Page 61 of The Witching Hours

“That’s what I thought.”

“I’ll text you my aunt’s name and phone when I hang up. Then I’ll contact her and let her know to expect your call.”

“Thank you, Mr…”

“Mike.”

“Thank you, Mike. Gosh, it feels strange to call you that. Listen, and this is not just words, the next time you’re in the bay area, please let me know. My husband is an excellent cook.”

“I’ll be collecting on that offer someday, Catherine. Meanwhile, let me know what happens.”

“Of course. Hey. Maybe you’ll write a book about it and become famous.”

He chuckled. “Nope. I’d rather teach the greats than be a wannabe hack.”

“Lots of students, including myself, are glad for that.”

I called the number Mike gave me. A woman with a young voice answered and invited us to visit after Nick got home. From leftovers I made stuffed pita to eat in the car on the way there then put on my red gauze dress. I’d taken on a healthy glow since I’d been spending time by the marina every day, and the dress looked good against my skin. I suppose I wanted to impress Mike’s aunt. After all, she held the key to whether my life was normal or spectacularly messed up.

After situating myself in the passenger seat of Nick’s low-to-the-ground bachelor-friendly sports car, I pulled the seat belt on even though it was guaranteed to mess with my boobs because the cross strap hit me in the wrong spot. I leaned forward a little to plug the address into the cars navigation system.

“Oakland, huh?” Nick said, pulling out of the parking space we’d dubbed his.

He glanced at the navi. “That address seems familiar to me. Who are we going to see again?”

“Um.” I looked at the scribbled note in my hand. “Ceija Helios.” Nick pulled the car over and stopped. He looked stunned. “What’s wrong?”

“She’s my great aunt.”

After letting that sink in, I said, “Wow. Your great aunt is the same person as my teacher’s aunt. That’s some coincidence.”

“I don’t believe in that kind of coincidence. And I’m pretty sure that in your heart of hearts you don’t either.”

“Well…”

“I guess this would be a good time for me to share that my family used to be Greek Romani.”

I stared at my husband as I processed that. “You mean gypsy?”

“Yeah. I mean gypsy. We’ve been Hellenized, even took Greek names because it made it easier to blend in. I’m from a branch that were one of the first to give up nomadic ways and settle. My parents were the first generation to start blending in and be mainstream educated. I mean in the sense of traditional values: reading, writing, math. But a lot of us have the sight because it’s part of our DNA and the elders still living have knowledge of the old ways.”

“Is that why you can see them, too? I mean, the, um, characters?”

“Now that you mention it, seems like the most plausible explanation.”

“Let’s call it a working theory?”

“Okay with me.”

He merged back into traffic, but I thought he remained a little shaken by the “coincidence”.

“Are you really okay? Seems like this has kind of thrown you for a loop.”

He sighed. “It’s a pretty big cluster of improbables that’ve come together to put us here at this moment in time on the way to visit with my relatives because your teacher two thousand miles away is related. To me. Whom you met ‘accidentally’ in Santorini which isseventhousand miles away. It’s like a giant mastermind is playing us like game pieces.”

“When you put it that way, it makes me want to call this weird.”

He laughed. “Leave it to my wife to understate. Every time. I guess of the two of us I’m the emotional one.”

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