Chapter 18
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
It’s nearly seven when I decide I either need to take a break and get some fresh air or risk the migraine that’s threatening to punish me for my hyper-focus on nailing Laurel.
I sit back from the screen and rub my hands over my face. “I need to take a break. Want to hit the town with me?”
Asher sets down the book he’s reading and grins. “Does Emberwood even offer a pub crawl scene?”
“Not really, no, but that’s not what I meant. Do you want to be my Brigade CEO sidekick for a spirit witch walkabout?”
He leans back. “Like a ghost tour?”
“Sort of. A quiet, very private one.”
“Sounds fun. We should ask Ro, too. There’s no telling what lurks in the shadows, waiting to pounce. Having a lady of the dark and dangerous with us just makes sense.”
He’s not wrong. “Hopefully there will be nothing pouncing from the shadows, but yeah, we’ll ask her.”
“Cool, so what’s our mission?”
“Mom asked me to check in on the town’s permanent ghosts. She left me a list of names and where we should be able to find them. I’m missing her like crazy and thought it would be nice to do this for her. Who knows, maybe she’s watching over us somehow.”
He's already swinging his legs out from under the table to get up. “You had me at ‘hit the town’. We’re in.”
“We?”
He grins, bending to slap his thighs. “Puppers, guess what? It’s field trip time."
The chihuahuas perk up immediately, tails wagging as they jump on their back legs, standing against him.
Not exactly the quiet night walk I was planning, but okay.
Twenty minutes later, the three of us are in the not-so-rocking downtown of Emberwood with two chihuahuas scurrying excitedly in front of us.
“Look how happy they are to be part of the Brigade.”
I knew Asher would be a crazy fur daddy when I adopted the pups, but it never ceases to amaze me how much joy he gets from two little fur snausages. “This is their second ghost reconnaissance mission. They should be earning badges or something.”
Somebuddy yaps in agreement.
The moon is out, casting Emberwood’s brick storefronts in an eerie light. Locals meander past, clutching shopping bags from the mercantile and artisan shops. A couple stops to pet the dogs, cooing over how cute they are. If only they knew they were on a mission of ghostly importance.
"So, where to first?" Asher asks. "The soup kitchen that's no longer a soup kitchen, or the jazz bar?"
I check Mom's notes and read about the two first ghosts on her list. “Dana might be hard to find because she moves along a set route. But Mom said King Louie doesn’t always show up at the Velvet Groove until later."
“Five years ago, when your mom last checked on them,” Rowan clarifies.
I shrug. “Yeah, there’s no guarantee they’re even still around. They may have moved on.”
“Well, we’ll find out either way.” Asher pushes the button to call the lights to change for the pedestrian crosswalk. “We’ll start by walking Dana’s route backward and see if you find her.”
I flip the page in Mom’s notes. “Alrighty then, Asher has spoken.”
Asher grins. “You made me the Brigade CEO because you want me to take charge and handle the details, right?”
I nod. “I absolutely did. And so, we start at Pete's Mercantile and work our way backward around her circuit.”
While we wait for the light to change, I close my eyes and let my spirit magic unfurl. It's like opening a sixth sense—suddenly the world shifts. Colors brighten, shadows deepen, and the veil between the living and the dead thins.
And while we walk, Asher and I tell Rowan all about our visit with Garrison Stonehoof.
“He’s damn intimidating,” Asher says.
Agreed. “Like pee your pants, intimidating.”
Rowan laughs. “So, did you?”
“Did I what?” I ask.
“Pee your pants.”
I laugh. “Thankfully, no.”
Asher points to a shopping cart sitting in front of the dollar store.
“Nope. That’s just a shopping cart.”
We round the corner and head toward the park in the middle of the town square.
“Found her.”
A translucent woman pushing an overflowing shopping cart down the sidewalk is coming through the park. She's middle-aged, wearing layers of mismatched clothes, and has a knit cap pulled low over graying hair.
Asher looks around and frowns. “Damn, I was really hoping I’d be able to see her. Do you think there’s such a thing as ghost vision goggles? If there is, I vote we invest in some so I can really help you on these missions.”
I hug his arm. “I’ll look into it. Promise.”
A lady in yoga pants walking a golden retriever passes us and gives us a friendly nod. “Chilly night.”
