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“Hold this end,” she prompted, giving him the loaf of sourdough, which wasn't really a loaf of sourdough.
She held onto the end of the leather string and closed her eyes. The other women were quiet as she worked.
She nodded her head as though someone was telling her a secret. “Hmmm. Curious.”
“You keep saying that. Is there cause for alarm?” Montgomery asked.
“My dear man,” she said, opening her eyes. “You were a ghost two days ago and now you’re sitting here having tea. We’re way past alarmed.”
Then she dug through her bag taking out everything but the kitchen sink and finally came up with a spyglass. She placed one end on his chest and looked through it squinting with one eye.
“I have some good news and some other news. The good news is, there is a heart in there. The other news is… it’s not beating.”
“Not beating?!” yelped Willow.
Gladys cleared her throat and continued. “In my professional opinion… actually I don’t know. This is the weirdest case I’ve ever seen. But if I were to guess, I’d say this,” she waved her hand up and down Montgomery’s form. “is temporary. There are a few spells, but they’re not really designed for this kind of thing. Mostly for crops that got frostbite or livestock that weren’t doing well. The farmers had it hard; they needed a lot of magic. We don’t bring people back to life. It’s just not done. There are incantations and rituals for sending spirits across the veil, but there isn’t any mention in any grimoire about—excuse my French—zombies.”
“It’s here,” Bliss said. “The zombie apocalypse has begun.”
“He’s not a vampire and he’s not a zombie,” Willow said. “You guys watch too much TV.”
“Zombies crawl out of their graves and drag their feet when they walk,” said Ivy. “Haven’t you seen theThrillervideo?”
“They also dance,” added Esme jokingly. “They’re really good dancers.”
“Whatever it is making your eyes glow green seems to have something to do with your case of being between worlds,” Gladys said. “It is puzzling. I’ll have to research the Dickens out of this one. I met him, you know. In 1842. Boston.”
“Who did you meet?” Bliss asked.
“Charles Dickens, young lady. Keep up.”
Willow thought it would have been the coolest thing ever to meet Charles Dickens. She wondered if she could invited Neil Gaiman to her shop for a book signing, then she could impress people in a hundred years or so.
“I would love more tea, Esme, if you please,” said Galdys as if she hadn’t just announced the newly corporal ghost in the living room had no heartbeat and would probably disappear at any moment. Willow was pretty much at her quota of weird crap for the day, so she accompanied Esme into the kitchen to help with the tea.
In Esme’s house, there were very few things they didn’t accomplish with magic. Every chore and meal were taken care of with a few choice words and a wave of the hand. But tea was a particular kind of art that Esme took very seriously. She took great care to brew the leaves in boiling water on the stovetop, straining it carefully, and transferring it into one of her many teapots. No one ever questioned her method because she was sure to emphasize that tea tastes better the slow way.
“So,” said Esme, putting the water on. “Your Montgomery is quite the looker. He’s no Patrick Swayze, but…”
“It’s all my fault,” Willow cried.
“What’s your fault?”
“Montgomery seems to think it was my magic thatalivedhim.”
Esme hummed. “That could be.”
“Then it’s my fault. I messed up, just like everything else.”
“Don’t be so quick to blame yourself, Willow.”
“Hello! He has no heartbeat.”
“Did he have a heartbeat when you first met him?”
“Of course not. He was a ghost. Zephyr tried to jump into his arms once and flew right through him.”
“And what exactly do you think you did to make him this way? Did you perform a chant or conjuration?”
