Page 21 of Home Is Where the Witch Is
Having a medium arrive in your house via magic portal wasn’t something that happened every day, even in the witch world. The whole family gathered in the living room, eyes glued to the old brick fireplace, waiting with bated breath. At long last the air around the hearth seemed to shimmer and move, like the heat that caused people to see mirages on the blacktop in summer. A moment later the shape of a woman materialized out of thin air, before firming up into a young woman.
She was a lot younger than Rosie, with gorgeous coppery hair cropped in a blunt, wavy style that fell just above her shoulders. If Gabe’s reaction was anything to go by, the next few days were going to be very interesting in ways that had nothing to do with asking ghosts about their own murders. A bright smile lit up the young woman’s face, her hazel eyes darting around the room to take it all in.
“Hey cuz,” Rosie said teasingly, stepping forward to offer Ivy her hand. “I’m Rosie. This is Declan, Maggie, and Gabe. Nice to meet you.”
“Hey,” Ivy replied, shaking Rosie’s hand warmly before shaking everyone else’s hands too.
“Do you really see ghosts?” Maggie asked, straightforward as ever, prompting a nod from Ivy before following up with, “What do they look like?”
“Like you and me.” Ivy smiled. “Only ghosts don’t have feet!”
“Really?” Impressed, Maggie tilted her head to one side. “So they’re not see-through?”
“Nope! They just look like regular people.”
“Weird!”
“Yeah, ghostsarepretty weird,”
“No weirder than the living,” Gabe said, sneaking a subtle glance at his younger step-sister. “Have you ever dealt with poltergeists?”
“Sure,” Ivy said, ticking off her fingers one by one. “Poltergeists, demons—even a succubus once. Its?—”
“—way past time for the kids to be in bed,” Rosie declared, before they could ask Ivy exactly what asuccubuswas. Their guest smiled sheepishly and bid the kids goodnight before they wandered off to their rooms. Declan excused himself to shower, leaving Rosie to get to know Ivy better.
She wasn’t sorry for the opportunity. Being a witch was cool and all, but she couldn’t see dead people. Rosie was briefly reminded of Ben’s sister, Bunny. While the gruff nurse wasn’t quite a medium, she definitely had her own strange lifestyle going on. Leading Ivy into the smaller and more intimate kitchen, Rosie called back over her shoulder.
“Tea?”
“Yes please.”
“Black, or herbal.”
“Oooh, herbal,” Ivy pulled out one of the stools at the counter and hopped onto it, totally making herself at home. It was an endearing quality, and Rosie couldn’t help but like the young woman. “Anything will do. Thanks!”
Rosie filled the kettle with water and put it on the stove to boil. She could have simply boiled it with a spell, she supposed, but there was something in undertaking the ritual from start to finish that she found soothing. Her back was to her guest as she got the kettle situated and on the boil, and she turned around to see a strange look on Ivy’s face.
“You didn’t introduce me to your mom.”
A chill shot up Rosie’s spine, and she looked more directly at Ivy. “Who?”
“Your mom, I think?” Ivy leaned to one side as though peering past Rosie to look into the walk-in pantry behind her. “Older lady, short-cropped gray hair. Looks sharp as a tack.”
Rosie’s throat was dry, but sure and steady a lump was forming at the back of it. Tears threatened to not be far behind. “Carol-Ann?”
Ivy smiled, obviously pleased she’d made the connection. “That’s it. She’s nodding. Carol-Ann.”
“Y-you mean she’s here?” Suddenly Rosie’s grief was as fresh in her heart as it had been in the moment Morgana murdered Carol-Ann. She took in a big gulp of air but it wasn’t enough to stop the tears from streaming down her face.
“Of course,” Ivy said gently, leaping up from her stool. She was around the other side of the counter in a jiffy, a comforting hand on Rosie’s shoulder as she cried. “She’s been here all along. Always will be.”
“Guess it stands to reason,” Rosie said, trying to regain her composure. “This was her home.”
“Got nothin’ to do with the house,” Ivy said, reaching out to place her hand gently on Rosie’s baby bump. “Her home is here.”
Rosie cried in earnest, then. The bittersweet love she carried for Carol-Ann came rushing to the fore, letting her know that even though she might feel the loss of her mother and Carol-Ann sometimes, their spirits—and those of her other ancestors were always with her. Ivy hugged her, letting her cry as though she were used to people having this reaction around her all the time. When Rosie felt she was cried out, she pulled herself together and got on with making the tea that they both needed now more than ever.
“Are you okay?” Ivy asked, watching Rosie with large hazel eyes that seemed to see right into her soul.
