Page 91 of With All My Haunted Heart

“Really?”

“Yeah.” I pull out my phone and scroll past all the photos of the kittens until I find a picture of the ghost goggles. “You said you do a lot of craft-based magic? Beyond the modified summoning sigil, could you make these glasses less bulky and hideous?”

She takes my phone and zooms in on the picture, brow pinched with concentration. “How did you attach these crystals?”

“Hot glue?”

Teagan throws her head back as she laughs, a warm sound that invites me into the joke with her. We spend the rest of the meal sharing tips about our unique brands of magic, and I’m fascinated by the way Teagan has learned to manipulate materials to embed magical properties into mundane items. I tell her about the spirit boards and share stories of the different ghosts I encountered over the past month.

As we share and laugh and bond as a pair of entrepreneurial, experimental witches, I realize that I’ve spent so long afraid of being hurt that I’ve guarded my heart against false threats. I’ve isolated myself from the people who could get me.

A small part of my heart whispers that I should call Elle. That Xander was right when he suggested that the only thing keeping us apart is our mutual fear of getting hurt again. But she told me to go. She told me not to call. I didn’t make that up.

The next time I visit Midnight Manor to see Xander, I’ll see if she’s there, too. By then, maybe I’ll know what to say. For now, I can’t encroach on her grief. Not when it’s this fresh.

By the time Teagan and I are finished with lunch and I’ve paid the bill, we part as friends. We even set a date for me to visit her shop next week to begin our collaborative work on an upgraded version of the ghost goggles.

There’s a new warmth in my chest despite the chill in the air that threatens fresh snow, and I point myself in the direction of home. As I’m passing my old office, a For Rent sign in the window, my phone rings.

Elle, I think, and my heart leaps in my chest, but it’s Xander’s name on the screen when I pull the phone from my pocket.

“Miss me already?” I tease. “It’s been less than a week, Xan.”

“We have a problem,” Xander says in lieu of a greeting. “But before I tell you what it is, I need you to know that whatever you decide to do, you’ll always be my best friend.”

I stumble to a halt a few feet shy of the intersection. “Well, that’s not ominous or anything.”

“Sorry. I just want to make sure you know that I care about you more than this favor. You can say no, and it won’t affect how much I love you.”

“Xan, you’re freaking me out. Tell me what it is.” I walk the final few steps to the intersection and hit the crosswalk button.

His sigh is loud over the phone, and I get an intuitive flash of him running his free hand through his hair in an attempt to soothe some of his stress. “We got a letter from NACOW.”

Dread pools in my belly. “About what?”

“I sent in the registration paperwork for the new magic like Sebastian said.” Xander pauses, and I see him in my head, pacing in his bedroom where the guests won’t see his worry. “Apparently, NACOW has ethical concerns about the application. They’re sending out an auditor in two weeks.”

Fuck.

“Pippa, the letter said they could shut us down. They could send Laney and Betty and everyone else away.”

The crosswalk light changes, the green pedestrian in motion, but I stand frozen in place. A flurry of emotions erupts inside me as the first snowflakes of the season start to fall. It figures that NACOW would assume anything new is dangerous. That invention is something to stifle rather than encourage and celebrate. From my conversation with Xander last week, the ghosts love being at the B&B. This is a good thing. Yet my mother and her cronies want to ruin it.

A chill works down my spine that has nothing to do with the snow gathering in my hair. “Xan? Did you use my name on the form?”

“I had to. The paperwork requires the name of the witch who developed the magic. It had to be registered under your name.” He pauses, and I smash the crosswalk button again. “You can absolutely say no, Pippa, but is there any way you could talk to them?”

This time, when the crosswalk sign indicates it’s time to walk, I hurry across the intersection. “Flora’s the director of that department.” My sister’s name feels strange on my lips. Numbness settles over me.

“Oh, Pip. Forget I asked. You haven’t talked to your sister in years. I can’t ask you to face her again over this.”

For Elle, he’s not saying. For him, too.

Memories of my childhood, happy memories, push their way to the surface. And in all the times I felt loved as a child, it was because of my sister. Because of Flora. Maybe seeing her again won’t be terrible.

“I’m not doing it for you.” I hurry down the next block, my mind racing. “If Flora denied the request because my name was on it, then I need to handle this. I finished the creativity spell last night. I won’t let her and NACOW ruin my business by rejecting ideas simply because they’re mine.”

“Pippa…”