After too many hours of travel, Aspen stood in the gathering gloom at the end of their driveway – and that would never stop being weird – suddenly reluctant to take the last few steps that would make everything real.
Everything looked just as they had last seen it – save for the missing sign out front (“Magick Marcy’s”) that Mum must have had removed. The modest-sized cottage - by local standards, it was easily three times the size of their Toronto apartment if you included the finished basement - sat on nearly an acre of land that backed onto a wood lot, with a large pollinator garden beside the house.
Finally, Aspen shook off their hesitation and rolled their bag up the path to the private entrance at the back of the house, where a portion of the patio had been converted to a small sun porch and mud room that also served as an entry way off the kitchen. While the usual pile of shoes for various occasions had been cleared away, they felt a sharp pang at the sight of Aunt Marcy’s jacket still hanging on a hook by the door.
Overwhelmed by memories, Aspen made their way slowly through the house.
Walking into the kitchen was like stepping back in time. All of Aunt Marcy’s kitschy potholders and hand towels still hung from hooks by the stove. The dark, dated cabinets and linoleum floor only made the large, modern-looking island – complete with a sink and bar-style seating - seem even more out of place. But Aunt Marcy had always cared more about function than form.
On the fridge, still festooned with tacky witch-themed fridge magnets, was a note from mum.
Cleaned out the fridge for you. Love,
Mum
Aspen smiled and made a vague salute in the direction of Ontario. “Thanks, Mum.”
The rest of the house felt similarly full of ghosts. The dining room walls had long since been knocked out to make the first floor semi-open concept. On the dining room table was a half-finished puzzle that Aspen supposed their mother hadn’t been able to put away. They couldn’t bring themself to touch it either.
In the living room, Aspen half expected to see Aunt Marcy curled up in her favorite chair – an elderly overstuffed armchair that was possibly the most comfortable thing Aspen had ever sat on. A sharp pang of memory assaulted them as they thought of all the family holidays and Christmases Aunt Marcy had hosted from that chair.
Aspen walked back toward the kitchen, turned right past the stairs to the basement, and went into the master bedroom, which shared a wall with the kitchen. Next to the queen-sized bed stood a bedside table with a stack of presumably unread books. On the far wall there was a small library with several shelves full of books – half books about magic and half… fantasy bodice-ripper romance novels? They chuckled at that, bemused.
The outside wall was dominated by a large bay window with a window seat that had been converted into an altar, which still held several candle holders and various other ritual tools and items. Aspen closed their eyes against the stab of pain that accompanied the reminder that they wouldn’t be able to turn to their aunt for advice about magic anymore. Even though they had been practicing magic since their teenage years, the knowledge made them feel strangely untethered.
When Aspen had first started having their gender crisis, they had done what any good Irish Catholic would have done, which was bury their gender feelings as deep as possible and refuse to acknowledge them, let alone think about what those feelings meant. Predictably, that deep denial of self had spilled over into their magic, which became increasingly difficult and unreliable.
Convinced that the problem was something they were doing wrong, Aspen meditated on it and did countless divinations but was unable to get a handle on the problem. Finally, they’d called Aunt Marcy on the phone and talked for more than an hour – about everything but their gender.
A few days later, an express envelope had arrived from Aunt Marcy containing only a single tarot card, the Empress, with a question mark added in permanent marker. It was such a small gesture, but it had pierced through Aspen’s denial, making them feel both seen and accepted before they were even able to see or accept themself. Nor had she allowed them to self-sabotage by not acting on those feelings once they had acknowledged them – hence that fateful pre-Christmas shopping trip.
With shaking hands, Aspen pulled the frame with the tarot card out of their bag and set it on the altar, feeling very much as if they had come full circle.
“I miss you, Aunt Marcy,” they whispered. “I promise I won’t screw this up.”
✯ ✯ ✯
Aspen woke up far too early to the sound of raucous bird song outside their window, spent another hour tossing and turning, and finally gave up and got out of bed at half past six. After rummaging through the cupboards, they made themself a coffee - which they took out to the sun room to enjoy the sunrise. The three-season sunroom wasn’t enough to keep out the early spring chill, but the heavy blanket left on the small wicker loveseat was enough to keep them warm. Struck by the vast contrast to their previous early morning routines, Aspen couldn’t help taking a selfie to send to Becks.
Aspen
Enjoying sunrise in my sunroom - which is the size of my entire kitchen at the last place.
What even is my life???
Their things weren’t set to arrive for several more days, but Aspen was restless with the need to do something productive. So rather than lounge in bed, they pulled some clothes out of their suitcase at random and got dressed. They peeked into the bathroom on their way past, which was between the main bedroom and the client reception and waiting area at the front of the house and saw that their mother had clearly removed their aunt’s sprawling collection of cosmetics.
