eight thousand dollars extra a month? Almost an extra hundred thousand ayear?”
