“When I like died, I like told my husband to drop me somewhere beautiful. I meant a fountain in the middle of a shopping complex or something. But he was like an idiot and he found a pretty creek and scattered me into it.” The ghost looked as if she’d died in the ’80s during an unfortunate hair crimping accident, and spoke with the annoying ditziness of a Valley girl. The end of each sentence rose in pitch like she was asking a question, even when she wasn’t.

Charlotte took a deep breath, willing the spirit to stop talking. She tried concentrating on what she’d discovered about her missing memories, and the dead woman wouldn’t give her a moment’s peace.

Some apparitions flashed in and out of view suddenly, like they’d seen one too many jump-scares in horror movies, and liked to startle those who could see them. Others, like the annoyance chattering away beside her, floated as if stirred by an invisible breeze.

Sheriff Johnson’s squad car drove past. The man lifted his hand out of the driver’s side window in greeting. Charlotte’s heart quickened as thoughts of what happened on the sheriff’s lawn surged forward. She barely managed a weak smile in return, and walked faster.

Amber didn’t pay attention to their surroundings as the whine of her voice became a steady buzz. “Little did I know Wisconsin is where I would be stuck for eternity. If I did, I would have been a little more specific in my locations.”

Charlotte glanced behind her at downtown. She wasn’t sure her small town deserved the disdain in Amber’s diatribe. The red brick streets weren’t too busy. The weather was mild, not that the ghost would have been able to tell. People waved at each other, talked about football and the new local celebrities, the MacGregors. The streets were clean, the children—mostly—behaved, and neighbors helped neighbors.

Charlotte shivered, again thinking of the bonfire. Neighbors had been there, helping her to drink from a goblet of poison. A couple of cars moved past. Town gossip, Mrs. Callister, drove slower than the speed limit, much to the obvious dismay of the family of four stuck behind her. She had a pencil stuck behind her ear, always ready to jot down anything she considered newsworthy. The old woman’s eyes met Charlotte’s in disapproval. That was nothing new, but Charlotte also remembered Callister’s face highlighted by fire and her lips moving as if to chant.

Amber kept babbling. “You would have thought he had the sense to take me to California. There is like no shopping here and nature is grotty to the max. I saw a dog relieving himself in the woods and the owner just left it.”

Charlotte paused on her way up the hill toward Lydia’s house. “Hey, Amber, you should like go find the light or something.” Charlotte mocked the spirit’s Valley girl accent.

“Like, for sure,” Amber agreed. “So how long have you been dead?”

How long had it been since Amber started talking to her?

“About twenty minutes,” Charlotte answered, again quickening her pace.

“Bummer. We should definitely—” Amber’s words abruptly stopped and she was gone.

Charlotte took a deep breath. Ghosts were a relatively new development in her life, and they didn’t find her too often. The only one she saw consistently was Lydia’s Gramma Annabelle. Since she’d always believed in the possibility of ghosts, she had an easier time than most accepting spirits when they first appeared. However, something no one ever seemed to take into consideration was that, being formerly alive people, ghosts could be as annoying as they were in life. Take chatty Amber for example. She’d hardly paused in her twenty-minute ode to her own awesome.

Though Charlotte wasn’t sure what happened to Amber’s spirit, she could guess that the protective mojo Annabelle had put around the house during her life had blocked the ghost from following. As a green witch, Annabelle had been all about protective spells and potions, herbs and natural healing.

Charlotte didn’t bother to knock as she pulled open the screen door and entered Lydia’s kitchen. No one used the front door as the kitchen entry led out to the driveway and sidewalk to town. The old Victorian might be Lydia’s home, but it was also Charlotte’s place of work. The house had originally belonged to the estate on the hill, and had been built for the estate owner’s mother-in-law. Later the house became servants’ quarters before finally being purchased by Lydia’s grandfather. Lydia inherited it when Gramma Annabelle died. The MacGregors now owned the mansion on the hill, and with Lydia’s marriage to Erik MacGregor, it looked like the estate was once again made whole.

Charlotte nearly tripped on the handcart they used to haul packages down the hill to the post office. Irritated by the mishap, she grumbled as she sidestepped the trolley and put the food bags on the table. She had hoped the walk would calm her temper and give her some answers, but she was still shaking—her nerves were raw as ever, and her mind whirred worse than before.

The smell of lilies filled the air and she glanced around the familiar kitchen. The pink curtains were new, but still reminded Charlotte of Gramma Annabelle’s old-fashioned décor. The cream-colored walls were the same as they always were. Lotion bottles were lined up on the countertops, ready to be filled. Love Potions’ storefront was technically the living room off the kitchen, with a small entryway by the front door. Shelves filled the space, with overflow stored in a coat closet, cabinets, and about anywhere else they could shove a bottle of lotion. Locals seemed to enjoy the homey atmosphere and never complained about stopping in to pick up their orders. A stairwell led to three bedrooms and a bathroom. Lydia lived there with her husband now, but there had been many nights Charlotte crashed in a guest room.

The business had nearly tripled in sales over the last year. Euann had worked on redesigning the company website and now orders were pouring in. There had even been discussion of renting a building downtown and hiring a couple of part-time workers to handle the extra production.

Yes, Charlotte knew orders were a good thing, and she was happy that Lydia’s business was taking off. But as the business grew, it lost the laid-back feel she loved. Like Charlotte’s apartment, this house used to be a sanctuary. Now nothing made sense. Everything was changing.

“You might as well come out, I can smell the lilies,” Charlotte said as she placed the food bags on the table. She retrieved a fork from the silverware drawer and sat down. As angry as she was, her stomach had been growling in protest and she couldn’t resist Alana’s fettuccini with basil and tomato.