The reception area, for clients who preferred to discuss their problems in-person, was in what had once been a second bedroom, and the front door – which had once opened into the living room – had been moved to open into the client area instead. Against the front wall was a small seating area with a low table and several comfortable chairs. Along the back wall, a counter had been installed to serve as storage and a place to ring up purchases for tourists. (Aunt Marcy had kept a number of pre-made charms and other tacky souvenirs specifically for that purpose.)
It was only as Aspen surveyed the front room that they noticed the small box of business cards – freshly updated with their name, address, and the email that they’d used for magical gig work – that had been left on the counter in the front hall where Aunt Marcy had served customers. Beside the box was another note.
I also ordered an ad in next week’s paper, and in the local chamber of commerce. Social media and a website is your problem. Love,
Mum
Aspen smiled fondly at the note, wondering how many such notes they would find scattered around the house before they were fully settled in, tucking it into a pocket.
Aunt Marcy had kept common spell supplies, like jars and pouches, in neatly organized boxes on shelving built into the counter – though they knew from experience that most of her potion making supplies were in the kitchen. And at some point, they’d have to find their aunt’s most recent grimoire, in case she’d been in the middle of working on potion or spell for someone. Unfortunately, since their aunt had been running her practice by herself from her own home, nothing was labeled and they’d have no idea of what supplies there were on hand or where they were kept until they’d done a thorough search of the house.
“Okay,” they muttered. “Let’s start with inventory, then.”
Aspen had just finished counting the various supplies under the counter and started going through the “witch kitsch” Aunt Marcy had made to sell to tourists when there came a knock at the door.
“Come in!” they called out, making a careful note of where they’d been in their count before looking up to see… an astonishingly beautiful man who made them uncomfortably aware of the fact that they were wearing tattered jeggings and no makeup.
Warm brown eyes crinkled into a nervous smile that was framed by long black hair that hung several inches below his shoulders and set off by cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. “Sorry, I saw the lights were on, but I wasn’t sure if you were open for business yet.” The man was dressed in what Aspen tended to think of ‘hipster chic’ – a dark hoodie underneath a lined denim jacket and skinny jeans that showed off a trim figure.
It took Aspen a moment to find their voice. “Oh. Ah. Yes,” they stammered. “Still getting settled in, but. Yes.” They stood and were obscurely pleased to note that they were actually the same height.
The beautiful stranger extended a hand. “Ravindra Singh. Most people call me Rav.”
Aspen throttled down the urge to run their fingers through his gorgeously thick hair and shook his (soft, warm) hand. “Aspen Fahey. They/them.” They smiled, grateful for the practice their job at HexaTech had given in faking composure. “Do you have a preference? Between Ravindra and Rav?”
Rav shrugged. “Not really? Whichever’s easiest. And, uh. He/him.”
“Okay. So, what can I help you with?”
Rav rocked back on his heels as he shoved his hands in his pockets. “I don’t have a lot of experience with this kind of stuff,” he admitted. “But I’m pretty sure my studio is haunted. And it’s making it hard to work.”
Aspen smiled, suddenly feeling on much more solid ground. “Great! I mean, not great. But haunted is easy. Much better than cursed. I’ve got lots of experience with haunted.”
Rav looked confused. “Experience?”
“I mean,” Aspen shrugged, desperately attempting to feign a nonchalance they did not in any way feel. “My previous gig was magical support at HexaTech. They’re pretty evil, so people mail haunted stuff to the corporate offices all the time. When I started, we had an intern just for opening the most obviously haunted stuff.”
“Whoa, for real?”
“Yup. Paid! But not enough, obviously. Anyway, I can definitely help.” After several false starts, they found a pen that worked and flipped open their working notebook to a blank page. “So. Your studio is haunted. Tell me about that. When did it start? What’s been happening?”
Rav frowned thoughtfully. “Well, I don’t know when it started, but I moved into the studio four months ago. Things seemed normal at first, but things started getting a bit weird a few weeks later, and then really weird the last few weeks. I was just about to call your…” his voice trailed off and he made an awkward gesture encompassing the house.
“Aunt,” Aspen supplied.
“Your aunt. But then, uh. My condolences, by the way.”
“Thank you. Now when you say weird, weird how? What kind of things have been happening?”
“Mostly stuff moving around. At first it was just small stuff once in a while, and always when I wasn’t around. But then it happened more and more frequently. And then it wasn’t just one or two things, but lots of things. And lately, stuff has been moving when I’m looking right at it.”
“Okay. Is anything getting broken or being thrown at you?”
“Not really.” Rav crossed his arms, clearly re-examining his memories. “It broke a glass yesterday, but that might not have been on purpose.”