I tuck the collar of my jacket closer to my neck. “It is. I’m sure snow isn’t far off.”
Somebuddy and Nobuddy burst into a round of excited yipping and butt wagging. The pups greet the lady’s dog with a polite hello, and then, with the chit-chat done, we continue with our mission.
Dana has changed direction and is heading toward the other side of the park. I course-correct our group to follow her path. "Come on."
The park is quiet. There’s the woman with the dog, a few joggers using the outer trail, and a couple sitting on a bench sharing a bag of warm beer nuts from the street vendor.
Dana weaves between them, oblivious, pushing her cart along a route that’s been her life for over a decade.
I fall into step beside her, keeping my distance, letting her do her thing. “Mom said not to disturb ghosts stuck in a loop. As long as she’s happy, I’m not meant to step in.”
"What's she doing?" Asher whispers, trailing behind.
“Nothing. Just muttering to herself and pushing her cart.”
The ghost pauses near the fountain, reaches into her cart and adjusts the blanket she’s using to cover her treasures. Then she smiles contentedly and continues on.
It’s kind of sad, knowing she’s stuck replaying her last day over and over, but she doesn't seem distressed. There is a sense of peace in her movements, and purpose in her route.
When she rounds the corner heading toward Francine’s B&B, I slow our walk. She stops to wave at someone who isn't there. A friend, maybe. Someone from her past.
Then she stops in front of the building where the old soup kitchen used to be.
The Mindful Mat yoga studio is all floor-to-ceiling windows and pastel motivational quotes. Inside, a class stretches through sun salutations.
Dana doesn't notice. She sees what used to be—warm meals, friendly faces, a place of safety. She parks her cart outside and sits on the curb, humming tunelessly.
I stop the group. “Okay, she’s fine. She’s living her best afterlife and doesn’t need anything.”
Asher grins. “Excellent. Now to the Velvet Groove to meet King Louie the dead jazz pianist.”
Rowan perks up. “Okay, now our night is getting interesting. Any chance we can grab a drink and catch a set? We really deserve a little liquid sedation after last night.”
Yeah, we do. “That’ll work. Mom said that more often than not, Louie doesn’t show up until later in the evening anyway.”
Asher frowns. “And what do we do with the pups?”
I shrug. “Claim they are our emotional support buddies?”
Asher seems to consider that for a moment and then nods. “I can work with that.”
After a couple of drinks and an hour of live music, there’s no sign of King Louie, so we decide to try back another time. Asher is unaffected by the no-show. He is infused with the love of jazz, and is playing his imaginary trumpet and scatting his way down the sidewalk.
Rowan glances around, looking embarrassed as hell, but I love Asher unplugged. Neurodivergence is his superpower.
Live every day as if it is your last, right?
“The lights are still on at the apothecary.” Rowan points across the road to the Wildflowers & Wellness storefront.
I shrug. “I wanted to check on Izzy, but it’s getting kind of late. She’s probably trying to close.”
Asher scoffs. “The night is young, cool cats. We don’t gotta head straight back to the crib. Let’s swing by Izzy’s pad and see if she’s in the pocket tonight. Dig it?”
Rowan frowns. “Dude, stop that or I’ll throat punch you.”
“Whoa, now. Don’t go throwin’ shade. I’m just swingin’ my own tune and you’re steppin’ all over my solo.”
Rowan shakes her head. “Are you roofied? I don’t know what synthetic feel-good wave of wonder you’re riding, but you’re actually weirder than usual.”
I laugh. “Aw, don’t harsh his mellow, RoRo. He’s just leadin’ the band with a righteous riff.”
Asher grins. “Exactly, right, P-bob. We don’t—"
A huge crash from inside the apothecary shop makes us all freeze.
Asher straightens. “Well, that doesn’t sound good.”
“Nope, not good at all.”
The three of us are across the road and pulling open the front door when Izzy’s frantic cry rises above another crash.
"No! Stop! You can't nest there!"
"Get out, you winged menace!" Mica shouts.
Asher laughs. “Twenty bucks that Izzy actually just apologized to a bird about not letting it nest in the store.”
"No bet."
We rush through the door and stop dead.
The shop looks like a nature documentary gone wrong. A squirrel has claimed a crate of dried lavender as its personal fortress, chittering aggressively at anyone who gets close.
