Page 22 of Starrily (Perks of Being #2)

Chapter 22

S imon still had to pack, so Shanna followed Callie to the car. Callie put Theia and her backpack in the back seat. She didn’t know what to do with her new acquaintance; even if she were good at small talk, they were past that point. So she busied herself with things she didn’t need to busy herself with: making sure the safety belt around Theia’s carrier was well secured. Double- and triple-checking her backpack in case she forgot anything.

Looking anywhere except at Shanna.

Her feelings about the blonde formed a nauseating mess in her stomach. First, there’d been jealousy when she realized Shanna was Simon’s wife. Only Simon wasn’t Simon anymore, and her Simon had never known Shanna, so Callie had no reason to be jealous.

She also had no reason to call him hers.

Simon joined them, a backpack slung over his shoulder. “So, Shanna. You wanna join us, or how are we doing this?”

“I can drive behind you if you give me the address,” Shanna said. “I think that’s better for everyone.”

Callie hated herself for the satisfaction she felt.

“You’re sure?” Simon asked.

Shanna waved her hand dismissively. “I wouldn’t want to intrude. I’ll be behind you. Trust me, you won’t even remember I’m there.” She let out an awkward giggle.

“Let’s get going, then.”

Callie offered to drive in case Simon had another episode while on the road, and off they went.

It was incredible how the mood changed from the first half of the journey. There was no more quipping and singing to music and checking items off the bucket list. They drove for a long time that day, until the desert was replaced by the endless flat fields of Texas. On the inside, Callie warred against herself: she didn’t want to delay this for longer than necessary, and they needed to get Simon to her family as soon as possible; but her other half rebelled and thrashed, wanting to get away, to do anything but approach her childhood home.

They stopped at a motel for the night. Simon went to get them two rooms and returned with the key cards. He deliberated for a moment before handing one card over to her. “Good night.” He turned to walk away.

“I—”

“Yes?” He looked over his shoulder.

There were so many things she wanted to ask. Was it safe for him to be alone in a room? Was he, too, afraid of things the future held? Could he hold her again, like he did last night?

But none of those words came out. “What should I call you now?”

He scratched the back of his head. “I suppose Raleigh would be better. To avoid confusion.”

She nodded. “Good night, Raleigh.”

He smiled, but it was only a pale version of his true smile. “Good night, Phoenix.”

Callie’s push had left them a day’s drive away if they didn’t dally much. Callie tried to delay the inevitable by telling herself they were still a good distance away. A whole eight hours left to go. They weren’t even in the right state yet. Then, a whole two hundred miles left to go; a whole three major cities; the whole stretch of that road …

As if even the weather tried to match the mood, the skies burst open a few dozen miles before Callie’s childhood town. It was a sudden and swift downpour, and by the time Raleigh could activate the car’s roof, they were soaked to the skin. They tried to dry themselves off when the rain stopped, but with the heavy, thick humidity, they might as well jump into the nearest pond and get the same effect.

“It’s getting late,” Raleigh said. “We can stop in town for tonight.”

One more night before she’d have to face her family. It sounded like heaven … and hell. “No. We’re going there now.”

“Callie …”

“You’re the one who brought a convertible into Louisiana.”

“To my defense, it’s served us well until now.”

The Guidrys’ house was on the very outskirts of Athame. Callie circumvented the town proper to head straight home. Night descended and brought out hooting and chirping noises from the surrounding bayou as she drove carefully down the muddy road. Old trees with crooked branches stifled in moss hung over them, welcoming them into their embrace—or warning them to back off while they still could.

Five more minutes. I have five more minutes of freedom left.

And then they were there. The trees parted to allow a small house to be nestled amongst them. Two stories, raised on stilts; a porch covered in plants and dreamcatchers and little lanterns, twinkling through the darkness. Callie thought she’d forgotten what it looked like, but as she drove up to it, every detail ignited more memories, setting off a chain reaction of pain. In the velvety black night, it looked friendly and welcoming, the light streaming through the first-story windows promising a safe place to stay.

For anyone but her.

“That’s the one?” Raleigh said. “Looks nice.”

Callie didn’t answer. She got out of the car, slammed the door shut, and walked up to the porch. Raleigh’s steps echoed hers, but he stopped when she did, reaching the front door.

She heard them.

Voices came from inside the house: a bit of laughing, a bit of yelling, a bit of screeching—all friendly, judging by the tone. Instead of knocking, an invisible thread pulled Callie’s hand toward the potted plant hanging by the door, and she dug for the spare key. There was no reason they’d still keep it there—and yet, when her fingers closed around the cold metal, every memory fell into place. Digging for this key when she came home from school, tired and sweaty from carrying her backpack through the bayou but happy to be home and free for the day. Playing on the makeshift swing behind the house. Catching butterflies. Running around with—

Callie closed his eyes and clenched her fingers around the key. In one swift motion, she unlocked the door and stepped into the house.

The entrance hallway was still cluttered to the point of being nearly impassable. Clothes, shoes, plants; a bowl of marbles and a box of dice on the console table; amulets hanging off the walls; Aunt Phoebe’s whole collection of bizarre bronze animal statuettes.