“That’s good! And this has only been in your studio, not anywhere else?”
Rav nodded again.
“So, it’s probably the studio that's haunted, not you personally.” Aspen paused to scribble a few notes. “Sounds like a poltergeist, but not a super malevolent one. Easy-peasy… except.” Aspen chewed their lip thoughtfully. “Most of my witch stuff isn’t here yet, and I haven’t sorted through my aunt’s stuff yet so it might take a few days to get what I need together. But I could come out and have a look, so I know what I’m dealing with?”
Aspen felt slightly dizzy when Rav gave them a dazzling smile, relief written all over his face. “That would be great,” he enthused.
“Cool, so. Uh.” Aspen flushed as they realized they hadn’t put any thought into how they were going to get around in the town they were now living in. “I… don’t have a car. Yet. Actually.” Aspen’s cheeks were so warm that their face must have been beet red.
“That’s okay. I could give you a ride…?” Rav’s voice trailed off as he gestured uncertainly out toward the street. Weirdly, it was the uncertainty that made Aspen’s heart skip a beat. How was it that this insanely beautiful man was as socially anxious as they were?
“I mean, if you don’t mind. Thanks.” Aspen ducked their head, hiding behind their long hair as much as they could. “Just give me a minute to grab some things.”
“No prob.”
Aspen ducked into the bedroom – ostensibly to grab a sweater, but in actuality so they could detour to the bathroom long enough to splash cold water on their cheeks and pull themself together. (Figuratively speaking – they figured it would be weird to change or put on makeup at this point.) “Just. Be. Cool,” they muttered to themself. “Okay, brain? Just. Be cool.”
✯ ✯ ✯
The ride over wasn’t as awkward as Aspen had feared. Without any prompting on their part, Rav took the long way through town (“since you’re new here”) and pointed out some local sights, including some local hidden gems (a small locally-owned café, an independently-owned bookstore, various local restaurants), as well as places to avoid during tourist season. His recommendations were enthusiastic enough to reassure them that he had no ulterior motives, and Aspen found themself unexpectedly moved by the small act of kindness.
The studio itself was a small building on the other side of town. The entrance opened onto a small gallery store filled with framed and matted prints of beautifully rendered nature scenes. “These are beautiful!” Aspen exclaimed, bending close to examine the detail of a lovely bayside sunset scene. “How did you make them?”
Rav grinned, his nervousness gone now that he was on familiar ground. “Watercolor.”
“Amazing…” Aspen stopped themself, holding up their hands apologetically. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get distracted.”
“No need to apologize,” Rav said with a flustered smile.
Aspen glanced around the space but couldn’t identify anything strange. Neither were they able to sense any obvious malevolence. “Does anything here look out of place to you?”
Rav looked around, then shook his head. “Not here. But mostly it stays back in the studio.” He pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door behind the register. “Which is back here.”
Aspen, who had hung out with a lot of artists in university, had expected chaos and mess. They were surprised to instead see a studio that was so immaculate and neatly organized that it barely looked as if it were in use. Even more surprising was Rav’s sudden inarticulate cry of anguish as he strode over to a painting in progress on an easel. “I wasn’t done with that!” he yelled in frustration at the ceiling.
“I take it something was moved?” Aspen asked mildly from the doorway.
“It put my paints away! And the brushes I was using!” Rav gestured in frustration at the large unit of pull-out drawers. “I left out the colors I was using so I’d be able to match them!”
“And… the ghost put them away?”
Rav held up a finger, clearly mistaking their confusion for skepticism. “I know this sounds crazy, but look.” He opened one of the drawers and started tossing tubes of paint on the floor.
Not more than a second later, the tubes lifted themselves off the floor and floated back into the drawer, which then slammed shut.
Aspen blinked in shock. “Well there’s something I’ve never seen before. You have a poltergeist that cleans!”
“And it’s the worst!” Rav snapped, then winced. “Sorry. I shouldn’t snap at you. It’s just that I’m super ADHD and even if it doesn’t look like it, I have a system. Look at what it keeps doing to my desk.” He walked over to a desk so perfect it looked like something out of an interior design blog, opened the top drawer, and pulled out a handful of sticky notes with notes on them. “I need these reminders where I can see them.”
Aspen nodded. “Because when you can’t see them, it’s like they don’t exist.”
Rav looked relieved that they understood. “Exactly. Now look.” He started re-attaching the sticky notes to his monitor, the keyboard, and other locations around his desk. Just as with the paint, the sticky notes detached themselves almost immediately. This time Rav grabbed for them, and they floated toward the ceiling, just out of the frustrated artist’s reach.
“Whoa! Okay.” Aspen had no idea how Rav felt about being touched, but suspected that something larger than a glass was about to get broken if they didn’t intervene. So they stepped forward, grabbed the edge of Rav’s sleeve, and pulled him gently away from the desk. “Let’s just step away for a second.”