A massive crow perches on the antique cash register, cawing loud enough to rattle the glass jars every time Mica takes a step forward. Its wings are spread wide, its black feathers gleaming with an iridescent sheen that seems almost magical.
Near the back, a chubby little possum has wrapped itself around a potted rosemary plant. It hisses like a demon and coils its tail tighter every time Izzy tries to inch closer.
And— “Is that a raccoon?”
“Yes!” Izzy shouts.
A raccoon has somehow opened one of the lower cabinets and is aggressively guarding what appears to be the marble mortar and pestle inventory.
My mind is spinning. "What the—"
"Don’t ask." Mica waves her hands at the crow, which caws so loud I wince. "We've been dealing with this for an hour!"
Izzy looks close to tears, with hands raised in a calming gesture toward the possum. "I'm trying to explain that the rosemary isn't a good place to make a home, but I don't think it believes me."
"It's a possum, Iz. It doesn't understand reason." Mica tries to shoo the crow again, which dive-bombs her head. She ducks. "You stupid feathered—"
"Stop scaring them!" Izzy pleads.
Asher is standing in the doorway, laughing. “It feels like we’ve opened a portal to a Disney movie. Izzy, you’re playing the part of Snow White who’s lost control of her critters.”
I move forward slowly, hands out. The squirrel swivels its head toward me, lavender sprigs sticking out at odd angles from its cheeks. “And if Izzy can’t calm the forest animals, something has gone wrong with the Matrix.”
I channel gentle energy toward the squirrel, the same soothing pulse I use when helping spirits cross over. The squirrel's chittering softens for half a second.
Then it torpedoes a dried lavender smudge bundle at my face. "Okay, that was rude."
Izzy tries again with the possum, her animal affinity magic glowing faintly around her hands.
The possum hisses louder.
Mica makes another lunge for the crow. It caws and pecks at her fingers. "I swear to the Goddess, if you don't get out of this shop—"
"Wait." I hold up a hand. The animals aren't attacking. They're defending. Aggressively defending completely random objects as if their lives depend on it. “Izzy, what emotions are feeding their outbursts. Can you tell?”
Izzy focuses on the possum again. “Beneath the aggression and territorial chittering, there's… fear. Raw, primal, bone-deep fear. They're terrified.”
I hold up my hands. “Everyone, stop.”
"What? Why?" Mica looks at me like I’ve just sprung two heads.
I gesture to the menagerie of chaos. "They're scared out of their minds."
"So what? Are you suggesting we offer them therapy?" Mica raises an eyebrow, but her tone has softened.
"Well, the first thing we do is stop trying to make them leave." I lower myself to the floor, sitting cross-legged. “They came here for a reason—likely because Izzy’s energy feels safe to them?”
Asher follows my lead, sitting beside me. "Sure, let’s hold a group meditation with woodland creatures. Why not? Just another Thursday night in Emberwood."
Izzy kneels near the possum, her magic shifting from persuasion to comfort. Mica sighs but joins us, directing calming energy toward the crow.
I breathe slowly, pushing gentle warmth toward the squirrel. Not forcing. Just offering safety. The lavender rustles as the squirrel shifts, its rapid heartbeat gradually slowing.
The crow's cawing quiets to soft clicks.
The possum's hissing fades to heavy breathing.
The raccoon stops rattling the drawer.
Minutes pass. My knees start to ache against the wooden floor, but I don't move. The fear in the animals slowly ebbs, replaced by exhaustion.
The squirrel curls into a ball atop the lavender crate, eyes drifting shut.
The crow tucks its head under one wing.
The possum's tail loosens around the rosemary, its breathing evening out into sleep.
The raccoon flops onto its back, a pestle clutched to its chest like a teddy bear.
Asher frowns. “Pops? Is an impromptu nap time what you were going for?”
“Ah, nope. Not really.”
"Now what?" Mica whispers.
Izzy bites her lip. “Don’t wake them. They are much cuter when they sleep.”
I survey the sleeping animals scattered across Wildflowers & Wellness, the shop's usual mystical ambiance now enhanced by gentle snores and the occasional sleepy chirp.
“I think the answer is WWSWD.”
Asher snorts. “What would Snow White do? Good question, P, but what’s the answer?”
I shrug. “No idea.”