Chapter 11
When I got back to Abaddon, there was crackly music coming from Annabelle’s alcove.
The Everly Brothers crooning about dreams greeted me before Annabelle or Yasmin realized I’d opened the door.
Yasmin was sitting on the carpeted floor, her skirt spread out around her legs, flipping through a stack of vinyl records.
There were piles of them stacked all around the alcove, competing with Annabelle’s books for space.
“Look, Gibson!” Annabelle exclaimed, hopping up and down happily. She was out of breath, somehow. “Pete fixed the electricity in here, and now the record player works!” She pointed to the Victrola in her alcove. It was old, but not so old that it had a hand crank.
“Vintage AF,” Yasmin said, actually saying “AF” out loud, making me feel old. She inexpertly lifted the needle and replaced the album. It scratched, making all three of us wince, then Carole King’s voice filled the room, wondering if her love would still be around tomorrow.
“Yas found a stack of records in her room—including my favorite one!” Annabelle held an album to her chest and resumed dancing.
She was terrible. Her elbows pointed out at weird angles, and if she wasn’t able to float through objects, she would’ve knocked over her chair.
I couldn’t help the grin that spread over my face.
Yasmin was smiling too. She took the record from Annabelle’s hands before she accidentally flung it across the room. It was More of the Monkees . “These guys are pretty good. Like maybe they influenced the Beatles or something.”
“I don’t ... I can’t even begin to tell you how wrong you are ... Yas,” I said, noting the nickname.
“Yas” shrugged. She wouldn’t meet my eyes, but she had a small smile and her plump cheeks glowed with what looked like happiness to me.
I didn’t know what Yasmin’s deal was, but I remembered growing up with a mother who ran my life like it belonged to her.
If my mother’s sister was similar, then I had an inkling of how lonely her childhood might have been.
I set the guitar down next to the bookcase and regarded the dancing ghost. She’d forgotten to stay anchored to the floor and was hovering about six inches above it.
“Oh! Shoot, the pasta is probably boiling by now!” Annabelle twirled in a full circle, then skipped back to the kitchen. She called out, “You two behave yourselves!”
“Always,” I shouted back.
I sat down in Annabelle’s chair while Yasmin put aside the records and stopped the music. Yasmin said, “So you’ve gone with appeasement, then?”
“What?”
“We haven’t had a chance to talk without her.” Yasmin nodded to the kitchen, where Annabelle was humming while she cooked. “There are several ways to deal with ghosts. One is appeasement. Give them what they want and hope they’ll go away when they’ve got it.” Her voice was matter-of-fact.
“No, that’s not at all what I’m doing. At least not ... consciously.” How would I have known what Annabelle wanted? I didn’t even know what I wanted.
Yasmin continued as if I hadn’t responded. “It seems like an effective way to deal with this one, anyway. She’s clearly not harmful, but I wonder what would happen if you tried to exor—”
“I’m not going to exorcize her!” I shouted, then lowered my voice, hoping Annabelle hadn’t heard. The only sound coming from the kitchen was the lid of a pot clanging against the rim and the light tap-tap-tap of a knife against the cutting board. The smell of seafood wafted in the air.
Yasmin shrugged.
“She was here when I got here and she saved my life. Legally, the house is mine, but she has been here longer than any of us. Agatha, even. By all rights, the house is hers more than anyone else’s.”
“Yes, but a house can’t belong to a ghost.”
I sighed. “Granted. But for now, the ghost is making you dinner. So what the ghost wants, the ghost gets.”
“Appeasement.”
“Bah humbug!” I stuck out my tongue at my cousin, then went to help Annabelle in the kitchen.
***
Annabelle set a giant bowl of shrimp pasta on the table. “Ta-da! Oh, I didn’t ask if you eat fish, Yas.”
“I do,” she said. “It smells delicious.”
I set three places, even though Annabelle could only pretend.
While we ate, Annabelle and Yasmin chatted easily.
Annabelle asked a million questions about Yasmin’s childhood in California, her eyes growing wide when Yasmin described a trip through wine country.
