potential for renewal and transformation. The more costumes one has, the more fantasy personas one can adopt.
—EDITH GOULD
“I’ll take Aunt Fiona’s room,” I told Isobel on arrival. Because I felt responsible for Aunt Fiona’s things. “And you can have the guest room.” Since guest rooms by nature held nothing of personal worth.
“Ms. Cutler, what should I call you?”
“Not Madeira. Mostly people call me that if they’re angry with me or they’re my father. How about Maddie?”
“How about boss?” she suggested. “I’d be more comfortable.”
I’d feel weird. “Sure, go for it. It’s a new one, but at least it doesn’t make me feel like a bottle of wine.”
“Okay, boss.”
“You’re not gonna believe it,” Isobel said, coming out of the guest room a short while later.
“I packed so much makeup, I forgot my nightshirt.”
“We have a lot in common. No problem. Aunt Fiona has some fun sleepwear we can raid.”
Isobel sat on Aunt Fee’s bed. “Why didn’t your aunt come home with us?”
“Her and my dad have a non-relationship she’s trying to turn around.”
“Your dad’s nuts about her. Seriously, he got all choked up when she got there. I thought they were lovers.”
“My father is so thick. Even you, a stranger, can see what he can’t.”
“Your aunt doesn’t deny her feelings,” Isobel remarked as I laid out some of my favorite witch-humor nightwear.
“Fee’s not actually related to us. She was my mom’s best friend in college, and she’s been there for us always, and especially since we lost Mom twenty years ago. Here,” I said with a flourish. “Take your pick.”
“Um, is your non-aunt a witch, by any chance?”
“What gave her away?” I asked on a chuckle. My shorty red sleep shirt said, Save a Broom, Ride a Witch.
Isobel checked hers in the mirror. In turquoise her sleep tee warned: Beware the Naughty Witch Inside. “Too bad we’ll only get to wear them a couple of hours.” Isobel chuckled.
“When do we need to be at the police station?”
“Since tomorrow is Sunday, and I don’t open the shop until ten, let’s get a whole four hours’
sleep.” She’d need her rest, I thought, because she very well might discover tomorrow that her twin had been murdered. The least I could do was give her a blissfully ignorant good night’s slumber. “Maybe I’ll call Werner in the morning and tell him if he wants to fingerprint you, he can come to the shop. He’ll love that.”
“I’ve only known him for an hour, and already, I know he’ll hate it.”
“Yeah, well, that’ll be my perk.”
She chuckled. “Do you think your aunt will mind if I shower? It’s been a hot and sweaty day. You know, for a while there, we thought somebody was following us.”
“That’s disturbing,” I said. “The thought of somebody following, I mean, not the shower. Go for it. You’ll sleep better.”
I’d turned down both our beds and was making chamomile tea, not a little worried about the possibility that Isobel had been followed, when I thought I heard someone outside in the bushes near the front door, so I went toward the living room and stopped, stunned, when I saw the doorknob turn.
I turned off the lights, grabbed a hefty rose quartz owl from a nearby shelf, and leaned against the wall beside the door, owl raised, heart pumping about thirty beats over the speed limit.
When the door opened, I owled the intruder upside the head. Crack. He went down like a California sequoia, and though his partner caught me around the waist, I swung my arm up and owled him beneath the chin, the louder crack making me a little sick. The room flooded with light. Isobel stood with her hand on the switch. “Remind me never to cross you. I mean, I know they excluded you from their discussion at your dad’s, but—”
“What?” I looked down at my assailants. “Nick? Werner? Oh my God, they’re gonna bleed all over Aunt Fee’s white rug.”
I sat Nick up.
—EDITH GOULD
“I’ll take Aunt Fiona’s room,” I told Isobel on arrival. Because I felt responsible for Aunt Fiona’s things. “And you can have the guest room.” Since guest rooms by nature held nothing of personal worth.
“Ms. Cutler, what should I call you?”
“Not Madeira. Mostly people call me that if they’re angry with me or they’re my father. How about Maddie?”
“How about boss?” she suggested. “I’d be more comfortable.”
I’d feel weird. “Sure, go for it. It’s a new one, but at least it doesn’t make me feel like a bottle of wine.”
“Okay, boss.”
“You’re not gonna believe it,” Isobel said, coming out of the guest room a short while later.
“I packed so much makeup, I forgot my nightshirt.”
“We have a lot in common. No problem. Aunt Fiona has some fun sleepwear we can raid.”
Isobel sat on Aunt Fee’s bed. “Why didn’t your aunt come home with us?”
“Her and my dad have a non-relationship she’s trying to turn around.”
“Your dad’s nuts about her. Seriously, he got all choked up when she got there. I thought they were lovers.”
“My father is so thick. Even you, a stranger, can see what he can’t.”
“Your aunt doesn’t deny her feelings,” Isobel remarked as I laid out some of my favorite witch-humor nightwear.
“Fee’s not actually related to us. She was my mom’s best friend in college, and she’s been there for us always, and especially since we lost Mom twenty years ago. Here,” I said with a flourish. “Take your pick.”
“Um, is your non-aunt a witch, by any chance?”
“What gave her away?” I asked on a chuckle. My shorty red sleep shirt said, Save a Broom, Ride a Witch.
Isobel checked hers in the mirror. In turquoise her sleep tee warned: Beware the Naughty Witch Inside. “Too bad we’ll only get to wear them a couple of hours.” Isobel chuckled.
“When do we need to be at the police station?”
“Since tomorrow is Sunday, and I don’t open the shop until ten, let’s get a whole four hours’
sleep.” She’d need her rest, I thought, because she very well might discover tomorrow that her twin had been murdered. The least I could do was give her a blissfully ignorant good night’s slumber. “Maybe I’ll call Werner in the morning and tell him if he wants to fingerprint you, he can come to the shop. He’ll love that.”
“I’ve only known him for an hour, and already, I know he’ll hate it.”
“Yeah, well, that’ll be my perk.”
She chuckled. “Do you think your aunt will mind if I shower? It’s been a hot and sweaty day. You know, for a while there, we thought somebody was following us.”
“That’s disturbing,” I said. “The thought of somebody following, I mean, not the shower. Go for it. You’ll sleep better.”
I’d turned down both our beds and was making chamomile tea, not a little worried about the possibility that Isobel had been followed, when I thought I heard someone outside in the bushes near the front door, so I went toward the living room and stopped, stunned, when I saw the doorknob turn.
I turned off the lights, grabbed a hefty rose quartz owl from a nearby shelf, and leaned against the wall beside the door, owl raised, heart pumping about thirty beats over the speed limit.
When the door opened, I owled the intruder upside the head. Crack. He went down like a California sequoia, and though his partner caught me around the waist, I swung my arm up and owled him beneath the chin, the louder crack making me a little sick. The room flooded with light. Isobel stood with her hand on the switch. “Remind me never to cross you. I mean, I know they excluded you from their discussion at your dad’s, but—”
“What?” I looked down at my assailants. “Nick? Werner? Oh my God, they’re gonna bleed all over Aunt Fee’s white rug.”
I sat Nick up.
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