Page 24 of That Ain’t Witchcraft

“Sam.” He sat up a little straighter. I pointed to the kitchen door. “Lock it down.”

He blinked. “You mean—?”

I nodded, and he was gone, still human-form but moving at a speed that strained the bounds of credulity. I turned back to the table.

“Cylia, you got a piece of paper I can borrow?”

“In my purse,” she said, sounding bewildered. “It’s on the sideboard.”

“Got it.” Cylia’s purse was a big black leather monstrosity that could probably have been used to smuggle things up to the size of a live chicken. I dug into it, rummaging until I found a crumpled piece of paper and a Sharpie. Then I returned to the table, sitting down next to James, who looked like he wanted nothing more than to move his chair away from me. That was reasonable. I had, after all, disappeared outside for an extended period of time, only to come back furious and ready to spread that fury around.

It was almost a good thing the crossroads was keeping my fire away from me, because I would have burned the whole house down without even raising my voice.

Pushing the paper to where James could see it, I uncapped the Sharpie and wrote CAN YOU WARD AGAINST GHOSTS? Then I handed it to him, nodding toward the paper.

Give the man this much: he was smart enough to catch on immediately. He took the Sharpie and wrote, in neater, more conservative letters, ONLY IN THEORY. NEVER TRIED MYSELF. NO GHOSTS AROUND HERE.

Oh, I doubted that. There are ghosts everywhere. It’s just that most of them don’t give a damn about people unless we’re interfering with them in some way, and so they leave us alone. I took the Sharpie back. WHAT YOU NEED?

James hesitated before reaching for the pen. SALT, he wrote. ROSEMARY. CLEAN WATER. THREE IRON NAILS. GRAVE DIRT WOULD BE NICE, BUT CEMETERY IS A MILE AWAY.

“Don’t worry about it.” I stood. “Cylia will help you get the things you need to make the cookies. I have the special spices upstairs.”

When James realized I was saying I had grave dirt already on hand, his eyes widened, his general expression taking on the air of a man who had made very poor life choices. But all he did was nod and say, “I’m excited to find out why it’s so important I start baking.”

“Oh, believe me,” I said. “It’s a life changer.”

Seven

“Life is a death sentence. Get as many stays of execution as you possibly can.”

–Frances Brown

In the kitchen, waiting for the wards to come slamming down

SAM’S CHECK OF THE perimeter had come up as empty as Fern’s: we were alone. The windows were closed, the doors were locked, and other than the five of us, nothing bigger than a tailypo was currently engaged in going bump in the night. Except for the ghosts, of course, and they were the problem.

Sam leaned against the kitchen counter, a cup of coffee cupped between his long-fingered hands, his tail occasionally snaking over to wrap, ever so briefly, around the outside of my wrist. Then he would pull it back and look mistrustfully at the closed kitchen door, like he expected James to come bursting through at any moment.

“I wish you’d tell me what the hell is going on,” he said.

“I wish I felt like I could,” I replied. “Just give it another few minutes, and then we should be able to talk freely.”

Sam scowled but didn’t argue. He knew better than that, and he knew something was upsetting me. I was hoping he’d been able to make the logical jump from “James is studying the crossroads” to “Mary probably stopped by for a visit,” although asking him to continue onward to “I think the crossroads have done something terrible to her, they’ve assigned a new ghost to make sure I keep my side of the bargain, and—oh, by the way—they want me to murder James” was a bit much.

The next time his tail wrapped around my wrist, I caught the tip of it between my fingers, tugging lightly. He responded by wrapping it around my thumb, holding me where I was. I offered him a somewhat strained smile.

“This is how it’s always going to be, you know,” I said. “This is what normal looks like when you’re doing it with me. I hope that’s not a deal breaker. I mean, I’ll understand if it is. I’m not sure I’d want to be in a relationship with me, if I had a choice.”

Sam blinked. Then, to my surprise, he laughed. “Are you kidding? I figured that out the night I found you fighting a giant spider-woman in the boneyard. If I wanted to spend time with you, normal was never going to be on the table. I just don’t like that you can’t tell me what’s going on.”

“Soon,” I promised. “Really soon. I’m not keeping secrets because I want to, I swear.”

“I believe you.”

The smell of burning paper trickled under the kitchen door. Sam whisked his tail out of my fingers. I glanced at him. He was back in human form, still shirtless, and even crankier-looking.

“This is supposed to happen,” I said.