I sucked in a deep breath of cool air to ease the tightness in my chest. “Sorry, buddy. I kind of flipped my nut there.”
“Tell me again why we decided to come back to Seattle? I almost think it would have been better to stay in Paris and take those batty witches and all their guff. At least you knew your enemy.”
“Didn’t they call me a murderer there, too?” I regretted saying as much the moment the words came out of my mouth, but there they were. All out in the open and so very ugly.
“Come again?” Win whispered in my ear, his presence there now quite cold.
Belfry poked his head out the top of my purse. “Aw, leave her alone, Winterbutt. She’s had a rough month.”
“Aw. Poor Boo. I died. Whaddya have to top that?”
I knew I’d eventually have to explain to Win why I no longer was a part of my coven, and where my powers had gone, but in some passive, pathetically misguided notion, I’d hoped someone in the afterlife would tell him for me. In this case, I was almost glad I couldn’t see his face. He hadn’t pressured me about it, but I wanted to be open about my ability to help.
“I said leave her alone, or I’m gonna fly up outta this musty den of lipstick and tampons and—”
“Belfry! Stop. It’s okay. I do owe Win an explanation.”
“Like the one he gave you about what happened to him?” Belfry yelped with disbelief.
“I’ve just given you everything I own, including a hefty sum of money. I’d think an explanation would be a courtesy you’d want to extend. But if you’d prefer, I can wait. No pressure here.”
That was more than fair. He should know whom he was doing business with.
I stopped at the corner just past the coffee shop and darted across the street to the bus stop shelter, where at least I’d be dry while I laid my baggage on the carousel for Win to see.
Dropping down to the seat, I looked out at the dismal day, musing at how it mirrored my emotions. “Okay, so first of all, ‘murderer’ is a little dramatic. Only one person actually said that, and while most of my friends rushed to defend me, it didn’t make hearing it any easier. I guess that particular accusation kind of stuck with me.”
“So you’re not a murderer then?” Win asked in his no-nonsense way.
“Didn’t anyone in the afterlife tell you how I ended up losing my powers?”
The first week after I’d suffered the loss, Belfry had fended off more inquiries than the Spanish Inquisition. Most of them had come in like messages on an old ham radio, full of static and choppy, but the distress from my ethereal pals shone through. That time in my life still ached. I missed communicating with the spirits—I missed helping them.
Win cleared his throat. “I’ve heard many things, but nothing clear. Whatever happened, everyone here is rather apprehensive to say much, I’m guessing. I sense some fear in their tones when they refer to the incident.”
“And still you trusted me with a frillion dollars and Mayhem Manor?”
“Is that the name you’re suggesting we put on the sign along the drive?”
I folded my cold hands in my lap and shrugged my shoulders. “I wasn’t suggesting anything, really. It just popped into my head, considering the condition of the place. But it has a ring to it. Like, it’s sort of all encompassing, don’t you think?”
“Um, no. No, I don’t think. Stop avoiding the issue and tell me what’s on your mind.”
Oooo. Win was using his serious voice. Okay, house name tabled for now.
“So no one has told you how I lost my powers.”
I didn’t say it out loud, but I was sure it had to do with the severity of the accusation and whom the accusation had come from. Even in death, the son of a butt-scratcher wielded authority.
“Nothing clear. Though, I’m told the longer I’m here, the clearer things will become. Time served is an asset here, apparently.”
That was true, too. The more time Win spent undecided about his eternal fate, the more the others in the same predicament would become sharper, more defined, and above all, more trusting.
“So what exactly did they tell you about me, Win? It had to have been enough to trust me with all your money.”
“Truthfully? I would have given the money to the devil himself rather than hand it over to Sal. This wasn’t all an altruistic act on my part, Stevie. I want to see my dream come to fruition. The word on this plane is, you’re the one to trust. I thought, who better than a homeless woman down on her luck to help me live out my dream? You needed a place to stay, I had the place.”
“Aw, you say the sweetest things. I’m all aglow with that special feeling only someone who’s been haphazardly chosen at random to win the booby prize can feel.”