“That’s it! I’m not playing with you anymore,” a voice came from the open doorway to the left. Callie drifted toward it.

“You say that every time,” another woman’s voice, older, replied.

“You’re not telling me shvitz is a word.”

“I ain’t telling you nothing, it’s all in the dictionary.”

The view opened into the living room. Shelves lined the walls, overflowing with stacks of cards, wooden boxes with strange symbols, and even a crystal ball. Hand-woven and macraméed decorations filled the rest of the walls, wooden floors, and the table, currently seating three women.

The floor creaked as Callie entered. Her mom, facing toward the doorway, saw her first, and her eyes widened. Aunt and Nana were still arguing over the unfinished Scrabble game on the table but shut up as Mom swatted at them. They all looked up.

“Hi,” Callie said.

Nana removed her glasses, rubbed them with the hem of her tunic, and put them back on. “Callie?”

“Callie,” Mom said.

“Callie,” Aunt repeated.

Raleigh stopped next to her. “That does indeed appear to be her name,” he said.

“What are you doing here?” Aunt asked.

“You’re back,” Mom said at the same time.

“Why’s that boy so pale?” Nana went.

“Momma, you can’t just ask people why they’re white,” Aunt said.

“I ain’t talking about that. His soul is pale.”

“Stop it, you two.” Mom walked around the table and approached Callie, wringing her hands. She paused before her, then leaped into a hug, squeezing her tight.

Callie stood straight, trying to fight back the tears in her eyes. She didn’t even know why she was crying.

“You came back, baby,” Mom whispered when she finally released the hug.

“Now she only needs to explain why,” Nana yelled.

“Why?” Raleigh looked to Nana and then to Callie, raising his eyebrows. “You didn’t tell your family we were coming?”

***

To say Raleigh was overwhelmed would be putting it mildly. Not only was the house itself a sensory overload; there were also the three women, arguing and yelling over each other, and he was still trying to figure out their relations.

The oldest one, sitting at the table, had to be at least eighty; she was thin, with a heavily wrinkled face that contrasted her stark white, frizzy hair. But even at her age, she didn’t appear frail, and her eyes, hidden behind thick glasses, held a lively gleam.

The other two were of a similar age—in their fifties, or sixty, perhaps, and looked uncannily alike. The one hugging Callie had tightly braided hair, pulled into a bun, and wore simple clothes—an oversized cardigan and pants of a washed-out pink. The other wore her hair loose, with a scarf in a bright floral pattern, and tucked her hands into the pockets of her overalls as she stood from the table.

The woman next to Callie looked at him—a quick, cursory glance, but he couldn’t help but feel he was being studied. “You’re damn right she didn’t tell us anything. Won’t even respond to our texts, and now here she is, appearing on our doorstep in the middle of the night like she’s about to snatch our souls away.”

“Mom,” Callie muttered.

“Penelope, but you can call me Penny,” the woman said, offering him a hand.

“Raleigh.”

“Raleigh,” she repeated after him, stretching out the a . “Mind spelling that for me?”

“I’ve been here for one minute, and you’re already doing your thing?” Callie said, exasperated.

“You haven’t been here for thirteen years,” the older woman said. “So you’ll stay quiet and let your momma do her thing, child.”

“It’s all right, Momma.” Penny threw a glance over her shoulder.

The older woman hmmph -ed and walked over to Raleigh. She was even shorter than Callie, thanks to her slightly hunched bearing; but her hands were strong and warm as she gripped his, and for a split second, he felt something electric-like when they touched.

“Hoo, boy.” The woman drew her hands away, and put one on his chest, above his heart, instead. “You’ve got a big old problem, don’t you?”

“You know?” Raleigh said.

“Momma’s a psychic,” Penny explained. “She can read people, tell their energies and … other things.”

“I thought you guys talked to ghosts,” Raleigh said.

“That would be Phoebe,” Penny replied, pointing to the third woman, who raised her hand in acknowledgment. “She’s the medium.”

“And you may call me Iris,” the older woman said. “I’m no guy.”

“Uh—I was—”

“She’s messing with you,” Penny said. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I don’t need to mess with him no further,” Iris said. “That poor boy’s got a bigger jumble inside of him than Old Herbert’s got in his work shed.”

“I don’t know about Herbert’s level of organization, but you’re not wrong,” Raleigh said.

“Ha!” Iris hit her knees. “Look at him. He’s funny, too. Good thing you brought him here,” she said to Callie. “Don’t worry, child. We’ll fix your boyfriend right up.”

“He’s not my—” Callie objected.

“You can?” Raleigh said at the same time.

Iris went over to Callie, put a hand over her heart, glanced back at Raleigh, then challenged Callie with a raised eyebrow.

Callie slumped her shoulders.

Raleigh leaned toward Penny since she seemed the most reasonable. “What’s happening?”

“You can’t lie to Momma,” Penny said. “Anyway, why don’t you two sit down and tell us what’s wrong?” She moved to the sofa and shook a blanket laid over it.

