“Mavis-Anne, make us coffee. Dakota, those buckets aren’t going to move themselves, or are those muscles just for show? Jared, why don’t you and Sarah come sit with me.”
As Mave headed for the kitchen and Dakota picked up the buckets, Granny Nita paused in the middle of the living room, tilted her head, listening. “Who’s that crawling in the walls?”
She crooked her finger and Dead Aiden suddenly appeared in front of her. He screamed at her, bugging out his eyes and shaking so hard he blurred. Her walker rattled.
“Aiden,” she said. “Are you malingering on this earthly plane because you’re afraid to face judgment?”
Dead Aiden stopped moving. “Get fucked, old woman.”
“Go to God,” Granny Nita said. She flicked her hand. Dead Aiden shrieked as he collapsed into a tiny ball of light and then popped out of existence. Granny Nita claimed the recliner, sighing as she sat, resting her arms on the walker’s handles.
Sarah took a step back.
“Come, you two, and sit on the couch. I don’t bite,” she said, smiling at them. And then she turned and yelled, “Mavis-Anne, are you picking the coffee beans yourself?”
“The water has to boil, you cranky old thing.”
“You and your fancy coffee press,” Granny Nita said. “Who are you trying to impress? Get a coffee maker like everyone else.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Jared,” Kota said from the kitchen doorway.
“Did I scare you off, Dakota?” Granny Nita said.
“I have work.”
“Run away, little gay boy.”
“Granny Nita,” Jared said.
Kota stomped down the hallway and slammed the door.
“Everyone’s so touchy these days,” Granny Nita said. “You can’t even call a spade a spade.”
Wow, Sarah thought. “I’m going to go help Mave.”
Granny Nita watched her leave, smiling.
“I like Kota. He’s my friend,” Jared said.
“Is he?”
“Can you not call him a little gay boy?”
“Is that offensive?”
“You know it is. And can you call Sarah by her name?”
“Sarah,” Granny Nita said. “She’s quite pretty. Most of her gifts are latent. Are you having sex with her?”
“Oh, my God.”
“Don’t take the Lord’s name in vain, Jared.”
Mave came back with a tray, Sarah right behind her. She put it down on the coffee table and handed her mother a mug. “Behave,” she said.
“Where is your saintly mother?” Granny Nita asked Jared. “I thought Marguerite was in town.” She’s annoyed with you, you silly thing.
“She’s staying at a motel.”
“Is she still living in sin?”
Mave said, “Does the self-righteous pot realize she’s calling the kettle black?”
“Such a temper,” Granny Nita said. “Mavis-Anne, I will pray for you to discover patience.”
“Sarah, now that my mother is here with Jared, you can come with me,” Mave said. To Granny Nita she said, “We have to go warn the neighbours about a girl who’s stalking Jared. She likes torturing elders, so you should be careful yourself.”
“Another stalker? You need to stop collecting them, Jared, they aren’t stamps,” Granny Nita said. “Maybe Mavis-Anne and Sarah should stay here like good girls and wait for the proper authorities to handle this crazy person.”
“If you get tired before we get back, call a cab, Mother,” Mave said.
“I’ve had a good life,” Granny Nita said. “If this stalker finds me alone out front, waiting for the cab, and kills me horribly, I forgive you.”
“You’re such a manipulative wretch.”
“The word you’re looking for is witch.”
“I’m not a sexist snot like you.”
“Witches can be male or female.”
“I’m not getting into a fight with you, Mother.”
“You’re so sensitive, Mavis-Anne.”
“Whatever. I’m locking the door after me. Don’t answer a knock unless you want to be murdered.”
Sarah gave Jared a little wave then turned to follow Mave.
Once the deadbolt clicked, Granny Nita chuckled. “I thought they’d never leave. Now that I’ve got rid of your poltergeist, why don’t we set some traps for your horrible little sorcerer? Some nice, lethal traps.”
Jared gave her the sudden image he was getting from Wee’git, hurt and alone, watching them through the picture window from a nearby tree.
She looked grimly amused, turning her head to peer out the window. You old fool. If you’d ask people what they want instead of meddling in everyone’s lives to “fix” them, so many people wouldn’t be so pissed at you.
Bossy as ever, Wee’git thought. So do what you say when you say it.
Get off the cross. Your help is always conditional on everyone doing what you think is right even as you screw everything that moves.
I’m not the bad guy!
If you’ll only help on your terms, Granny Nita thought, fuck off.
Yeah, you hold your grudge like a baby. See where that gets you. The raven in the tree across the street burst skywards.
“God save us all from well-meaning hypocrites with control issues,” Granny Nita said.
24
ANITA
Last month, you recognized the supervisor who liked to strap your hands. You knew her the second you saw her, still with her bottle blond hair. She’s probably not much older than you, but back then she treated you like you were a toddler, taking a special joy in sending you to bed without supper, making you sit in the dunce corner.
You had been invited to speak on a conference panel exploring safe, respectful ways for adopted Indigenous youth to learn their culture. The woman who used to work for a fucking residential school wouldn’t meet your eyes and you waited until they invited you to do the opening prayer to reveal that you remembered every single whack. She left crying and people were angry with you, wanting you to tame your rage for public consumption. The woman has never apologized. Not once. She probably doesn’t think she did anything wrong. Some people left with her while the conference room buzzed with conversation. Your microphone was turned off.
“What the hell is she doing here?” you asked. “What is wrong with you people?”
The organizer informed you she works for a school board with a large Indigenous population and was only here to “listen.”
“So she’s still sucking off the government tit,” you said, “getting her
