Hair prickled on Evie’s arms, and she frowned. She was sensitive to the temporal disturbances caused by spirits crossing through the veil, but even though Afterthought’s downtown dated to the Civil War, it boasted very few ghosts. Evie had laid most of the local spirits to rest over the years. She probably just needed to put a sweater on.
She waved her mother off, flicked on the television for a weather report, and didn’t lock the door as suggested.
“Mrowr?” Psycat, the Siamese, sat up in the window and tilted his head questioningly.
“Magician, from the tarot deck.” Flipping to the cable weather map, Evie saw no storms on the horizon. “He explores the world in order to master it. Very powerful card.”
“Chainnnnch.” Psy snarled, expressing his disapproval. Ever since Evie’s vet cousin had experimented with teaching the cat to communicate, the Siamese had had an opinion on everything, or maybe she was hearing her own thoughts. The cat leaped from the window to stalk the store’s perimeter.
“Without change, there is no progress,” Evie countered, flicking off the TV.
“To whom are you speaking?” a polite voice asked from the open doorway.
Damn,that’s what she got for talking to cats.Scare off the clients, why don’t you, Evie?
Plastering on a smile, she studied the visitor blocking the sunny day. Goose bumps chased up and down her arms. Black clouds, magicians, and now this.
A serious child with wide blue eyes concealed behind black-framed Harry Potter glasses waited for a reply. The child wasn’t the problem.
The apparitions sticking to her warned the turbulence had arrived.
“I talk to myself a lot,” Evie replied.
Ghosts usually stayed withplaces,not people. Either the spirits or the child possessed some powerful voodoo. She didn’t dare drift into the dangerous subconscious state she needed to fully read auras until she understood the situation. “What can I do for you today?”
Wearing her mousy-brown hair in fraying braids, the sturdy child entered the shop with a heavy backpack and glanced around in curiosity. Studying a photo of a haunted antebellum mansion Evie had cured last year, she answered politely. “I am looking for Evangeline Malcolm.”
“Who’s asking?”
“That’s a defensive response,” the child said in a tone far too mature for her—ten, eleven?—years.
Beneath the counter, Psy snorted knowingly. Evie nudged the cat with her toe. She had reasons for being defensive.
The child produced a manila envelope from her backpack and laid it on the counter. “My name is Loretta Post. Evangeline is my guardian.”
Evie choked on her tongue. The turbulence had definitely landed. Skirting around the insane idea of anyone appointing ADHD-afflictedheras guardian, she settled on the impossible. “Post? A Post hasn’t deigned to cross the boundaries of Afterthought in...” She paused to think about it. “Since great-grandmother Letitia Malcolm ran off with...” She squinted, trying to call up the family lines.
“Evan Post, my great-great-grandfather.”
“Whatever. Posts don’t make Malcolms guardians of their children. They barely acknowledge our existence. Besides, lawyers would be involved. Where are your parents now?”
Looking like a small adult dealing with a dense child, Loretta slid the envelope toward Evie. “Lawyersareinvolved. They say my parents are dead and I know they’re not. That’s why I had to come alone. Lawyers want my money.”
Ahhh, the poor kid. The first stage of grief was denial, and this was a major case if she’d ever seen one. She wanted to hug Loretta’s skinny shoulders in sympathy, but the shadows clinging to her sagged with despair. Not promising.
“How did they die?” She added hastily— “Or not die.”
“Theysaidmy parents died in a boating accident.” Loretta studied the crystal ball on the counter while choosing her story.
Evie appreciated her efforts. Malcolms learned to fudge the truth early and effectively, if only to live in semi-harmony with their neighbors. Evie waited for the rest of the lie.
“But I know they were coming here to Afterthought. They told me so.”
“Their ghosts told you?”
Loretta glared over the top of her glasses. “Myparentstold me. Over the phone.Beforethey supposedly died.”
That part of the story needed a little work. “Posts don’t come to Afterthought,” Evie reminded her.