Page 7 of Bewitched By the Djinn
“There are no ghosts here,” Kevin insists. “Richard’s hex bags took care of it.”
The lights flicker.
We all freeze, eyes on the ceiling.
Then . . . nothing. The bulbs steady.
I blow out a breath, more worried about the ancient electrical system than a haunting, honestly.
The cabinet next to the fridge creaks open and slams shut.
Jackie points. “No ghosts, huh? That was basically a confession.”
Mimi sets cornbread on the table.
Kevin’s face goes slack for a few seconds. “No. He’s just letting us know he’s here.”
“What does he want?” Jackie asks.
I tie off the braid with a hair tie from my wrist.
Kevin grabs the pot of rice and beans, placing it next to the cornbread. “What everyone wants. To be heard.”
He’s only eleven, but he’s already carried more than most adults. He grew up fast when Jackie got sick, and faster still when Mom and Dad disappeared.
He’ll always be my baby brother, no matter how wise he gets or how fast he grows. He’s already taller than me, which is like a personal betrayal.
Our parents had me young—twenty and wild-hearted—so by the time I hit high school, they were still young enough to start over. Jackie came when I was fifteen. Kevin the year after.
I grab the serving spoons and we dig in, taking turns ladling beans and rice into our bowls.
“How was school today?” Mimi asks.
“Boring.” Jackie stabs at her food. “I hate online school.”
“Sucks to suck,” Kevin grins.
She shoves his shoulder.
“Hey. Hands to yourself.” I point at her with my fork. “Did you get your work done?”
“Yes.”
“Did you eat lunch?”
Jackie rolls her eyes. “Yes, I ate half my sandwich and a whole yogurt. Ask Mimi. And before you go down your checklist, I drank water, I took my vitamins, I even did my breathing exercises. Can we not do the inquisition tonight?”
Am I that predictable? “Fine. Kevin.” I turn to him. “How wasyourday?”
He launches into a play-by-play of his latest baseball triumph. I pay attention, sort of, but keep half an eye on Jackie, making sure she eats more than a spoonful.
And I try very, very hard not to think about the lamp hidden upstairs. It’s waiting, humming, calling, even from three stories over my head.
We finish eating, and I help Kevin boil water and carry it upstairs for a lukewarm bath. Then it’s homework, getting ready for bed, and making sure the house is locked once everyone is tucked away.
By the time I escape and shut myself in my office, it’s almost nine and I’m so exhausted my bones are aching. I don’t think I’ve had a full night’s sleep since Mom and Dad disappeared.I’m always half awake, all night long, waiting for another catastrophe.
And now I can’t possibly sleep until I get my hands on the lamp and at least attempt to figure out what’s in it.
