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“The book alone is an impossibility,” he said incredulously.

“Says the ghost.”

Montgomery pulled a face in disgust. “Are you… an occultist?”

“No!” Willow cried. “Of course not.”

“Then what are those objects for?”

“Just a few things Esme thought would help you move on.”

Montgomery stumbled a few steps back, making a cross with his two forefingers. “You’re witches. It all makes sense now. The broom, the candles, how you open the trash bin with a wave of your hand…”

“The trash can has a battery operated motion sensor.”

“You’re a witch!”

“Oh relax. Only by blood. Okay wrong choice of words. Heritage. Only by heritage.”

“Get back whence you came,” he shouted with a wild look about him.

“That’s rich coming from you, Ghostface. Anyway, I don’t identify as a witch.”

Montgomery, still crossing his fingers together, said tentatively, “If you don’t identify as a witch, then how do you identify?”

“As a person. Now put your hands down and make yourself useful by drawing the blinds so passersby won’t see me talking to myself.”

After a moment of hesitation, Montgomery shuffled over to the windows and lowered them one by one, never taking his eyes off Willow. Once they were properly closed, he kept his distance from her, standing stiffly and cautiously.

“You’re being ridiculous,” Willow said. “Besides. I don’t use my powers for anything. Not even a glamour charm.”

She cracked open the grimoire, feathering through the ancient pages.

“I mean, what the heck is Putrefaction of Esoteric Rupture and where is someone supposed to find fillet of a fenny snake?”

She shook her head, already deciding this book would be of no use to her. But Montgomery did not appear convinced of it and kept a good distance away from her as though she was about to turn him into a toad.

“I have more faith in science than magic,” she said warmly. “And I really believe if we could jog your memory somehow, we could fulfill whatever it is that needs to be done. And then you can finally rest in peace. We can talk it out and try to understand your unconscious feelings and thoughts. Like psychology.”

Montgomery’s posture relaxed a little, but he didn’t respond. At length, Willow threw her hands up and started tossing the magical objects back into the box.

“You know what? Forget it.”

“This,” he said at last, gesturing toward the box, “is not something one easily forgets.”

She sniffed, piling the objects on top of one another, unable to fit them back inside the box. “Sure. Over a hundred years to figure things out andthisis what he remembers.”

A knock on the door’s window startled her, but it was only the food delivery.

Willow unlocked the door, thanked the delivery driver, took the bags back to the counter, unpacked all the food, and began eating… all in utter silence, as though Montgomery wasn’t even there. For all intents and purposes, he really wasn’t there. Physically at least. And ignoring his stares wasn’t easy, what with those magnetizing eyes. But she didn’t sign up for this, and she just wanted to move on with her life. And start planning that ball. And then maybe try to flirt with the cute diner owner, or someone else equally as nice. And alive.

After a long while, Montgomery said, “When you said you’re a witch by heredity only, and that you don’t identify with it, what did you mean?”

“First of all, I don’t care for the word witch,” she said with a mouthful of noodles. “All the negative connotations. Green skin. Warts and pointy hats. Plus, it rhymes with the ‘b’ word and I take great offense to that.”

“But is it passed down? Like artistic talent? Or is it learned?”

“It’s more like… in our DNA.”