White Witch, Black Curse

It didn't help that most of the dinner conversation had centered on Robbie and Cindy. They were obviously serious about each other, and I could just see my mother becoming happier by the moment because Robbie might start a family and find himself part of the "circle of life." I'd given up on the white picket fence after Kisten had died—finding out my kids would be demons was the nail in the coffin—but seeing Robbie getting kudos for doing something I deemed not socially responsible for me to pursue was irritating. Sibling rivalry sucked.

With Marshal here, I could at least pretend. Both Mom and Robbie were impressed that he'd just sold his own business with enough profit to put him through getting his master's without having to work at all. The swim-coach thing now was just to lower his tuition and give him a whole lot more disposable income. I'd hoped he'd heard from admissions about my declined check by now, but apparently not everyone was working over the winter break.

Giving Robbie a light smack from the back of her hand for the suck-up comment, my mother pointed out to Marshal where the glasses went, then busied herself arranging the last of the solstice cookies on a plate. The round sugar cookies were bright with solstice green and gold, and lettered with runes of good fortune. My mom put her heart into everything she did.

As soon as her back was turned, Robbie threatened to shoot another jet of water at me. I closed my eyes and ignored him. I'd been trying to get him alone all night to ask him about that book, but between Marshal and my mother, I hadn't had the chance. I was going to have to bring in some help. Marshal wasn't devious by nature, but he wasn't slow on the uptake either.

Humming happily, my mom sashayed out with a plate of cookies. The stereo in the living room went on, and I grimaced. I had thirty seconds, tops.

"Marshal," I said, pleading with my eyes as I handed him a plate. "I've got a big favor to ask. I'll tell you all about it later, but will you keep my mom busy for about ten minutes?"

Robbie stopped what he was doing and just looked at me. "What's up, firefly?"

My mom came back in, and following the pattern we'd laid down when we were conniving kids, Robbie turned back to the sink as if I'd said nothing.

"Please…," I whispered to Marshal when he came back from sliding the stack of plates away. "I've got to talk to Robbie about something."

Oblivious, my mom puttered with the coffeemaker, jostling Robbie and me aside and looking small next to us as she filled the carafe.

"Marshal," Robbie said, eyes twinkling as they met mine behind my mom's back. "You look as tired as a dead carp. Rachel and I can finish here. Why don't you go and sit in the living room and wait for coffee? Look at a few photo albums."

Immediately my mother brightened. "What a fantastic idea! Marshal, you must see the photos we took on our last summer vacation. Rachel was twelve, and just starting to have some strength," she said, taking his elbow. "And Rachel will bring the coffee out when it's done." Smiling, she turned to me. "Don't be too long, you two," she said, but the lilt in her voice gave me pause. I think she knew I was getting rid of them. My mom was nuts; she was not stupid.

I slipped my hands into the warm water and pulled out a dripping serving platter. From the front of the house came Marshal's resonant voice. It sounded good balanced against my mom's. Dinner had been pleasant, but again, almost painful listening to Robbie go on and on about Cindy, my mom joining in when they talked about her two weeks out there. I was jealous, but everyone I got attached to seemed to end up hurt, dead, or crooked. Everyone but Ivy and Jenks, and I wasn't sure about the crooked part with them.

"Well, what is it?" Robbie said, dropping the silverware so the rinse water splashed.

Quietly I ran the back of my hand across my chin. And here I am, trying to resurrect a ghost. Maybe I could be friends with a ghost. I wouldn't be able to kill him. "Remember that book you gave me for the winter solstice?" I asked.

"No."

My eyes came up, but he wouldn't meet them. His jaw was clenched, making his long face appear longer. "The one that I used to bring—" I started.

"No." It was forceful, and my lips parted when I realized he meant no as in "I'm not telling," not "I don't know."

"Robbie!" I exclaimed softly. "You've got it?"

My brother rubbed his eyebrows. It was one of his tells. He was either lying, or about to. "I've no clue what you're talking about," he said as he wiped off the suds he'd just put there.

"Liar," I accused, and his jaw tightened. "It's mine," I said, then softened my voice when Marshal raised his voice to cover us up. "You gave it to me. I need it. Where is it?"

"No." His gaze was intent and his voice determined as he scoured the pan the roast had been in. "It was a mistake to give it to you, and it's going to stay right where it is."

"Which is…," I prompted, but he continued to scrub, his short hair moving as he did.