Our tour continues upstairs, where the guest rooms are situated. Six suites of varying sizes, each with a different twist on the flower and beach theme. Some have more flowers; others have more conch shells and jars of prime Martha's Vineyard sand. There are three bathrooms to be shared among the guests.

"Is there a space-saver charm on this place?" I ask as we head back down to the foyer. The Victorian is large, but there's no way all those big rooms could fit without some magical aid.

Sylvia nods. "Louise cast it back in the early '90s. Economic boom and all. We get steady business in the summer, but it gets slow during the off-season ..." She trails off, mouth pinching at the corners as if she revealed something she meant to keep quiet. "Helaena tried to get Louise to use social media, but she said no." Sylvia shrugs.

All the better to sell this slab of prime real estate and let someone with better business acumen take over.

"Would you like to see Louise's apartment now?"

I glance at Mom. She lifts her wrist to check the time on her iWatch. "I'm afraid it's getting late. We've had a long day," she tells the manager. "We'll be back tomorrow if that's all right?"

The shapeshifter holds out her hand. "Of course. It was nice to meet you both."

"Likewise," I say, shaking her hand.

I can't get out of there quick enough. I get having a theme, but my God, all those flowers and jars of sand will come back to haunt me tonight.

Mom and I are silent until we reach the car. "She was really trying to sell it to me at the end," I say, backing out of the parking lot.

"Do you blame her?" Mom counters. "She doesn't want to lose her job."

"It sounds like Great-Aunt Louise was on a downward spiral anyway."

"Perhaps that's why she gave it to you," Mom says as I return to the main road.

"Why?"

"Because you have the means to turn it around."

I roll my eyes. "That place is a goldmine, Mom. It sits on a node for godssake."

Mom watches the road, lips pursed in thought. "You're never going to get your old life back, El," she says after a moment.

Ouch. That stings. "I'm well aware that print is dead, Mom," I tell her. I've been hearing that same old song since I started.

"That's not what I meant," she snaps back. "There are plenty of jobs out here. You could work at the Monitor with Dad."

"Journalism is so dry," I lament, gripping the steering wheel. "I miss LA, I miss going out after work with my friends. I miss good sushi."

"They have sushi at Stop 'n' Shop."

"I don't want Stop 'n' Shop sushi, Mom."

Mom huffs. "I don't see why you want to go back. You were always complaining about how stressful your job was, how expensive it is out there, how the traffic sucks." She cuts her eyes to me.

I grit my teeth and focus on the road. We've had this exact argument a dozen times or more since I graduated college and moved out west. Wait for it ...

"And I don't know why you even go out, since you don't date."

Breathe, Elara, I think. Just breathe.

"All right, Mom," I say instead of the rant that boils beneath my skin. It's not worth it because she's not going to change her opinion and neither am I.

Mom sighs softly. "All I'm saying is that maybe this is where you're meant to be, El. You can blog or vlog or do something with the inn on YouTube. Whatever it is kids do these days."

"Thirty-seven is hardly a kid, Mom." But she's gone and done it—put an idea in my head. I cradle it and hold it in the back of my mind until we can get back to the hotel.

She chuckles. "To me it is."

In less than half an hour, we're in Edgartown. Once we're in our room at the hotel, I change into my pajamas while Mom flicks through some take-out menus. "This place has sushi," she announces, holding up a laminated menu.

I make a gagging sound in the back of my throat. "From a chicken place? Hard pass."

Mom snorts in amusement. "Pizza it is."

"Use my card," I tell her, climbing into the bed and flicking on the TV. It doesn't matter what I put on, because I'm already scrolling through my phone, checking my email to see if any of my applications have been looked at. Well, isn't that funny—no replies.

"Oh, here's that letter Aunt Louise left you," Mom says. The white envelope lands on the bed next to me.

I put down my phone and reach for the envelope, sliding my finger under the orange wax seal. I give it a slight tug, but it doesn't budge. What the hell? I scoot up on the bed and cross my legs, leaning over the envelope. How tough it is this wax? Oh well, no matter, I think as I wiggle my finger into the corner. Still, the darn thing won't open.

"What's wrong?" Mom asks, looking up from her phone.

