Page 25 of Home Is Where the Witch Is
“Well,” Maude mused. “It was while I was watchin’ my stories and checkin’ my emails. I always do that between ten and eleven in the mornings, on account of I have to be in the office durin’ that time in case folks want to check out.” She shrugged. “Guess he ‘checked out’ good’n proper.”
“Thanks Maude, that’s really helpful. We ought to get goin’ and give you some hard-earned peace and quiet,” Rosie said, earning her a gracious smile from the older woman.
“You’re too kind,” Maude said, a little relief visible in the way her pudgy shoulder dropped. “Please tell Maggie to call in another day for that popsicle!”
Rosie’s smile was genuine as they said their goodbyes to Maude. She might have been the oldest town busybody, but she had a heart of gold. Hopefully this incident wouldn’t have too much of a negative impact on business at the Beep ’n' Sleep.
CHAPTER EIGHT
The next morningdawned the only way summer in the South could—with all the grace and charm of lukewarm bath water. Rosie woke with a headache that throbbed at the base of her neck and ran all the way down her spine. She groaned as she rolled over to look for Declan beside her. The bed was empty, and a few seconds later she could hear sounds coming from the kitchen. Reasoning if she left her husband to his own devices a little while longer he might have made fresh coffee, she languished for a few more minutes before rolling herself slowly to her feet.
Vanilla and strawberries wafted up to her as she waddled down the hall, pausing to use the bathroom before meeting Declan in the kitchen. Breakfast was well on the way to being done, and she smiled in spite of her headache as she kissed the cook. “Smells divine,” she said by way of thanks, reaching for the paracetamol.
“Sore?” Declan asked, glancing at her sideways while he flipped another pancake out of the pan and onto the Leaning Tower of Pisa he was making.
“Neck,” Rosie replied, helping herself to a cup of the decaf coffee they were both drinking these days. To start with the brew had tasted absolutely vile, but as her tastebuds slowly and surely forgot the magnificence of real coffee flavor she’d been able to tolerate it better and better. She used it to wash down her pills. “Want me to do anythin’?”
“Sit at the table n’look beautiful,” Declan instructed, his signature crooked grin falling easily into place.
“First part I can manage easily enough,” Rosie joked, pulling out a chair and lowering herself into it gingerly. “Ivy?”
“Still sleepin’,” he replied, holding the frying pan and expertly tilting it so the batter coated the bottom. “Same as the kids.”
“Half their luck. I feel like I could sleep for the next twenty years solid and still not be caught up on all the sleep my body needs.”
“The joys of bein’ a grown-up,” Declan agreed, sorting out Rosie’s plate while the latest pancake started to sprout perfect bubbles. He’d already put on her maple syrup and added a few delicate edible pansy flowers from the little patch of them outside. It was a surprisingly effective medicine, tempting Rosie into a smile that seemed to lessen her headache just a little.
“Thanks hon.”
“Welcome. Hope you enjoy yourpancakes,” he said, emphasizing the last word by projecting his voice down the hall. “So nothing useful from Aata, then?”
“Not really,” Rosie shrugged a shoulder, cutting into her neat short stack. “We’ll have to talk to the rest of the Council about it, but the one word he did give us made no sense.”
“Would holdin’ a seance help?” he suggested, refilling his coffee cup. “Might be able t’build a stronger connection with him if there are more witches there to help power it.”
“Doubt it,” came a matter-of-fact voice from the living room doorway. Ivy was up and at ‘em, dressed in denim shorts and a blue tank top. Her coppery waves had been scooped back from her face into a low ponytail, but a few tendrils around her face had managed to break free of their elastic prison. “It seemed like all our questions were too close for comfort for him. And he wasn’t corporeal enough to have an honest-to-goodness conversation with.”
“So what’s the plan, then?” Declan asked, setting up their guest with real coffee and delicious pancakes. She’d opted to settle in at the kitchen counter, propping her feet up on the bottom rung of the stool she’d chosen to perch on.
“I’ll hang around, and we can try the seance thing. At least then the Council’ll know I’ve done everything I can. But if he doesn’t come through any stronger we might have to face facts.”
“Being that his murderer might get away scott free,” Rosie stated darkly. “I hate that.”
“So do I,” Ivy agreed, “But the spirit world has its limitations, just like the magical one does.
“Did someone say pancakes?” Maggie materialized, bleary-eyed, in the kitchen with a hopeful smile.
“Thought that might get ya attention,” Declan grinned, beckoning her into the kitchen so she could get her breakfast.
Gabe was two steps behind her. “You thought correctly,” he added, his British accent tinged with a Southern twang that made Rosie want to giggle.
“So do you really just talk to ghosts for a living?” It was no surprise to anyone that Maggie also chose to sit at the counter—as closely to Ivy as she could get.
“Kinda,” the medium replied with a nonchalant shrug. “It’s a little more complicated than that.”
“How?” Maggie shoveled a mouthful of pancake in, chewing quickly so she could be ready to ask another question at record-speed.
“I travel to places where people have had issues with spirits, or there’s a weird vibe—you know, classic haunting stuff,” Ivy explained, before sipping her coffee.
