I glanced at the clock.
“Two hours left,” Sylvie said. “What now? Ginny?”
“I can try, but I’m not sure how to get in touch with her.” I asked Tamara if she had any thoughts.
With a brisk nod, Tamara said, “Now we consult some toads.”
24
“Ah . . .” But I didn’t have a ready reply to ghostly communication via toad consult.
Clarence might have been right when he said Tamara was crazy. Intermittently, she'd put on a good show of sanity, but it looked like the cat was out of the bag. Or perhaps the toad?
“Oh, fun!” Lilac clapped her hands. Immediately her enthusiasm died. “I’m so sorry. That was insensitive. Of course I’m worried about Clarence, but”—her eyes lit up again—“toads!”
And now everyone was insane. Or I was the slow kid in the class, the one with spitballs stuck in his hair. “I guess I missed that seminar. How does one consult with toads?”
“Oh, no.” Sylvie looked faintly queasy. “This doesn’t have anything to do with entrails, does it? I don’t think I could kill a toad.” Her color fled, followed by a warm flush.
“Why would we kill a toad?” Tamara looked confused and a little concerned. “We’re going to talk to one.”
Because that made so much more sense. Maybe I was overreacting. In the grander scheme of things, talking toads weren’t all that shocking a concept. After all, my housemate was a talking bobcat.
Tamara stopped rummaging in her bag, looked up, and said, “If I can find a sociable one at this time of day. It wouldn’t be a problem at all if it were dusk or later.” Then she returned to her bag.
“And what exactly will this toad tell us? Assuming we can find one.” I blinked at the marble Tamara pulled triumphantly from her bag.
“I thought I had one in here, though I did pack this bag some time ago.” She rolled the large marble in her fingers. “One should never be without a bit of gold, or in this case, a small golden ball.”
Lilac grinned and held out her hand. “May I?”
Tamara handed her the marble. “The toad won’t tell us anything. If we’re lucky, he’ll get the word out to your helpful ghost, Ginny.”
“Helpful” wasn’t the way I’d describe Ginny, but now seemed a poor time to mention her faults.
Sylvie watched Lilac roll the ball in her hand with a hypnotic fascination. But then she shook her head and turned to me. “You seem certain Ginny must have seen something, but if she has such a watchful eye on the neighborhood, then wouldn’t she know we’re looking for her?”
“Ah, about that . . . she might be specifically avoiding me. It’s possible you could get her attention if I were gone, but she’s also shy. Sort of.” I wasn’t about to explain my role as Ginny’s unwilling evening peep show. And I couldn’t in good conscience mention her tragic past and how that might have influenced her ghostly interactions with people.
Tamara finished mixing together several powders from the vials in her bag, then dipped her pinky in the mixture and tasted it.
Once I’d recovered from my choking fit, Tamara, who was still alive and showing no signs of poisoning, said, “Now, who has some tall grass and a little shade?”
After some discussion, we determined Sylvie’s backyard the best option, since she’d been overdue a mow back before the explosion and had postponed it due to debris. The wildlife that had been driven away by the blast were proving surprisingly resilient and were already returning to her little back garden, so she thought we might have some luck.
Tamara stuffed the rock in her satchel with Sylvie’s approval. With her traveling magic bag in hand, she led the way across the road to Sylvie’s.
She pulled the prepared mixture from one of her deep pockets and retrieved the small gold marble from Lilac. Then she found a nice shady spot, rolled the golden ball, and murmured a few words.
Then we waited.
After what seemed an awkwardly long moment of silence and no action, Tamara picked up the ball and handed it to Lilac. “Give it a try. Just a gentle roll in the grass. I’ll do the rest.”
With a shrug, Lilac bent down and rolled the ball as instructed. Tamara whispered a few words that I couldn’t make out—perhaps in German?—then we waited.
Not five seconds later, a sleepy, slightly peeved-looking toad hopped our way. Sylvie, Lilac, and I all stared. Then Sylvie nudged me in the ribs. “It’s a toad. I can’t believe that worked.”
Her whisper barely reached my ears, so I hadn’t a clue how Tamara, several feet away, heard her, but she said, “I’m concentrating over here.”
So we all watched, waiting for the toad to say or do something. At least, I was.
Tamara took the powdered mixture and, after tapping small amounts out, made a circle around the toad. She looked at me and shook her head. “He’s a conduit, Geoff. He’s not actually going to speak. He doesn’t have vocal cords. And could you think a little quieter?”
Could I think quieter? What did that even mean? And since when could witches read thoughts? But I tried as best I could to turn down the volume of my thoughts without actually knowing what that meant, and watched as the toad jumped out of the powder ring and then back in, and then again twice more.
And that was it.
Nothing else happened, but Tamara looked quite satisfied with herself. Turning to me, she said, “It’s not all bright lights and explosions.”
Lilac nudged me. “She’s here—I think. Someone’s here.”
Ginny flickered into sight. “The toad said you wanted to see me. This better be good, because you’re not my favorite person right now.”
Tamara might have made the toad-enabled call, but Ginny only had eyes for me. I, on the other hand, was having a hard time pulling
