No wonder Nell hadn’t wanted to use her during the spell to get Al out of me.
The witch smoothed her hair back, taking a moment to consider her words. “Prosperity, perhaps…I misunderstood your situation. I did not think anyone controlled by a malefactor would be capable of such a kind act. But I need to warn you—”
The front door slammed open, and Nell’s shocked gasp carried through the house to where we stood.
Quickly, I turned back toward Missy. “Warn me about what?”
But the witch was already across the yard, disappearing into the woods.
“—didn’t do it, Nell, I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that,” Uncle Barnabas was saying as he stepped onto the porch behind Nell. “I would never disrespect your mother’s memory in such a way.”
“So you say, but you never wanted the responsibility…” Nell’s words trailed off. A second later, I heard her footsteps pounding around the corner. “Prosper! Did you do this? How? The magic—”
Uncle Barnabas, as pale in the face as I’d ever seen him, appeared behind her.
“I know, right?” I said, quickly, shooting her a look. “You did a great job with it before you left.”
“I did?” she said. “Oh—I did.”
I followed her upstairs, bracing myself for her judgment. Uncle Barnabas and Toad trailed behind us.
When she reached the new spider room, the words “I couldn’t put it back exactly right, I’m sorry!” sprang to my lips.
Nell whirled in its threshold, pointing a finger at me. “Skúffuskáld!”
“Gesundheit?” I offered back. Just to be sure, I reached up and touched my nose, to make sure it was still in the right place.
“No, no,” she said, laughing. “It’s Icelandic. It literally means drawer poet—someone who writes poems but tosses them in a drawer before showing them to anyone. The painting in here is amazing. Why would you hide something you obviously like and are really good at? Because, Prosper, you are really good. Trust me.”
Uncle Barnabas looked around, scratching at his pale hair. “So I suppose this means the run-through’s back on for tonight, then. Nell, why don’t you go give the agencies a call and let them know? The Witch’s Brew Café will let you use their phone.”
Nell’s eyes were narrowed as she looked at him, and was silent, as if still waiting for him to confess.
“I can do it,” I offered. “You two have to get ready, right? And it’s just down the street. What’s the worst that could happen two doors down from here?”
After a beat of silence, Uncle Barnabas relented. “All right. Be quick about it.”
“But—” Nell began, looking between us.
He fished out a crumpled sheet of paper from his pocket and handed it to me.
I knew Nell was watching me from the front door as I ran down the street. Al’s power was still moving through me, swirling just beneath my skin. I reached the café in no time, almost flinging the door open in the face of its owner.
“My goodness!” She looked like a storybook grandmother, all softness and silver hair.
“Can I borrow your phone? Just for a second?” I said in a rush of breath.
“O-of course, dear, it’s behind the counter,” she said, pointing. “I’m closing up, but let me know if you need anything else.”
The landline phone looked like it had time-traveled out of the 1950s. I smoothed the paper out over the counter, scanning down the three numbers. When I reached the last one, I startled—it looked like—
No. It wasn’t Mom’s cell-phone number. Hers ended with a 5, not a 2. But it was close enough to make my stomach twist.
“All right,” I said, dialing the first number and leaving a message with the tour group’s receptionist to confirm. The second call went the same way, and I was told by the woman who answered how excited she was and how she loved haunted houses and how—
“Okay, see you soon, bye!” I hung the phone up quickly, glancing around to make sure the café’s owner was still busy sweeping. I punched in the third and final number and sat back on my heels, eyeing one of the carrot cakes in the café’s refrigerator case.
“Hello?”
That was—that was Mom’s voice.
Crap, crap, crap, crapcrapcrap—I punched in the wrong last number.
I choked on my spit, my hand gripping the phone so hard the plastic handle cracked. I released my grip and, with a deep breath, forced myself to hang the receiver up just as I thought I heard her say, “Prosper?”
Oh no.
Oh, well done, Maggot, Al said, irritated. Now you’ve done it!
I started to make a run for the door, only to realize I hadn’t actually called the third tourist office. I concentrated so hard on inputting the right number this time I almost gave myself a headache. The woman I spoke to happily confirmed her group would be there as sweat soaked through my shirt and my stomach began to roll.
I messed everything up, I thought, hanging up the phone. No. No, I was okay. I didn’t reveal myself intentionally, right? And I definitely hadn’t confirmed who I was. Mom would just think it was a random wrong number. In any case, the owner of the Witch’s Brew didn’t give me a second look when I thanked her and stepped out. My breathing was finally under control by the time I made my way back over to the House of Seven Terrors.
Stopping under the sign that Missy had helped me hang, I couldn’t stop the warm curl of pride that wound its way through me. Nell’s voice drifted down to me from the attic window.
“Everything good?”
“Yup, everything good!” I called back.
And that was the truth. It was a small thing in the grand scheme of life, but I finally felt like I had returned the favor for Nell and Uncle Barnabas’s help. Alastor’s influence was slipping away, and my limbs felt suddenly heavy, making me so exhausted it was a struggle to get up the few porch steps. I sat down instead, trying to catch my breath, wondering at how easy everything had felt only a few minutes ago. How good.
My parents ran Heart2Heart but sat on a dozen charity boards, struggling to divide their time and energy among them. It would make things so much easier to have a life spilling over with luck and strength and fortune, and turn around and share it with others. I could do more. Be better.
As I sat there, watching the sun set and the moon rise, I could almost understand why Honor Redding had made a contract, thinking he could do real good and help his family in the process.
Almost.
The boy fell asleep far faster on the second night than the first. It irritated Alastor to no end to have to suffer silently through the ridiculous game of pretend one more time. Well. Truthfully, it was a bit hilarious too. Watching the little witch’s face as she went through the pocket spell again, “binding” him back, feeling the boy’s smug satisfaction. By the realms, humans truly were the stupidest species haunting their world.