Blinking at me in disbelief, she got off the bed. Well, tried anyway. For, like, ten minutes. Groaning, she fought with her legs. When she finally uncrossed them, she glared at me. “Why did you let me sit like that?” Then she scooted across the mattress. But it was a really soft mattress and a really tall bed. In the end, she had to roll to the edge and throw her legs over the side. After a short adjustment period, she slid off the bed and straightened with another groan, using the bedpost for support.
I could’ve showered by now.
“Defiance, are you serious?” Taking on her best mom stance, she faced me down. “Your powers are gone?”
I nodded.
“You just lost them?”
I nodded again. The guilt over the lie caused a tiny stabbing pain in my heart.
“No.” She shook her head in denial. “No, that can’t be. You can’t just lose your powers. You’re a charmling. In order for you to lose your powers, you’d have to die. That’s what Ruthie said. So, there’s just no way.” Eyes full of shock and concern, she started pacing.
Percy matched her rhythm, parting the vines for her the way he had for me.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “Is there another reason you want to get this business going that you’re not telling me about?”
“No.” Pausing halfway between the bed and the dresser, she lied through her teeth. “Not at all. Other than trying to get you back in the saddle after your staycay. Or is it back on the horse?” She looked up at the ceiling, lost in thought. “I know so little about equestrian idioms.”
“I’m not sure I want back in the saddle or back on the horse.”
Her head snapped toward me. “We have to get them back. Where did you see your powers last?”
“I didn’t take them off to do the dishes, if that’s what you mean.”
“Right. No. Of course not.”
“Okay, I’ll ask again, is there another reason you want to get this business up and going so soon?”
“What? No.” When I deadpanned her, she caved. “Well, yes. Lots actually.” She went to her bag, brought out a pocket folder, and crawled back onto the bed where she sat cross-legged exactly like before. The girl never learned. “These are from all the people who’ve called or come by in the last six months wanting your help.” She opened the folder and handfuls of messages fell onto the bed.
Handfuls! “Are you kidding?”
They’d been written on everything from store receipts to restaurant napkins. One was scrawled across a coaster from Notch Brewery and Biergarten. In Annette’s defense, some were torn out of a pre-printed message pad. Those looked very professional.
“Admittedly, some were just tourists wanting to get a look at you. Or your grandmother. Or Percy. It was hard to tell. But most of these are legit.”
“What about Ruthie? Where is she, anyway?” I looked around like she might beam in from the Enterprise or something. “She can do this stuff with her eyes closed.” She’d been helping people long before I came along.
“She won’t . . .” Annette shook her head. “She’s locked herself in her room and won’t come out. The chief is really upset. She won’t even see him.”
“What?” I sat back down. “Why?”
“Well, right before you slipped into a mystical coma, you brought her out of the veil and onto this plane and then asked her if she killed your mother.”
“We’ve already covered that part.”
“And she said yes.”
“We covered that too.”
“And then you flatlined. Metaphorically speaking.”
“Nette.”
“I think it took a toll on her. I think . . .” She bit her bottom lip. “I think she’s heartbroken.” She hedged a bit. “She could use a friend.”
When I’d come to Salem, at the request of a lawyer who’d told me I’d inherited this house, I’d met my dead grandmother, Ruthie Goode, on the internet. She’d somehow managed to communicate from beyond through WIFI. She’d helped me get my powers up and running so I could then use them to create a kind of shield around myself. For protection.
After that, I went to work on other powers, including how to reveal things that were hidden. That was how I’d revealed the writing in her Book of Shadows, her journal, and found out she’d killed my mother. “I’m not sure I’d be much of a friend to her right now.”
“Deph, come on.” That she had sympathy for what I was going through showed in her voice. “Your grandmother would never hurt her own daughter without a very good reason. Even if we don’t know what that reason is just yet. Surely you know that.”
I did. But I still needed a moment to process and get my bearings and plan my next move. Stalling, I went back to what Nette said earlier. “You said Ruthie locked herself in her room. This is her room.” I gestured toward the massive bedroom we were hanging in.
“Her arts and craft room in the basement. There’s more, but I’ll let her tell you. Or, well, show you.”
Since I wasn’t quite ready for more, I rerouted Nette’s train of thought. “Hey, how did you get all these messages? Exactly whose phone is ringing?”
“Oh, my God. You are not going to believe this.” She paused for dramatic effect. “Ruthie has a landline.”
Huh. I was expecting more. “You realize we all had landlines too, until a few years ago.”
“Yes, but actual people use this one. Not just telemarketers. It gets better reception due to all the paranormal activity pumping through the walls. I gotta warn you, though, I think the phone is older than your grandmother, and it rings loud enough to drown out the screams of your enemies. Should you ever need to make them scream.”
“Good to know.” I glanced down.
One of the messages on the bed had started to glow. Actually, it was the ink that glowed.
I pointed at it. “What is that?”
Annette picked it up. “Oh, this one was so sweet.” She put a hand over her heart. “A little girl lost her dog. She wants you to find him.”
“No.”
“Okaaaay . . . ?”
“No, I mean, that’s not what this is about.” I took it from her. Hot energy burned my fingertips, proving just how much I still did have my powers. I dropped the paper and wiped my hand on my gown like a toddler after eating spaghetti.
Thankfully, Annette was rummaging through some other messages and didn’t notice.
“What else did she say?” I asked.
“She said her mother told her about you. Said if she ever needed help to call you.” She reached over and picked it up again. “She was so worried, she forgot to leave a number. I barely managed to get her name.” She looked over at me, her gaze questioning. “Why?”
“It’s nothing. Just tear it up. Tear them all up.”
She didn’t. She put them back into the pocket folder and wrapped the elastic band around it.
The light from the message seeped out the corners.
“Some of these people are in real crisis. We have a chance to help them.”
“For a small processing fee.”
“Well, there is that. But is a doctor taking advantage of a patient when she sends him a bill?”