Then she made Yasmin recount her experiences in Disneyland several times and describe the theme park in great detail.
It was hard to believe the house had once felt empty and sad.
It was now filled by laughter and the clink of silverware.
In between bites, I asked, “But seriously, though, your side of the family ... what? Owns a magic store that sells real magical stuff along with props? Like the guy on Buffy ?”
Yasmin rolled her eyes. “Of course not.” She looked down at her pasta, seeming to shrink a little.
“My mom is an actress. She does magic on the side. It’s like .
.. she helps people who don’t have anywhere else to go, or they’ve exhausted other options.
” Then she giggled. “And I made her set up an Etsy shop, but I run it.”
“I knew it,” I said, pumping my fist in the air triumphantly. “I knew there would be an Etsy shop involved somehow.”
“Her spells work, though!” Yasmin insisted. “And even if they don’t, they give people something to believe in.”
It took an immense effort not to respond to that with unbridled cynicism. “And you’re an actress, too?” I tried to picture Yasmin on stage waxing poetic or “yes, and”-ing with corny improvers.
“Ha!” Yasmin laughed, spilling pasta on her blouse as she did. “No, I’m a costume designer.”
Annabelle sighed. “Helena always did have a flair for the dramatic. It makes sense that she’d be an actress.”
Both Yasmin and I turned to her.
“You knew our moms?” I asked. I supposed that I shouldn’t be surprised—she had been here the whole time, including the period of time when my mother and her sister stayed with their aunt Agatha.
But somehow it never occurred to me to place my mother here.
I thought of her on the windswept plateaus of New Mexico, not this breezy, flower-filled island.
Annabelle nodded. “They weren’t here for very long after their mother died, so I didn’t get to know Vivian very well.” She looked at me sadly. “She was afraid of me.”
I swallowed.
“They were so young. It was such a trauma for them ... and to move to such a strange place ... I can only imagine how difficult it would be to then be confronted with a ghost. Vivian was ... resistant to the idea of me existing.”
“That’s not surprising,” I said. “All she would ever tell me was that God saved her from the fate of her mother and sister. When she talked about them, it was like they were both dead, even though her sister was just two states over.” I shook my head.
“Vivian Cartwright went to church three times per week and once locked me in my room for a month because she caught me watching the TV show Charmed . She thought it was because I wanted to be a witch, not a lesbian. But it wouldn’t have mattered either way. She was a zealot, Marley.”
Annabelle set her hand gently on top of mine. It felt like a puff of cool air on my skin. I smiled my “it’s okay” smile, and she returned it.
“I wonder ...” Yasmin pushed the last string of pasta around her plate, not eating it.
“It’s just that my mom isn’t like that. Obviously.
She believes in the supernatural, and I’ve seen her spells do things that I can’t otherwise explain.
Her potions legitimately heal people. But she didn’t tell me the truth about Abaddon.
She told me the house was important to the family legacy, but . ..”
“She didn’t mention me?” Annabelle asked. Her “it’s okay” smile stayed on, but it was strained.
Yasmin shook her head. “No. I’m sorry, Annabelle.”
“It’s okay, dear. Your mother must’ve had a reason for not telling you. It’s not your fault no matter what she did or didn’t do.”
“It was probably a test.” Yasmin stabbed the little string of pasta with her fork, then set it down. “I’m always failing her tests. My potions never come out the same, and my horoscope readings don’t align with hers.”
It took less effort not to respond sarcastically this time since she seemed legitimately upset. My mother used to rap my knuckles when I made mistakes playing piano scales, then she’d give me an exasperated look. I knew exactly what it felt like to fail the daughter test.
“Well, I’m pretty glad she didn’t tell you,” I said, gathering Yasmin’s dishes so she couldn’t keep stabbing her pasta. “Because it gave me the chance to know something you didn’t.”
Yasmin laughed. The air between the three of us lightened.
It was amazing that I wasn’t the one who wanted to stab something after talking about family, for once.
I brought our dishes to the sink and washed them while Annabelle read from one of her novels. Yasmin’s face was buried in her phone instead of her big book of spells, for a change.