Annabelle materialized wearing the green, sparkling ball gown she’d been buried in. Her transparent form wasn’t as strong as it had been in the past, but she looked completely aware of her surroundings. When she moved, she glided more than walked.

“Hello, sweet dear,” Annabelle said softly.

Charlotte shoved a forkful of pasta into her mouth.

“How are you?” the ghost insisted.

She shoved in another forkful and chewed.

“Oh, poo. You’re mad.”

At Annabelle’s mild version of cussing, Charlotte arched a brow and looked directly at her.

“It was only once. Or twice. Not more than a dozen times.” Annabelle smiled guiltily. “I swear I didn’t hurt you. I just tried to hitch a ride so that I could carry spell bags of my hair and blood out into town. I really want to increase my haunting territory and Lydia won’t do it for me. She thinks I’ll cause trouble and start appearing to the wrong people.”

Annabelle had been trying to possess her? Charlotte didn’t say a word.

“You tell me you don’t think that ol’ goody two-shoes Mrs. Callister doesn’t deserve a little friendly haunting. How many times did she publish nonsense about us in her little community newsletter?” Annabelle paused, as if expecting an answer.

“You jumped into my body?”

“You were sleeping,” Annabelle said, as if that made it all right. “You didn’t know? That’s not why you’re mad?”

Charlotte turned to her meal with renewed force. The more she found out truths, the more she wasn’t sure she could take any more. What would be next? She’d be abducted by aliens and probed?

“So, you figured the other thing out, did you?” Annabelle became a little more corporeal as if she’d put more thought into manifesting herself. She crossed over to Charlotte and placed a hand on her arm to keep her from angrily filling her mouth another time. “Slow down or you’ll choke.”

Charlotte couldn’t feel the touch, except for the extreme cold radiating from transparent fingers, and lifted her fork to take another bite. A shiver ran over her as she passed through the hand. When she swallowed, she grumbled, “Why? Don’t you want company?”

Annabelle’s body dissipated into a blurry gust of air as she blew against the to-go container on the table and slid it away from Charlotte’s angry fork. Charlotte was already in mid-action and stabbed the table.

“Hey,” Charlotte protested.

“I know you’re upset, but there will be no more talk of dying on my watch.” Annabelle fluttered back to stand in front of Charlotte. She gestured over her transparent body. “Death is no picnic. Sure, I look great all the time, and I’ve clearly lost weight, and I can still stick my nose in people’s business, and floating through walls is fun, and—”

“Are you convincing me to join you or not to join you? I’m confused.” Charlotte reached across the table for her food and pulled it back in front of her. This time when she ate, she was a little calmer about it.

“Your life isn’t even half over,” Annabelle said. “You have so much—”

“Everyone I know lied to me. They let me believe I was crazy, that I was blacking out and losing time. But it turns out the nightmares are true. Sheriff Johnson had a bonfire on his lawn and I was the main event at the barbeque. Apparently, Lydia married a shifter cat man who is magical and throws balls of light as his sister.”

“I know it’s a lot to take in, but—”

Charlotte felt sorrow replacing the anger. “All that I can handle. I can take the entire world falling apart around me.”

Lydia appeared in the doorway of the kitchen and smiled in surprise. “Char, hi, I didn’t hear you come in.”

Charlotte looked at Lydia, but continued speaking to Annabelle. “But what I can’t deal with, Gramma, is my best friend lying to me.”

“Wait, what?” Lydia gasped, looking at the spirit of her grandmother for help. “Charlotte…?”

Charlotte pointed at the chicken Parmesan container still in the food bag. “I brought you lunch, and I quit.”

Lydia gasped again. Annabelle tried to speak but Charlotte didn’t hear her. Unsure what she was doing, she stood up and walked out of the kitchen door.

“Wait, Charlotte!” Lydia called after her. “Come back! I can explain. I…”

Charlotte walked faster, fighting tears. For some reason, she found herself moving away from town into the woods. She didn’t want to meet up with Niall, or Amber, or the townsfolk she’d called friends. She’d prayed to fill in the missing time, and now that she had answers, she wished she could forget again.

“Hey, can you see me yet?”

Charlotte automatically glanced at the woman’s spirit standing by a tree. It was a reflex, and she instantly regretted it. The woman had long brown hair and wore a white gown. The details of the transparent figure were hard to distinguish, but it could have been a modest nightgown of sorts. The words were accented and soft, like an English lady. Perhaps the former lady of the estate, or a maid? Such a thing would not be unheard of.

“Oh, good, finally.” The ghost drifted to walk alongside Charlotte. “Please, you have to tell me, where am I? Where is this place?”

She hoped answering would send the spirit away. “Green Vallis, Wisconsin, in the woods. You’re dead. You should move on. There’s nothing for you here.”

“I don’t know this Wisconsin,” the ghost said. “Tell me, which way to Huntingdon?”

Charlotte frowned. With the accent, the ghost probably meant some place in England.

“My father has a farm near there. If you would but help me in the right direction, I am sure I can find my way home.” The ghost lifted her hand in a rolling gesture that blurred in the air.

“You’re a long way from England.” Charlotte walked faster, ducking her head as she moved through the trees.

“The helpless act is not working, is it?” The ghost’s voice changed from the confused whispers of a lost soul to irritation. “Shame. It’s so much easier if you’d open yourself up and come with me willingly.”

Charlotte stopped suddenly as the apparition appeared in front of her. The face had changed from the docile maiden to a frightening lady with sunken eyes and cheeks. The pupils of her eyes were completely white and her skin moved as if covered by tiny insects.

“No bother,” the ghost stated nonchalantly. Her brown hair flew, enveloping her shoulders and then spiraling around her features, even in the still forest where there was neither wind nor breeze to speak of. “We’ll do this the hard way.”