Rachel beelines for the big stainless steel sink along the back wall, grabbing a scouring pad and getting to work. When she speaks again, her voice is high and tight over the scratch of scrubber against metal. “What are you talking about?”
“Um… magic house? Demonic doom-n-gloom? Bat woman? Any of this ringing a bell?”
Scrub scrub scrub.
Deny deny deny.
I look to Kate for backup, but she’s suddenly embroiled in the challenging task of picking sugar crystals off her muffin.
“Come on, guys.” I lick a glob of caramel from my finger. “You can’t tell me that stuff was normal. Witches? That’s?—”
“How much wine did you actuallydrink?” Rachel forces a laugh. Rinses her scrubber. Goes in for another round. “I knewwe shouldn’t have opened that second bottle.Orlet that old nutter into the house.”
“Hey!” I feel oddly defensive of my adoptive mom. “She conjured the wine. Obviously she means well.”
“Shebroughtthe wine, conducted an elaborate ruse, and obviously she means to rob us blind.”
“How?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she thinks Mom stashed money around the house.”
Mental note: search the house for alleged secret stash.
“You think it was all an act?” I ask. “Even the bat thing?”
“Oh, Lizzy.”Scrub scrub scrub. Heavy sigh.“I know you struggle with… with substances. And it’s not completely your fault, because addiction is a disease and you didn’t have a stable childhood and I can understand why maybe you’d feel the need to turn to drugs and alcohol in the absence of a trusted companion.”Scrub scrub scrub. “But it’s not healthy. You need to stop numbing out and start facing reality.”
“Um… did you literally look up that speech on the internet before I got here?”
“It’s not even noon, and you’re already half-crocked!”
I open my mouth to retort. Shut it the moment I remember my peppermint schnapps and devil’s lettuce breakfast combo of champions.
“Well, I’mnothallucinating. That stuff happened.”
I’mthisclose to telling them about the ghosts, and the hot demon professor, but Kate’s already jumping in.
“I think it’s fair to say we were all pretty tired last night,” she says. A lukewarm attempt at defending me, which is better than hanging me out to dry, so I give her a thumbs-up. Then she goes, “Let’s assume, just for a thought experiment, that wearewitches. That magic and demons are real, and Mom had aresponsibility to keep this portal in check… Shouldn’t we at leastconsiderthe consequences of ignoring it?”
Rachel goes even harder on the scrubbing, like if she scrubs hard enough, she can make this whole thing go away. Then Kate says, “Well,shouldn’twe?” And Rachel yanks her hands from the sink, sending the scrubber flying, and says, “A demonic portal, Kate? Really? You’re as bad as Lizzy.”
Kate shrinks again. “It’s just a theoretical consideration.”
“Theoretical. Okay. I’ll play along. Theoretically, Mom was a real witch. Great! So not only did she leave us to the wolves when she could’ve used her magic to give us a better life, but she had this whole portal legacy to contend with, knowing it would one day fall into our laps, and she still couldn’t be bothered to stick around.”
“She died,” I say. Not to defend her. It’s just a fact.
“It doesn’t matter.” Rachel yanks a dirt-encrusted towel from a hook and dries her hands. “Real or not, she chose her fantasy life over a life with her family, her children. And now we’re supposed to… what? Abandon everything to clean up her mess? To be some kind of middle managers between demons and witches? I run a marketing business, for chrissakes! I have a life! One that does not involve chasing after errant supernaturals!”
Kate frowns. “Itdoessound a little crazy when you put it like that.”
“Because itiscrazy. The idea of magic and demons and some kind of invasion… Look, there’s a chance Helena isn’t out to scam us. Maybe she’s just… confused.”
The woman literally turned into a bat. I’m thinking confusion is not the diagnosis. But I know better than to say another word about it. Rachel is on a tear. Best to just sit back, enjoy another muffin, and let her burn herself out. It won’t take long; beneath all that bluster, she’s got delicate wiring.
“Even without this magical nonsense,” she says, “we’ve got a real mess on our hands. I’ve spent half the morning on the phone with the town, trying to figure out some clerical issue on the deed for the house. Vendor payments for this shop are coming due, and we need to liquidate all the inventory. Her death certificate needs to be sent everywhere, bank accounts need closing, no one has power of attorney. I’m waiting on additional confirmation from the police and medical examiner about the cause of death, just to play it safe. I’m getting a second opinion on the execution of the will, too, and a background check on the lawyer…”
On and on she goes, every word a pinprick of guilt needling my skin. I wouldn’t know the first thing about dealing with all that red tape. Yet Rachel always knows exactly what to do. And then—craziest part of all—she actuallydoesit! Executive function, who are you?
