Chapter 5 Jack #2
“Okay, so I’m a witch, right? Like, a real one.
Magic, spells, blah blah blah. It’s a family thing, and when my grandmother was young, she met a warlock and turned him down for a date, and he really didn’t like that, so he cursed my entire family line.
Now, whenever we fall in love, something bad happens, and it’s ruined.
I was dumped yesterday—” She sees my brows furrow and wrongly assumes I’m confused about her past relationship and not the whole she’s a witch with a family curse part, because she corrects herself.
“Don’t worry, I’m mostly over it, but it’s really this curse that is ruining my life.
So I decided to conjure up the warlock who cursed us so he could break it.
And I do the whole rigmarole, spices, herbs, five candles, salt ring, you know the drill. ”
I do not. But I keep nodding.
“And then a ghost pops up and we make a deal: I make him a potion so he can cross to the other side, and he’ll break the family curse so I can finally fall in love.
” She takes in another deep breath as if she’s preparing herself for what she’s going to say next before she cringes.
“He’s your grandfather, and he says I need that flask in order to make the potion. ”
I stare at her for a long moment before she smiles, and suddenly, I understand that she’s not joking.
She really believes this, really thinks that she’s some…
witch? Who broke into my shop to gather a family flask and break a curse?
A curse, of course, cast by my dead grandfather who was apparently a warlock who didn’t handle rejection well and is now haunting her house.
“You’re out of your mind.”
She groans, like she feared I’d say that, before she shakes her head.
“I swear, I’m not. He’s haunting my place right now, giving me shit about what I’m having for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
” My interest piques since no one loved a meal more than my grandfather, but I swipe that away.
“I have a long list of ingredients for this potion, but that flask,” she points to the silver flask engraved with PDH on the front, “is first on my list of things I need to make it.”
A beat passes before I shake my head and sigh. “This is really fucked up. I expect a lot of crazy shit from you, but bringing up my dead grandfather in order to get out of trespassing charges is a bit extreme, even for you.”
“I’m serious! Why would I make something up like this?”
“Why do you do half the shit you do?”
Her jaw goes tight, but she doesn’t argue, instead changing the subject. “How would I even know that flask existed? How would I know your grandfather’s name is Phillip?”
I shake my head. There is always a reasonable explanation for things. Always.
Even though my business revolves around games with fantastical worlds, storylines, and features, and even though much of my love for those worlds is from the equally fantastical stories about vampires and trolls and witches and warlocks my grandfather used to tell me at bedtime, I know they were just that: stories.
Every myth has a perfectly logical explanation, and this one does too.
“You were probably here today casing the joint. Those figures are worth thousands of dollars.” She scoffs. “You probably just saw the flask now and used it as an excuse, guessing that was my grandfather’s.”
“I’m flattered, really I am,” she says with a smile, as if she’s not about to get herself arrested for breaking and entering. “But I’m not that creative.”
“You broke into my place and then made up some grand story about the ghost of my grandfather cursing your entire family. I think you at least think you’re that creative.”
“It’s not a grand story! I swear! He’s literally in my house right now! He’s haunting me until I complete our deal, and if I want to live my life without your grandfather asking me about my favorite scone flavor, I need that freaking flask!”
I cross my arms on my chest and glare at her.
I shouldn’t do it. Really, I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t encourage this behavior. But I do all the same. “So you’re telling me if I go over to your place right now, I’ll find the ghost of my grandfather standing there—”
“Floating.”
“What?”
“He’s kind of floating. He doesn’t really have legs. It’s a shock how much ghosts are like what the cartoons say they are.” I stare at her, then close my eyes and take in a deep breath to find some semblance of calm.
“If I go to your place, I’ll find my grandfather?” She nods. “And he’s blackmailing you into creating some potion using a family heirloom?”
“I mean, blackmail is kind of a strong word, but overall, yes?”
I close my eyes again, sighing. “Fine.”
“I can have it?” she asks excitedly, about to grab the flask from the ground, but I reach her, grabbing her wrist once again.
“No. You’re going to prove it.” That little crease between her eyebrows forms again, and I fight the sudden, strange urge to reach out and smooth it with my thumb. “Take me to your place and show me my grandfather’s ghost.”
“Jack, I—”
“Or I’m calling the cops.” She sighs and I expect her to argue, but then she shrugs.
“Fine.”
As we walk across the cobblestone road that separates my place from hers, I watch her attentively, expecting her at any moment to confess she made everything up.
I’m watching her so intently that I almost trip over the line of pumpkins and red, orange, and yellow leaf garlands sitting along the front of her store.
(Unlike me, she didn’t decline the town’s offer of storefront decorations to match the rest of the fall decor.)
When she twists the knob of the door and pushes it open, the black-and-white cat from earlier shoots out the door and rubs along my legs, much to my dismay.
Rosemary looks over her shoulder at me, a wide smile on her lips.
“Scared of a little pussy?” I choke on air at her words, something that makes a small laugh leave her lips.
It’s so like this woman to laugh when I’m literally choking.
“No, I’m just waiting for your accomplice to come out and attack me,” I say once I catch my breath.
She rolls her eyes like I’m being unreasonable in thinking that someone who just broke into my shop would be luring me into some trap. “You really don’t believe me, do you?”
“That the ghost of my grandfather came to you and needed a flask from my shop to break a family curse? No, I can’t say I do. Wild, I know.”
She tips her head, taking me in with a confused smile. “You really don’t believe in magic? Your entire store is about mythical creatures.”
“Emphasis on the word mythical,” I say with exasperation.
She crosses her arms on her chest and lifts a knowing eyebrow. “Are they really, though?”
“Don’t you have some ghost to show me?” I ask instead of answering her question.
She smiles, then leads me toward the back of her shop.
The layout is just like mine, which makes sense since all of these buildings were built around the same time, and the council that manages our quaint little town won’t let you change much of anything.
But I’m a little surprised to realize that the layout of her bookstore is identical to the layout in my shop, the bookshelves and displays placed in exactly the same manner.
“Weird, right?” Rosie asks with a laugh as I take in her shelves. “When I went into your place the first time and realized we set things up the same, I thought it was a hoot.”
“Hmm,” I say noncommittally, but follow her to the back of the store and then up the stairs to her apartment.
“I don’t know if he knows you’re coming, but we’ll see,” she calls to me over her shoulder. “He’s pretty nosy, so I wouldn’t be surprised if he was looking out the window when we came across the street.”
I stare at her for a moment and shake my head. “You really believe this, don’t you?”
“You really don’t believe me, do you?” she parrots back. Her hands move to the doorknob of her apartment, and a small, idiotic part of me is intrigued to see where this chaotic woman lives, to get some new insight into her.
She opens the door, then yells, “Honey, we’re home!” And I think she truly has lost it.
But then I hear an echoed response in an all-too-familiar tone.
“Well, well, well. Look who we have here,” the voice says.
And then a translucent form appears, and I fall to the ground.