to try.”
Blue snorts. “Is there one to help with organizational skills?”
I grin as I locate the garlic powder. “Judging from the state of Jeannie’s storeroom, I don’t think so.” She’s one of those people who swears that they have a system, but it’s entirely opaque to every other human being on the planet.
Which is fine. We all needed projects to settle ourselves, and some of us shouldn’t be trusted with power tools. Violet and I are about half done with the sorting. Fortunately, Jeannie had a great eye for quirky and memorable. Violet has hardly frowned at all as we’ve dug through the piles. Which is impressive. She hates piles.
Blue taps in another nail. “I like this color, Vee. It’s pretty as the light changes.”
It’s an indeterminate shade of soft purple-gray, and I kind of covet it now that I’ve seen it up on Blue’s wall. It’s not likely that I’m getting it, however. That would break some kind of cardinal rule in Violet’s brain. I unwrap a stick of butter and put it in the microwave to soften it. “How do the energies in this town feel about garlic?”
Violet laughs. “I don’t think there are any vampires.”
I’m not worried about the residents of this town that I can’t see. It’s the visible ones that are generally the problem. I shoot her a careful look as I reach for the baguette that’s leaning against the side of the fridge. “Is anyone grating on you? Do we need to switch our apartments around?” Mine is tucked around the back of the building, which seems like a really smart place to stash an empath.
She shakes her head and keeps stitching. “That one’s meant to be yours. Can’t you feel it?”
She keeps hoping we’re going to grow the proper sensory appendages at some point. Just like she still wants gills so she can be a mermaid. “Nope. I like the view, though.” Water as far as the eye can see while nestled in a cozy pile of pillows and blankets on the couch. Or that will be true once the pillows, blankets, and couch arrive. Those have been deemed acceptable to move.
Blue grins. “You could have this apartment, Indi. It would be easier to bat your eyelashes at the sexy guy who lives across the street.”
Violet teasing me is standard. If Blue gets in on the action, I’m hooped. “Daylight beams in these windows at the crack of dawn.” Which is why my camping mattress is currently tucked into Blue’s biggest closet. Cancer-moon survival measures.
Blue shoots me a wry look. “You can move in with Violet as soon as I get her last wall painted.”
I’d be doing that even if the morning light wasn’t trying to murder me. Capricorns need their space. Especially ones who have only just discovered that particular treasure. “Am I slathering loads of butter on this bread, or just a little so we can be virtuous and have tiramisu ice cream for dessert?”
Violet grins. “That’s why we’re having salad.”
Her math has always been strange. It also almost always produces an answer that feels right, no matter how wonky the numbers are. Salad, garlic bread, and fancy Italian ice cream, it is. I dig into the fridge for things that look green and healthy—and feel myself smiling.
There are three people growing bright-green shoots right here in this apartment.
Chapter Nine
DREW
“The town is all aflutter about your date.”
I glare at the corner where Mabel hangs out. It’s got her comfy chair, her reading light with the dancing pigs on the lampshade, and the balls of colorful yarn that make her happy.
She snickers. “Fine. They would be aflutter if someone bothered to tell them. Which you should. It’s a big step, a fine man like you showing interest in another human being for the first time in years.”
I scowl at the blue on my paintbrush. It’s still not right. “Ghosts are human beings.” She’s spent thirty-nine years proving that they’re some of the very best ones.
Two balls of yarn change places in her basket. “We’re dead and invisible. That has its limitations.”
I add a little orange to my blue, which will probably just make mud, but it needs something, and not the usual suspects. “So I’ve been told.”
A current in the room, which is Mabel’s equivalent of whacking me upside the head. She grew up in rough-and-tumble times—or tended bar in them, anyhow. “Don’t you be getting smart with me, Andrew Bartholomew.”
It’s early in the day for my middle name to show up.