Playing with Fire Read Free

Small canisters of cinnamon, nutmeg, and baking powder followed the same path from pantry to counter.
    I trembled, but not because I was scared of the spirit, whoever it was. Ever since I’d come to live with Lady Azura in Stellamar, she’d been teaching me how to overcome my fear of the dead. It was this out-of-control feeling, this not knowing, that I hated.
    The microwave beeped. Dry ingredients poured, as if by themselves, into the bowl.
    A fork hovered above a smaller bowl that was pulled from an open cabinet. Rapidly it descended, pushing down on two peeled bananas, mashing the fruit. The scent of artificial popcorn butter mixed with a familiar tangy, overripe sweetness.
    The refrigerator opened. Eggs catapulted themselves out of their side holder. Cracked shells dropped ontothe counter as the bright yellow yolks plopped neatly into the large bowl. A carton of milk vibrated, as if held by an unsteady hand.
    The microwave beeped again. Then the oven chimed. Alarms echoed in my head, waking me from my trance. Lily was going to be here any minute! If she walked in and I had to explain . . . I couldn’t even think about where I’d begin. My plan was to ease her into the idea that I saw ghosts, not slam her with it.
    I had to stop this, I realized.
    I lunged toward the floating milk. I didn’t spot the banana peel at my feet until I felt myself falling. Frantically, my hands reached for the island, grabbing on just as gravity almost succeed in pulling me down.
    â€œThat’s it!” I cried, catching my breath. “Did you see what you almost did to me? Did you see? Show yourself!” Slowly the air before me began to shimmer. A translucent glow grew brighter and more solid. My temples throbbed with an overwhelming pressure, and the tingling ran rapidly along my leg.
    My eyes widened as a plump woman with round cheeks, small dark eyes, and a bob of curly reddish hair appeared. Not quite solid like the living. Her rolledshirtsleeves revealed dimpled forearms. A ruffled white apron tied around her wide middle displayed writing in a fancy brown script. I squinted at the words: IF THEY DON’T HAVE CHOCOLATE IN HEAVEN, I’M NOT GOING.
    â€œFunny, right?” She let out a husky laugh. “My neighbor prided herself on being the best gift giver in town. She’d start shopping in July to match the Christmas present with the person. It was a thing with her. A talent, she called it. She gave this to me one Christmas, and wouldn’t you know it, that was my last Christmas.” She laughed again. “A talent, for sure!”
    â€œWho are you?” I demanded.
    I’d never seen her before. Could she have stayed behind from one of Lady Azura’s séances? Lady Azura had a business in our house’s front room. She told fortunes and contacted clients’ dead relatives.
    â€œI’m the cook. The chef.” The woman rapidly beat the batter with the wooden spoon. “The mixer of ingredients.”
    â€œYou need to leave,” I said. My voice wavered. What did she want? What was she doing here? I wondered.
    She ignored me, scooping the mashed banana into the batter.
    â€œThis isn’t your kitchen.” I tried to remember all Lady Azura had taught me. Be strong. Create boundaries. Take charge .
    â€œOh, don’t I know this is not my kitchen!” The woman let out another husky laugh, although this one was more of a snort. “My kitchen was state-of-the art. Really, how can one truly create in here? Ah, but we work with what we are given.” She pulled a muffin pan from a lower cabinet. Her body shimmered as she moved.
    â€œYou need to leave,” I tried again.
    â€œReally, Sara, you should be more gracious, especially to a guest who cooks.”
    â€œLady Azura!” I cried, relieved to see my great-grandmother. “She just appeared. She’s taking over our kitchen!” I pointed to the spirit, now spooning batter