When I’d finished the dishes and returned to the table, Annabelle turned to me and whispered loudly, “Now it looks like someone is blowing up Yas’s phone.”
“Who’re you texting?” I asked in a singsong voice that I was sure would annoy her.
Yasmin looked up, only a little annoyed. “Nobody. And nobody texts anymore. It’s just DMs.”
I raised my eyebrows. Annabelle put her elbows on the table and her chin in her hands, looking forward to an answer.
Yasmin blushed and looked away. “Okay, Nate. He and some friends are going to a distillery and he wants me to go but it’s not like I’m going to.”
“Why not?” I said bluntly. “Don’t want a man to explain craft brewing to you?” Then I remembered how generous Nate had been with his time and how gently he’d treated Yasmin. “Okay, that was harsh. But still, why not?”
“I mean ...” She paused, phone in hand, then seemed to retreat back into the armor she had when she arrived.
“I’m not here to socialize. I’m here to get this house from you.
And now that I know Agatha’s grimoire is here, I need to decode and analyze it so that I can bring it back to my mom with answers. ”
I rolled my eyes. “You are the strangest person I’ve ever met.”
Yasmin frowned.
“You’re pretty. You’re young. A guy you’re obviously interested in is also interested in you.” I pointed vaguely in the direction of the door. “Go out! Enjoy your life!”
“But—”
“Gibson is right, Yas,” Annabelle said gently. “There’s no harm in having a little fun.”
I said, “Marley and I won’t tell your mom that you went on a date even though you’re twentysomething years old. Scout’s honor.”
On cue, Annabelle held up her hand in a salute.
Yas nodded, seeming more confident. “Okay. I’ll go.” Then she looked down at the pasta sauce she’d spilled on her blouse. “Oh crap, what am I going to wear?”
“Want help picking an outfit?” I offered, only half joking.
“No offense, but from you? Absolutely not.” Yasmin got up from the table. “Thanks for dinner, Annabelle.”
The ghost smiled warmly. “You’re welcome.”
As she left the kitchen, Yasmin turned back to us with a sly look on her face. “Don’t wait up.”
***
We settled on the back deck, me drinking wine and Annabelle sitting with an empty glass in front of her, pretending.
I’d bought a citronella candle from the general store after my interlude at Big Mike’s, along with more food for Annabelle to cook for the two of us.
Yasmin wasn’t in a hurry to leave the house, and with Annabelle cooking, I’d eaten better in the last few days than I had in ages.
After a few minutes of comfortable silence, I said, “I have something to show you, by the way.”
“Oh?” Annabelle clasped her hands around her empty glass.
I returned to the den to grab the guitar and songbook. When I got back to the table, I opened the book to a page I’d dog-eared, then held it open with the wine bottle. Running my hands over the page, I mumbled the song to myself as I figured out the rhythm, then started strumming.
Annabelle looked confused, then impressed.
I wagged my eyebrows at her as I got into a rhythm, and said, “Told you I could play.”
She grinned. “I didn’t doubt it for a second, dear.” Annabelle watched, her entire body leaning toward me. “Though I’m sure your music is far more ‘hip’ than anything I’m familiar with.”
“Nah, I think you’ll know this one.”
I couldn’t meet her eyes and sing at the same time. If I did, I’d just get lost. So, I glanced down at the book and steeled myself. Doing my best to impersonate a ’60s teen pop idol, I sang the song from Shrek about believing in love. It felt ridiculous.
But Annabelle’s eyes went as round as saucers, and when she realized what song it was, she let out a quiet, “Oh.” The intensity of her ghostly glow increased as she watched me and hummed along, terribly off-key.
I wasn’t a great singer, but we flipped through the book of 1960s songs and I played a selection of bubblegum pop while Annabelle swayed and clapped beside me.
She sang along and occasionally managed to harmonize with me, though not through any actual talent on her part.
My throat would be sore tomorrow, but I sung the night away.
Everything faded except the instrument in my hands, the ghost by my side, and the music we made together.