“Okay fine!” I shouted, and then gave a surreptitious look around to be sure no one heard me yelling at my purse. “You settle down in there, Saucy Pants. Nowhere in this friendship of ours are you in charge. Got it? I’m only going in because you seem so certain this ghost is trying to tell you something rather than just testing out his afterlife voice.”
“Then after you,” he said with a grandiose tone.
I grabbed the handle of the glass door, hoping against hope I wasn’t making the biggest mistake I’d made yet.
The smell of incense wafted to my nose immediately, almost overwhelmingly, with the scents of vanilla and a hint of sage. The odor was swiftly followed by a dozen or so obnoxious chimes attached to the door, ringing out our entry.
Belfry squeaked a cough. “Egads, is she trying to hide the scent of a corpse?”
I lifted my purse and stuck my face in my familiar’s. “You pipe down,” I whisper-yelled from a tight jaw. “We cannot afford another problem. Now, we’re here, and I’m playing along, but I won’t play so nice if we end up in the psych ward for an evaluation because I’m talking to my purse.”
With a quick glance, I assessed the interior of the small store, littered with all sorts of freestanding metal shelves holding various-colored candles, each representing a meaning when you lit them.
And statues of Mary. Lots and lots of statues of Mary. One rack held healing crystals, most of which were bunk and wouldn’t heal a blackhead, but I reminded myself not to judge. Everyone had to make a living, and maybe this Madam Zoltar would be the first human I’d ever encountered who really could talk to the dead.
Who was I to say, being a former witch who really could make a caldron bubble? I had no right to talk.
I wandered past a spinny rack with postcards, and tarot cards, too, a wall of wind chimes and dream catchers, and a back room with a gauzy purple piece of fabric separating it from the rest of the store. The store itself was lit almost solely with LED candles that ran on batteries and one dim light bulb beneath a red lampshade with beads hanging like fringe around the edges.
As I looked around, Madam Zoltar’s appeared devoid of human life.
But another scent, one that rose above the incense, drifted to my nose. I knew I recognized it. I just couldn’t place it. Woodsy and expensive, the cologne or perfume—I couldn’t decide—lingered for a moment and then it was gone.
“Madam Zoltar?” I called out, hoping against hope she wasn’t home so I could end this wild goose chase of Belfry’s feeling confident I’d at least tried to humor him. I noted the employee bathroom and rapped on the door with my knuckles. “Madam Zoltar, are you in there?”
Nothing but silence greeted my ears.
I tapped the side of my purse with my nail. “See? Nobody’s home. Now can we go get lunch?”
“Not on your life, sister. Put me on the counter by the cash register and let me fly, baby.”
I set my purse on the glass covering the counter and shook my head. “You’re absolutely not getting out of my purse. So whatever you have to do, do it from in there.”
“Shh! I think I’m getting something.”
I fought a roll of my eyes and waited, crossing my arms over my chest.
Belfry gasped, a tiny rasp of air, but a gasp of surprise nonetheless. “I can hear him! Pick me up and face me north, Stevie. Do it now!”
“Belfry—”
“Now!”
His tone was so urgent, I decided there was no reason to upset him if there was no one to witness his shenanigans. I scooped him into my palm and held him facing north when he suddenly stiffened.
“Do you hear him?”
Was that some kind of joke? “No, I don’t hear him. I can’t hear anyone from that plane anymore and you know it, Bel. Stop being cruel.”
“Sorrysorrysorry. It was just instinct to ask. Forget that. He’s here, Stevie. He’s here!”
“Yay.” I wanted to be excited for Belfry, because his excitement was infectious. Yet, I couldn’t help but instead feel a pang of jealousy, and I didn’t like admitting it.
Belfry burst out in a fit of giggles, making me feel incredibly left out.
“Hey, I wanna hear the joke, too.”
“Oh, so now you wanna play, Mopey Gus?”
I shook my head, knocking off my raincoat hood. “No. I don’t want to play. I want to eat lunch. Finish up with British Guy and let’s get out of here before Madame Zoltar comes back from her lunch break and we get caught.”
“I was laughing at his name.”
My ears perked. “Which is?”
“Winterbottom.” And then Belfry laughed again, his munchkin-like chuckle spurring my own laughter.
A giggle escaped my lips. “Winterbottom? Was he a butler?”
“Mate? Give me one second. My mean friend is making fun of your name.”
I seesawed my hand, giving him a little shake. “Traitor,” I muttered under my breath.
“Shhhhhh! I’m trying to hear what the fudge he’s saying and he keeps fading in and out.”
I let my eyes fall to the floor, a cold slab of concrete painted gray. “Sorry.”
“Argh! Hold your palm up, Stevie, and your right leg. The signal’s weakening.”
“I will not.”
“Do it!”
I reluctantly held up my right leg, noting my galoshes had seen better days.