18. Still Tuesday
STILL TUESDAY
IN WHICH DESSA BLUE SEES RED
What had she just seen? Dessa honestly didn’t know what shocked her more.
After her hair appointment, Melba had texted her about Richard and Jamison getting up to mischief with the gossip ghost girls of Market Street.
She’d almost dismissed it as one of Richard’s usual shenanigans, but it was on her way back from the salon, so she’d arrived as Jamison and Mary struck up their deal.
And then the bombs had kept falling from there.
While she knew Uncle Brad had a non-Hexxer method to call on the dead, he’d held his source close to his chest, convinced that she’d use it to stir up someone who didn’t want to be stirred.
Dessa could’ve dug around for the information, but the idea of what the ghosts of her past would say was enough for her to refrain.
Of course, Brad never told her that he’d already called on Peter for information about his murder.
On top of that, apparently the rest of the office had known about this ghosty loophole too, and she’d been the only one left out.
They’d even trusted Jamison, with all of his one week of experience.
Not only that, but Jamison had called and spoken to Peter about her.
“Dessa,” Jamison whispered.
“I…” Dessa’s voice trembled as she gripped her bag, trying to process Peter’s words. Peter, who’d looked so very much alive. But wasn’t. For a second, it had felt almost like he was there with them. The tears flooded her eyes, and she turned on her heel. “I need a second.”
“Dessa, wait! I’m sorry!” Jamison called.
But Dessa couldn’t wait; instead, she broke into a dead run. Her mind wasn’t working, because Peter’s words were just playing on a loop. “Of course I would never blame her…I’ll come when she calls.”
She made it across the street to a bench in the park before she broke down crying—like she’d lost Peter all over again. But she’d barely let out one sob before Richard poofed into the air beside her, and she shrieked.
“Richard! You’re going to give people a heart attack if you just pop up like that! Personal space! We’ve talked about this.” Dessa hid her face in her sleeves as she drew her knees up to her chest, her voice dropping. “And why did you take Jamison to call Peter?”
Richard’s words were uncharacteristically soft. “Because he asked.”
“But Uncle Brad always said I wasn’t supposed to call the dead!” she yelled, her emotions unhinged and flopping around. “So why would you take Jamison?”
“Well, when you were young, Brad wanted to be sure you didn’t meddle in anything that would get you in trouble.
Then after Peter died, you said you wanted nothing more to do with the paranormal world.
After you came back, we thought it best not to open old wounds.
” He was quiet for a moment. “Did you want to call Peter?”
“No,” Dessa said from under her hands, completely aware that she was being illogical.
Of course, if there was a safe way to talk to Peter, they should’ve done it.
Of course it should’ve been her. But seeing him like that tore a brand-new hole in her heart.
It was unfair. Why did it have to be him?
Peter was too good. He deserved to get older. To live his life.
The patter of jogging footsteps drew nearer on the path, and Dessa peeked between her fingers to find Jamison running up. “I’m sorry,” he said, out of breath. “I should’ve talked to you about it first.”
“It’s fine,” she squeaked. Because of course it was. He had done the good investigator thing, the part that she’d skipped because it was too painful. “Don’t worry about it.”
Richard’s gaze darted between them, and in a small miracle, the professional snoop backed away.
“On this very awkward note, I think I’ll see if Mrs. Thompson needs anything else.
Wouldn’t want her to think we’re rude or anything.
I’ll want updates later though, especially if anyone ends up fired.
Mrs. Thompson will want to know too.” With that, he winked out of sight, and the air grew just a little warmer around them.
“Ridiculous ghost.” Dessa fiddled with the strap of her bag, still unable to meet Jamison’s gaze.
“Dessa…” Jamison sat beside her on the bench. “Are you okay?”
“It was just harder than I thought it would be, that’s all.
” Dessa finally pried her hands away from her sticky face.
“In my mind, Peter is always our age, and to see him still so young like that…All the time he’s missed out on.
” She sniffed and wiped her face with the back of her hand.
“I mean, I was the one who pulled him into the investigation that got him killed so…” She forced out a wet chuckle. “So much baggage.”
She glanced around at the thick green boughs that enveloped them, protecting them from prying eyes.
