Page 6 of Bewitched By the Djinn
I nod, anything to save me from the path this conversation is taking. I grab the bowls from the cabinet, silverware from the drawer, and head to the thick wood table in the connected dining area. It’s the kind of table that could survive a hurricane, or be used to summon a demon, depending on how you arrange the candles.
I set a spoon on a bright red placemat, and the utensil immediately twitches sideways, clattering to the floor.
I lift a brow at Mimi.
She waves an oven mitt in the air like she’s swatting away a fly. “One of Kevin’s visitors. It’s an active one. Harmless, though. Had to be, if they made it past the wards.”
“They better be,” I mutter, bending to retrieve the spoon. “We paid an arm and a leg for those hex bags. And suffered through two weeks of Richard to get them.”
Every doorway and window now has a charm bag—herbs, crystals, stitched symbols, all spelled to keep out the nasty spirits. Though friendly ghosts can waltz right in and help themselves to the cornbread, apparently.
I hold the spoon up. “Okay, ghosty. Kevin’s just a kid. Be patient. His gifts are new and unstable. No acting out.”
The lights flicker in response.
Hopefully that was agreement and not foreshadowing. We do not have time or money for another poltergeist incident. The last one almost ate the washing machine. To spirits, Kevin is a flare shining through the dark fog, brilliant, burning, and impossible to keep away from.
“Anyway.” I turn back to Mimi. “I bought the music box from Ernie. Got enough to make a partial payment for Jackie’s last ER visit. That should keep collections off us for another month.”
She pauses midslice, knife hovering in the air. “Cassie?—”
“I’ll figure it out, Mimi. No worrying.” I walk over and rest a hand on her tense shoulder. “I got a call from someone huntingfor some specific Marie Laveau items. They’re willing to spend a small fortune. I’m meeting them next week. We’ll be okay.”
She keeps cutting cornbread, tossing the pieces into a shallow, towel-lined bowl. “Are you going to tell me what else you brought home that has you all twitchy and telling lies?” Mimi asks, not even looking at me. The question is casual. The tone is not.
“I don’t know yet.”
She pauses, then glances at me over her shoulder. “The truth. Finally. Was that so painful?”
“I am in a lot of existential anguish, I’ll have you know.”
She snorts. “Is there anything more you can tell me?” she asks, while attempting to evil eye me into submission.
I wave a hand at her. “Hey, quit with the stink eye. I will tell you as soon as I have anything to share.”
“What does that even?—?”
“You only won because you cheated!” Jackie shuffles into the kitchen, glaring at Kevin.
“I didn’t cheat. I’m just better than you,” Kevin declares, flexing one of his scrawny arms like a bodybuilder.
Jackie tosses her messy dark hair back. “Yeah, right. You wish.”
I pull out a chair for her. “Let me fix your hair. What was it this time?” They’re always in a competition about something or other.
She sinks into the seat, and I start smoothing her hair into a braid. Her arms have gotten too weak to manage it herself lately. Small things like this hit the hardest.
Kevin plops into the chair beside her. “We did five rounds of rock-paper-scissors and I won every time.”
“You used magic.”
He gives her a pointed glare. “My magic doesn’t work that way. What’s a ghost gonna do? Read your mind and flash me the answer? They’re dead, not psychic.”
“Help Mimi with the food,” I tell him, jerking my chin toward the counter.
He hops up and grabs an oven mitt.
Jackie tilts her head toward him without turning. “How do you know they aren’t psychic? They could be sticking their ghost hands in my head or something.”
