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My mother continues as if she’s discussing something completely reasonable.

“Your aunt obviously wasn’t aware of your lack of, well, shall we say, magical prowess. Otherwise, I’m certain she would have left her worldly and otherworldly goods to Melida.”

My fingers tighten around the phone.

There it is.

That familiar little slice.

I should be used to it by now.

I’m not.

“Now,” Mother continues briskly, “you can sign the documents I’m emailing you to transfer her stores of magic as well as the Texas property immediately. We can handle everything from here.”

I blink.

“The property?”

“Yes. There’s no reason for you to stay there now that we know what Margarita left behind.”

We.

Not me.

We.

My stomach turns.

“Mother, no.”

Silence.

Not ordinary silence either. Ramos family silence. The kind that means someone has just committed a cardinal sin.

“What did you say to me?”

I look around my bedroom.

My bedroom.

Inside my house.

No. Not just a house.

My place of business. Bell’s Books, Bed & Breakfast.

Mine.

This is the place I dragged back from the dead with Clarissa and her army of siblings. This is the house I scrubbed and painted, and fought ghosts for. This is the B&B I brought back to life, that is completely booked for Halloween because I made that happen.

“I said no, Mother.”

“Belinda—”

“Neither you nor Melida has any right to this house or anything Aunt Margarita left me. It’s mine. Not yours. And not hers.”

“How dare you after all we’ve done for you?”