Page 5 of Bewitched By the Djinn
I weave through the mess and collapse into the desk chair, a mahogany Victorian number upholstered in red velvet. It creaks ominously under me but doesn’t give. Dad loved this stuff. The rest of us mocked him for it. Who willingly fills a house with furniture that could double as medieval torture devices?
But here it is. Still here. Still heavy. Still uncomfortable as hell.
I glance at the bag under the desk. The lamp is inside. Waiting.
My fingers tingle.
I could take a quick peek. Just for a minute.
I reach for the bag, barely grazing the edge, when Kevin clomps in wrapped in a towel, damp hair sticking up like he wrestled the shower and lost.
“I couldn’t shower. The water’s cold.”
It takes a second for the words to compute. “What?”
“The shower won’t get warm.”
“Maybe the water heater needs to be re-lit.” It’s an ancient beast that lives in the basement.
“Mimi already tried. She said it’s busted.”
I throw up my hands. “Of course it is.”
Because why wouldn’t the water heater die today? It only completes the disaster aesthetic: molding floorboards, a leaky roof, a flickering electric system. Now we’ve added freezing showers to the growing list of things for Cassie to stress about.
I was hoping things would hold on long enough to pay off the more urgent bills. But no, clearly the water heater had otherplans. It wanted to die dramatically. Along with everything else around here.
I drag myself up from the velvet seat with a creak and a groan, shoving the bag deeper under the desk like I can bury my curiosity along with it.
“Come on. You can take a bath tonight, after dinner,” I tell Kevin. “We’ll heat water on the stove like it’s 1892.”
While Kevin gets dressed, I retreat to the kitchen. “How was Jackie today?” I ask Mimi before she can even open her mouth.
A classic defensive maneuver. Cut her off at the pass. If I keep her focused on our biggest concern, maybe she won’t remember to interrogate me about my earlier trip to Ernie’s or the mysterious bags I swore were “nothing important.” Pay no attention to the witch behind the curtain.
Thankfully, it works. For now.
“She slept off and on.” Mimi heaves a skillet of cornbread from the oven.
My stomach growls. I lean against the counter and rub my head. “That’s good.”
She slides a bread knife from the block. “Headache?”
“Always.”
She frowns. “You work too much. You need to take a break. Go out with your friends, let your hair down. Maybe get laid.”
My mouth pops open. “Mimi!”
“What?” She shrugs. “You’re young.”
“I’m twenty-eight.” Going on forty-five, but still, not exactly a babe in the woods.
“Do you know what I was up to when I was your age?” She lifts her brows.
I wince. “Do I want to know?”
“Let’s just say, I made sure I lived it up before I settled down with your uncle, bless his soul. And you should too. Will you set the table?”
