The fog thickened. It wasn’t an ominous thing. No, it resembled more the way an old friend might sit beside you, comfortable, easy. I shut my eyes.Cold and warmth washed over me in turn. Death and life, sun and dark. I was the bridge, and that bridge held me in a spot of eternal ambiguity. I parted my lips and spoke.
“Isabella Ravenswood, hear my voice and answer. I summon you.” The words, instinctual, poured out of me like the afternoon mists that rolled in from the sea.
I opened my eyes.
A fully corporeal gray-haired woman with none of the wispy vagueness Isabella projected stood in front of me. “Hi, there.”
I stumbled and fell backward onto a grave.
The woman emitted a sharp laugh, almost a cackle. “So sorry to disturb you. I had no intention of upsetting your communion with the dead.” Her eyes narrowed in thought. “Don’t you need candles for a seance? That’s what the films typically portray.”
She was clearly an Unmarked human. Her large sweater, which complimented the woman’s warm umber skin, also had a pumpkin and a witch’s hat sewn into it. The words scrawled across the top said,Witching you a Happy Halloween.
My fingers plunged into the wet dirt as I glanced around me. Where had the mist gone? “I-I was just—”
“No need to explain yourself. Far be it from me to judge others’ beliefs”—her face grew sad—“or to tell them how to deal with their grief.”
She shifted a bouquet filled with different kinds of flowers in her arms.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said.
She waved a hand, though unshed tears glistened in her eyes. “It was several years ago now. I simply want my dear Johnny to know I still think of him, God rest his soul.”
“That’s sweet.” The woman seemed kind. And I found a measure of relief she’d interrupted my attempt at using witchcraft. I’d need a moment before convincing myself to try again, so I accepted the reprieve for what it was. Although it meant talking to a stranger.
“Me and Johnny were quite the pair, and quite the scandal back in the day.” Her eyes were bright with merriment.
“Why is that?”
“My parents were deeply religious and wanted me to marry a good Protestant boy.”
“Were you and Johnny of different faiths?”
“Yes. But we loved each other something fierce, and we shared a remarkable life together.” She gave me a wry smile. “Of course, the preacher at my parent’s church declared that I was going to hell every other service.”
My fingers curled into the dirt, thinking of Pastor Collins’s words. “You don’t think that’s true?”
The woman chuckled. “The more you see of this world, the more you realize God created people of all colors, shapes, and sizes. Eventually, you have to admit that the Divine must love the rest of the rainbow as much as heloves your hue.” She lifted her bouquet of flowers. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
I nodded and waited for her to leave so I could summon Isabella again, but she simply stood and stared at me to the point that I started to feel awkward.
“Is there something else?” I asked.
“Well, the thing is, you’re sitting in dear old Johnny’s lap.”
I turned to the headstone and read the name. Jonathan O’Hare.
“Oh, oh!” I jumped up, backing away, brushing off my soaked rear end. “I’m so sorry.”
Another cackle escaped the woman. “Don’t worry,” her eyes sparkled. “I daresay that is the most action my poor husband has seen in years. Now don’t you be getting any ideas, Johnny, love.” She wagged her finger at his headstone. “I’m still your number one girl.”
A laugh burst out of me. This woman was a hue I could get used to. She raised a hand in farewell.
I waved back. “Have a good day, miss…”
“Oh, you can call me Marge. See you some other time.”
I turned and went further into the cemetery. Could I be as carefree as Marge if Pastor Collins discovered what I was doing? The lightness in my chest evaporated as I moved among the graves and came across a blank headstone, waiting to be magically carved. Could this be Isabella’s planned resting place?
