Page 15 of Ghost With the Most
6
“I don’t like that look on your face,” I hissed, hurrying after Zelda as she all but frolicked down Main Street in a flurry of her blue sundress and aggressive purpose.
She flashed me a grin over her shoulder, the kind that said I definitely stole the cookies, and also set the kitchen on fire, and maybe seduced your neighbour. “Oh, sweet pea. That’s just my resting mischief face.”
I barely had time to blink before we hit the town square. A few townsfolk looked up from their café tables. Someone dropped a scone. An old woman in an apron holding an empty serving tray clutched her pearls with the reverence of a woman who could sense a scandal before it even materialised.
“Zelda, what are we doing?” I whispered, grabbing her arm, feeling anxious.
“Public service,” she said breezily, lifting a small velvet pouch from inside her bra with all the casual drama of a stage magician about to pull a rabbit out of her cleavage. “Also, I’m bored.”
“No. No, absolutely not. That’s a truth-hex pouch, isn’t it?”
Too late.
With a dramatic twirl and a surge of magic, she flung the contents into the air. Glittering powder arced overhead like magical confetti, catching in the morning sun before dissolving into a shimmering haze that began to sparkle and curl through the air around the square.
I grabbed Zelda by the elbow and yanked her into the narrow shade beside the coffee shop, ducking beneath a wrought-iron awning dripping with flowering vines. The scent of dark roast and burnt sugar curled around us, almost masking the symphony of chaos erupting in the square.
Around us, Assjacket’s finest were unwittingly vomiting up secrets like magical hairballs. The enchanted mist Zelda had so generously released hung in the air like golden pollen, shimmering faintly under the sun’s lazy descent. And it was working. Too well.
“You are the worst person I know,” I muttered, my voice the kind of low that cracked glass.
Zelda beamed like I’d nominated her for Witch of the Year. “You’re just mad it’s working.”
“I am furious and impressed, which is the most volatile combination of emotions you have ever inspired in me.”
She swished her glitter-dusted cloak dramatically and curtsied. “Thank you.”
“Not a compliment,” I snapped. Silence fell. Then…
“I never liked your lemon squares, Carla!”
“I slept with my cousin’s fiancé before the wedding and I’d do it again!”
“I’ve been hiding the town mascot in my basement because I think he’s my reincarnated grandmother!”
“I’m not really gluten intolerant—I just like the attention!”
I closed my eyes and pinched the bridge of my nose. “Oh gods. This is worse than the raccoon summoning.”
Zelda preened beside me, hands on hips, looking smug as hell. “Isn’t honesty liberating?”
I stared at the chaos erupting before me. Secrets were flying like pigeons in a fireworks factory. “You’re lucky I already love you. Otherwise I’d be burying your bones under your herb garden!”
I quickly covered my mouth with my sleeve before the truth-dust could worm its way down my throat. Across the square, a barista burst through the café doors yelling, “I’ve been spitting in Meredith Moran’s coffee for three years!” which, honestly, felt like a justified felony.
Zelda stood radiant in the middle of the shimmering madness, eyes alight, arms raised like a chaos goddess in full couture-cult regalia.
“This is not a solution,” I snapped, ducking as a woman sprinted past us crying, “I told my therapist I was fine but I’m actually just high on elderflower tinctures and lies!”
“It’s working!” Zelda beamed, spinning in place like she was Maria von Trapp and the hills were indeed alive. “Listen to the clarity!”
“It’s a confession parade with jazz hands,” I hissed. “You’ve dosed the entire historic district with a sentient truth bomb. That’s not clarity, it’s a lawsuit in slow motion!”
Behind us, someone screamed, “I hexed my HOA board president with erectile dysfunction and I regret nothing!”
I yanked Zelda behind a stall overflowing with ethically-sourced vegetables. “You’ve broken the town. People are going to jail. Or starting polyamorous cults.”
