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“What did that achieve?” I ask as they pick themselves up. “Can I do magic on command now?”
“Heavens no.” Agnes grinds her hips. “But it has loosened up these old arthritic joints.”
“You can’t have arthritis. You’re a ghost!”
“Not according toyourghost rules, missy.”
“Ailments, disabilities, and personality flaws don’t get magically ‘solved’ when you die,” explains Lottie. “That’s why your friend Ambrose is still blind. Those things are part of us, they leave an imprint on our soul.”
“Is that what ghosts are? Souls floating around without bodies?”
“It’s actually interesting that you ask.” Mary lifts her head from where she was sniffing a toadstool. “Pythagoras holds that the soul is of divine origin and therefore exists both before and after death, but Epicurus—”
“Are you here to debate the philosophy of death, or are we going to do some magic?” Agnes barks.
I leap off the altar and hold out my hands. “Go on then. Show me what to do.”
“What do you want to do? Because if you plan on turning the Roman into a toad, then I must protest,” Lottie licks her lips. “A man with that juicy a cucumber will be wasted as an amphibian.”
“How do you know the word amphibian?”
“We watched it on a David Attenborough documentary through the Kingson’s front window. That’s also how Mary knows about souls. But you want to know about your magic and how to control it. You’d better begin by telling us exactly what you’ve experienced.”
I explain to them all the times I’ve used my resurrection magic over the last few weeks. Agnes asks me to describe the silver threads I see as I look around, and she looks unamused when I tell her that I can’t see any, not even theirs.
“I only see them sometimes,” I say. “Such as right before the Ripper killed Pax, or when Arthur crossed over, or—”
“That’s because you haven’t figured out how to channel magic. You can only tap into your power when you’re highly stressed or desperate,” Lottie explains. “If an axe murderer or a witchfinder burst through the woods right now, you’d probably be able to knock him out with a single thought.”
“Is that just the way my magic works?”
“No. You can learn to summon it at will. But you need to be able to focus even when there’s not something terrible at stake.”
“Let us begin.” Agnes raises her arms again and says in a warbling, croaking voice, “Clear your mind.”
“How do I do that?”
Agnes makes a face as if I’m a complete no-hoper. “You just…do. You think of nothing.”
“How do I think of nothing?”
“I find it helps to have a place I go to in my mind, or an object to focus on.” Mary closes her eyes and raises her hands, palms facing the sky. “It has to be something that gives you pleasant or neutral feelings. Not something scary or ugly. I think about a plate filled with delicious pastries. I think about that and whenever a distracting thought comes, I toss it away and continue to gaze at my pastries.”
“I think about my husband’s prick,” Lottie adds helpfully. “Since it was nonexistent.”
“Okay, I’ll try it.” I stand up tall and raise my hands, palms up, copying Mary. “I’m not thinking about Lottie’s husband, though. Do I call on a goddess or something?”
“You can. It might help. Thinking of an entity helps some witches to focus. Equally, a nice beach or a delicious steak and kidney pie may do the job. It’s up to the individual witch.”
Ooooo-okay.
I do as they say. I close my eyes, and as I hold my hands out so my palms feel the warmth of the sun, I imagine all of my current problems flittering around me – they become little fireflies dancing inside my head.
One by one, I wink them all out.
My parents selling the house. Wink. Edward’s lack of corporeal form. Wink. Pax’s inability to stop thinking about stabbing for five minutes. Wink. When I wink out the last problem, my mind is dark and blank. But almost immediately, I can feel the worries and questions creeping back.
I need to fill it with something so I don’t get distracted. Somethingpleasant. I want to think about the guys, but they’re too close to all my issues right now. I need to go further back in time.