Callie wavered, but Penny sat down and patted the sofa, and Callie finally sat, her posture as straight as a stick. Raleigh sat on the far side of the sofa.

“Sim—uh, Raleigh is turning into a ghost.” Callie sounded slightly nauseous. “He’s starting to fade away. I thought you might be able to help.”

“That’s the end of the story.” Phoebe leaned on the backrest. “What’s the beginning?”

“It began four years ago,” Raleigh said. “When I died. About a year later, I woke up in another body, as my soul was mistakenly pulled there, instead of …” Hold on. Weren’t they missing someone?

Rapid knocking came from the door. Phoebe went to get it and brought a young blonde woman back to the living room.

Raleigh stared at her, needing a moment to recall. Shanna. How had he forgotten her name? Or her, in general? It had only been two days.

“Hi.” Shanna waved at everyone. “Sorry I’m late. Got stuck in the mud.”

Callie was also squinting at her as if she struggled to remember.

“She’s with us,” Raleigh said. “She also needs your help. The problems are intertwined.”

“Go ahead,” Penny said.

Raleigh and Shanna intermittently explained their situation, from Shanna’s failed resurrection ritual to the two souls fading away. Callie’s family listened, occasionally nodding or asking for clarification; behaving as if they were attorneys, come to for advice regarding the neighbor’s fence, not listening to a story about ghosts and resurrections.

“Can I see that book?” Penny asked, and Shanna gave her the purple book she’d previously shown them. Phoebe and Iris flocked to Penny and looked over each of her shoulders as Penny leafed through it.

“Fascinating.” Phoebe lifted her eyes to Shanna. “Where did you get this?”

“It was in my family’s collection.”

“Normal families don’t have collections like this,” Iris said. She waddled over to Shanna and held her hand. “Oh, honey. I see. I’m sorry.”

Shanna gave her a small smile. “I don’t suppose you could help me?”

“You know as well as I do there’s nothing to be done about it.”

Shanna only nodded and lowered her gaze to the floor.

“I reckon with this and the texts we have, we could figure something out,” Penny said. “We’ll need a few days, though, and we’ll have to examine you”—she looked at Raleigh—“and the locket with the other soul.”

“But for now, it’s getting late,” Phoebe said.

“Are you kidding? It’s barely to the witching hour,” Iris responded.

“Our guests will be tired, Momma. We should continue tomorrow.”

“Good.” Callie stood, her movements wooden. “We’ll be back then.”

“Where are you going?” Penny asked.

“To town, to find a place to sleep.” Callie looked at Raleigh and nodded her head.

“But, baby—”

Phoebe put a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “It’s all right, Penny. Let her go. She’ll be back tomorrow.”

Penny sighed. “At least change, yes? You’re soaked to the bone, and with this road, it’s at least twenty minutes to town. You’ll catch a cold if you go out like this.” She looked at Raleigh. “You, too. We’ll find you something warm and dry. Callie, some clothes should still be in your room.”

Callie’s hands clenched into fists, but then she released them. “Fine.” She stomped up the stairs, the wooden planks banging underneath her feet.

By the time Raleigh was outfitted with dry clothes, Callie still wasn’t back. “Is she all right?” he asked her mother.

“No,” Iris responded instead. “But she will be.”

“I should go after her.” Penny made a move toward the stairs.

Iris touched her shoulder, stopping her. “Let the boy go. You two will talk later.” She nodded at Raleigh.

He glanced at Penny, who only looked sad, and Phoebe, who shrugged at him, her lips quirking in a smile.

“First door on the right,” Iris said.

So up he went. Callie had left the door ajar; he knocked softly, then peeked in. It was as if he’d stepped back in time, to the bit of Callie’s life he’d never seen before. The bit that preceded the graduation photo in her apartment; the bit she’d deleted from her life. It remained here: in the fairy lights, spreading from the wall beside her bed all the way to her work desk; in the glow-in-the-dark stars glued to the ceiling; in the medals and trophies displayed on the shelf above the desk.

Callie sat on her bed—a narrow one covered in a dark blue sheet with a space print. A younger Callie’s bed. She wasn’t moving and barely blinked as she stared at the wall across.

Carefully and slowly, Raleigh sat next to her.

“I can’t be here,” she said in a low voice. “I can’t do this. I can’t let it happen to you, too.”

“Let what happen?”

Callie’s whole body shook, and she collapsed toward him. He caught her in his arms as the dam broke, and she cried into his shoulder. Something cold and metallic hit his thigh—a framed photograph she was holding in her hand. Old, but well-preserved behind glass, it showed two girls smiling and hugging each other. They couldn’t be more than ten years old, and looked so alike Raleigh had to study the photo for several seconds before he recognized Callie. But who was the other one?

“Her name was Camille,” Callie said. “I called her Mila. Some called her Cam because it sounded similar to my name. Cal and Cam, they’d say. The dynamic duo. The little rascals.” She sniffled. “I miss her so much.”

“Mila,” he repeated. He’d heard that name before. “Your dreams. You called for her in your dreams.”

“My nightmares,” she corrected him. “She was my best friend.”

“And now?”

“Now …” Callie stared at the photo. “She’s my ghost.”