Rav seemed to take the redirection as judgment and crumpled in on himself. “Sorry.” He glanced down at their hand on his sleeve and Aspen hastily let go. “I don’t mean to be so crazy. I just…”
“Hey, I am absolutely not judging here,” Aspen said with as much sincerity as they could muster. “I can see why this is a problem, and I do want to help you.” Aspen glanced back over at the desk where the sticky notes were putting themselves back in the drawer. Something about the movement seemed almost… belligerent? “Look, do you mind giving me a minute here by myself?”
Rav sighed, then nodded. “I’ll. I’ll be outside.”
When he was gone, Aspen turned back to the empty studio. With a poltergeist this reactive, it wouldn’t require any magic to work out a basic system of communication. “Okay. One thump for yes, two thumps for no. Do you understand?”
There was a pause, then the sound of a bang from inside a metal supply cabinet. Yes.
“Are you unhappy here? Do you want to move on?”
Two bangs. No.
“Do you have unfinished business?”
Two bangs.No.
“Encouraging.” Aspen thought for a moment, then switched tacks. “Do you like living around people?”
One bang.
“Do you like living with Rav?”
One bang. Two bangs. One bang. Yes… and no?
“Do you have to clean so much?”
One very loud bang. YES.
“Huh. So. You like living with people because you… need to be helpful?”
One bang.
Aspen thought of all the organizing that would have to be done to make Aunt Marcy’s house into their home, and about how much they hated cleaning. “Do you maybe want to come live with me instead? I’m the new witch in town, and I could use the help. Cleaning is usually challenging for me.”
The pause that followed was long enough that Aspen briefly thought they must have offended the poltergeist by asking, but finally there was one small bang.
“Yes? Are you sure?”
One bang. A pause. One more bang.
“Okay.” Aspen smiled. “Are you tied to the studio?”
One bang.
“It might be a few days before I have the tools I need for a spell to move you. Do you think you could leave Rav’s things alone until then?”
Two bangs.
Aspen snorted. “Look, it’s only for a few days and life will be easier for everyone if you compromise.”
Another long silence. Two bangs. Then one bang.
“Okay. How about… you leave Rav’s paints and brushes alone?”
The longest silence yet.
Aspen crossed their arms and tapped their foot.
Finally, one bang.
“Thank you for being reasonable. I’ll be back in a few days.”
When Aspen stepped outside, Rav was pacing nervously in the tiny parking lot in front of the building. “Good news,” they said cheerfully. “The ghost isn’t malevolent, you just got caught in an incompatible roommates situation. It’ll take me a couple days to get things in order, but I’ll move the ghost out of your studio as soon as I can.”
Rav’s face was almost pathetically grateful. “Oh my god, thank you.”
“I mean.” Aspen laughed. “Maybe don’t thank me yet. I convinced the ghost to leave your painting supplies alone, but you’re going to have to put up with it tidying everything else until I can relocate it.”
Rav smiled, and Aspen’s breath caught in their throat at how much it lit up his face. “Hey, I’ll take it.”
✯ ✯ ✯
Rav dropped them back off at the house. As soon as he was gone, Aspen pulled out their phone to text Becks.
Aspen
Becks I’ve been here less than 24 hours and I met the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen in my entire fucking life.
Almost immediately, they got a video call from Becks. “It’s a sign,” she declared without preamble. “Tell me more.”
“He came to the house to get me to help him with a ghost.”
“Not that, dummy. You said he was beautiful. Give me details.”
“He’s… flawless. Athletic hipster, my height, cheekbones that could kill a man… he looks like he just stepped out of a Bollywood movie. Plus, his hair is incredible and he smells amazing.”
“Did this beautiful stranger give you his name?”
“Rav.”
Becks’ eyes narrowed. She brought the phone close to her face. “You’re not telling me something. What aren’t you telling me?”
How did she always know? “I have his number. And we’re getting coffee next week. But.” They cut off Becks’ whoop of celebration. “It’s not a date.”
“Not a date,” Becks scoffed. “He’s beautiful, has incredible hair, and smells amazing. And you just met, and you have his number, and you’ll be getting coffee. How is that not a date?”
“It’s not a date!” Aspen rolled their eyes. “I have his number because I have to call him about a spell I’m doing. And coffee… he’s an artist with his own studio. And Aunt Marcy always made crafty witch kitsch to sell to the tourists, but it’s not really my vibe. So I suggested we collaborate. Maybe make some prints with his art and some witchy blessings or something.”
“Aspen.” Becks gave a long-suffering sigh. “You are your own worst enemy."
Aspen blew a raspberry and hung up.
- - - -
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