“It was the right thing for you to do. It was good information, and Brad was obviously not wrong in thinking that a visit like that would send me spiraling all over again, because here we are.” She was babbling now, but she didn’t know how to get it under control.
She glanced at Jamison through her watery vision, and the concern etched in his green eyes threatened to undo her all over again.
“It’s okay, Blue. It’s all right to cry.” His voice was soft, a bittersweet tilt to his mouth. “And if you need someone to cry on, my shoulder is always open for you.”
Before Dessa could even process what she was doing, the sniffling, sobbing mess that was her leaned into him, and his gentle, solid arms folded around her.
His sweater was soft on her cheek, and up close, he smelled less like the peppery magic, and more like fresh-cut wood and oakmoss—the clean scent of a rain-washed forest.
“I don’t want to cry about this,” she whispered.
“What is this?”
“Things that happened so long ago,” Dessa said. “I have enough things falling apart right now without that stuff too.”
“Maybe you’re actually crying about the right-now things.” Jamison’s smooth voice rumbled in his chest beneath her cheek. “And this was just the last thing you couldn’t carry before it all tumbled out.”
Dessa took a deep breath, finally calming, but not willing to give up the safety of the arms that seemed to block out everything else.
Strangely, he was probably right. Though she’d done everything in her power to leave the paranormal world behind, she’d always wondered what would’ve happened if she’d stayed.
Perhaps she would’ve gotten closure with Peter all those years ago?
Found his killer before this stuff with Carly had ever happened?
She certainly wouldn’t have had her heart broken over a fiancé, a best friend, and a business. The three solid things she had in her life that all turned out to be nothing but a mirage.
“Thank you, Jamison Kane.” She reluctantly straightened, wiping her face on her sleeve once more.
“I really am okay now. Thanks for…for talking to Peter.” She supposed she too would have to face Peter one day, but it wasn’t today.
Not with his sister still missing. Not when Dessa could barely think his name without her throat closing.
“Of course.” Jamison’s arm remained draped over the back of the bench, and he gave her one of his ridiculously charming smiles. “For what it’s worth, I like your hair.” He tugged on a blue-tipped lock. “You really do look like Dessa Blue again. Any particular reason for the change?”
She shrugged, twirling one of her azure ends around a matching blue fingernail. “I don’t know. I guess I felt like Dessa Blue again. For better or for worse.”
“For better, definitely.” With the half-grin lingering on his lips, Jamison leaned his head back to gaze up into the canopy rustling in the autumn wind above them.
Dessa poked him in the knee. “It’s okay, if you have more questions about Peter, I promise I won’t break down again.”
“It’s okay if you do.” Jamison widened his arms again with a smirk. “The shoulder is still available.”
Dessa groaned, even as a chuckle escaped her. “Seriously, just ask!”
“Okay, okay.” Jamison folded his hands and leaned closer, lowering his voice. “It sounded like whoever was after his family was after their Magicker gift. Are you able to tell me what it is? It wasn’t in the file.”
Dessa scrubbed the last of her tears from her face, refocusing on the concrete details from Peter.
“It wouldn’t be. Mr. and Mrs. Jowett were intensely secretive about it.
Both Zach and Peter were from Magicker families.
Zach’s was very specific—he and his family both have a mild gift for fixing things.
It’s like anything mechanical seems to speak to the Whitmores and tell them exactly what’s wrong.
Hence their wildly successful handyman business.
The Jowetts, on the other hand, are much more powerful.
” She cut a glance to Jamison where he leaned in so close, Dessa could see the flecks of gold in his green eyes. “They had the power of prophecy.”
For a second, Jamison only gaped at her. “What? Are you saying they could tell the future?”
“Only sometimes, and never for themselves.” Dessa ran a finger over a notch in the wooden bench, the guilt of sharing a secret that wasn’t hers itching at her ribs. “They come out cryptic and in riddles, so you can never really decipher them until they’re already past.”
“Still,” Jamison breathed, his jaw still slack with awe. “I can see why someone would want to bottle that.”
“Yeah. It’s also kind of heavy. The Jowetts advised all their kids to never use it, but sometimes”—Dessa shrugged, the itch of compulsion swirling inside her—“magic begs to be used.”
“But the Hexxers would kill for a gift like that, right?” Jamison asked.