"It won't open." I try tearing a corner off, but the envelope might as well be made of steel.

Mom walks over to the bed and holds out her hand. "Let me try."

I gladly give it to her, then watch as she attempts to rip it down the side to no avail. "I think it's spelled," she says, tossing it on the bed.

"Do you remember the incantation for revelation?" I ask.

She laughs dryly. "Yes, but I don't remember what protection spells look like, let alone how to break them."

We stare at the envelope, two Level 8 witches stymied by a folded piece of paper and orange wax.

Finally, Mom leans back and folds her arms. "Well, the lawyer did say you needed to open it alone."

"Fine," I huff and roll off the bed. "I'll be in the bathroom." Grabbing the letter, I go into the hotel's small bathroom, shut the door, and sit down on the toilet. This time, the seal breaks off easily in my hand.

Well, look at that. My lips purse as I pull out two pages covered with spidery handwriting. I sigh and unfold them, smoothing the creases over the sink counter. Couldn't you have typed this?

"Dearest Niece Elara," the letter begins. "I'm not going to bore you with an overstuffed essay. I'm dead and you strike me as someone who likes to cut to the chase."

Hm, one meeting at a funeral and she had me pegged, I muse, flicking the pages.

"No doubt you've already visited the Silver Spirit Inn. The inn is a cover for its true purpose—a waystation for wandering spirits. The key I had my lawyer give you not only unlocks my apartment but it also unlocks the portal to the true inn."

What the hell? I stare at the thick fountain pen words and read them several times over. You've got to be kidding me. A waystation for ghosts?

There's a knock on the door and Mom pokes her head in. "Did you manage to get it open?"

"Yes—and you won't believe—what the hell!?" I hold up the pages, but my hand is empty. The envelope lays on the bathroom tile, seal intact. "It went back!" I exclaim, pointing at the floor like a child.

Mom stares at the envelope, brow furrowing. "That's a powerful spell." She looks at me. "What did it say?"

I open my mouth, but the words catch in my throat. It's like one of those dreams you have where your mouth is full of cotton and no matter how much you pull out, you can't speak freely.

Or is it just me who that happens to?

"Great," I mutter, kicking the envelope. "I can't talk about it, either."

Mom squints at me. "Are you sure?"

I'm pretty sure, but I try to tell her about the bed and breakfast being a cover for wandering spirits. My mouth opens and closes like a fish gasping for air. The unpleasant sensation of cotton filling my cheeks like a crack-head chipmunk returns. "See?" I say, flopping my hands onto my lap.

Mom frowns and folds her arms. "I suppose it also prevents you from writing things down?"

I shrug and open the notes app on my phone. Sure enough, all that comes out is gibberish.

"Well, I'll leave you to it," Mom says, backing out of the bathroom and closing the door.

I look at the floor and notice the pages are sitting out in the open. "Louise, you crafty witch," I mutter, picking them up.

"Our job is a sacred one," the letter continues. "For centuries, the women of our maternal line have been entrusted with easing the suffering of wandering souls. For whatever reason, these spirits have been unable to pass on. We are their counselors, their shoulder to cry on, a friendly ear."

The letter drops onto my lap and I groan. She wants me to play therapist to ghosts? Really? I barely made time for my therapist back in LA.

"I know you have no formal training in this," Louise says, as if reading my mind. "Neither did I when my cousin passed this responsibility to me. But you learn. And I know that you are smart and capable—as well as a powerful grave witch.

"Everything you need to know to run the inn is in my grimoire. Ariadne will show you where it's hidden. If you have any questions, you can ask her. My employees know nothing of what goes on. And no one else can—hence the spells on this letter. It is crucial to the spirits' safety that no one can learn what goes on here. The world is a dark place; there are people out there who will try and capture the spirits for their own gain. Good luck. Yours, Louise."

I stare at the letter, several choice words spilling from my lips. How nice of Great-Aunt Louise to bind me to a job—and an island—that I didn't ask for.

"Everything all right in there?" Mom asks, her voice muffled.

"Just gosh-darn peachy," I reply through grit teeth. Grabbing the letter and envelope, I exit the bathroom. Instantly, the letter rebounds into place. "I now run an inn."