The worst thing about being ensorcelled is that I can't tell anyone about what I just saw. You can't imagine the utter agony it is to keep such a wonderful place a secret. I'm not a snitch by nature, but when you are led around an oval room with a heated pool in the middle, the air filled with soft music that may or may not be Enya, and see half a dozen ghosts being massaged by sprites, well ... you want to share the experience.

Alas, this isn't in my cards. By the time Phillipe has finished showing me the pool room, I can't keep myself from yawning. I reluctantly ask the kitsune, as I learned he's called, to fetch my doom and gloom partner and wait for her by the door of the inn. Balthazar is still sitting at his desk and bids me good night.

Ariadne floats down from the second floor, her expression one of stony silence. I'm not sure who peed in her Cheerios, since she's the one who told me she hated change. Now she doesn't want to leave?

I attempt to stifle another yawn and fail utterly.

"I can see your fillings," she remarks flatly.

"Good for you," I mumble, rubbing at my left eye like a sleepy toddler. I don't know if it's the late hour, the fact that I've been up since 7 AM, or the strain of keeping my grave sight up. Perhaps it's all three.

We exit the inn to the chorus of frogs in the pond and crickets in the grass. I follow the stone path back to the door embedded in the cliff face and take out the brass key. A faint blue glow outlines the doors and an invisible hand draws the key close to the lock. I insert the key and twist the twin iron handles.

The real world sits outside the door in its grey and sepia glory. I remove the key and step through, pulling the doors shut behind me. With Ariadne watching me in silent judgment, I lock the door and drop my grave sight. Color returns to the world, albeit muted by nightfall. I stumble to the bottom of the stairs and plunk myself down, pulling out my phone to text my mother.

She doesn't text me back, rather she calls. "Jesus!" she exclaims. "I was going to come over there and see if you'd been eaten by sharks or something."

I chuckle wryly. Sharks are the least of my problems.

But they're still dangerous and I won't swim in the ocean.

"Well, you can come and get me now," I say, the words muffled by another large yawn.

"Wait for me outside. I'll be there soon."

We end the call and I put my phone back in my purse. Sighing, I push a few errant strands of hair behind my ear and try to decide if I should wait here or tempt fate by stumbling to the porch like a drunkard. In my addled state, I choose to tempt fate. Pushing off the railing, I get to my feet, and sway, slightly off-balance.

Whoa.

"You look like a drunk sailor," Ariadne quips.

I tilt my head up to see her floating on the landing by the door to Great-Aunt Louise's apartment. "Go haunt a pool hall or something," I retort, waving a hand at her.

"Ooh," she counters, fake-shuddering. "I'm wounded to the quick."

"Bah." I flip her the bird and shuffle to the gate, Ariadne's mocking laughter fading into the distance.

The older couple from this morning is sitting on the porch in two rocking chairs, glasses of wine on the small table between them.

"Oh, dear," the wife exclaims. "You look positively exhausted."

"You could say that." I take a seat on the top step, finger-combing my hair into some semblance of order.

"Syliva told us that you're the new owner of this place?"

It takes me a minute to process that she's talking about the manager. It seems like a week has passed since I saw her this morning. "Yes."

"Oh, I'm so sorry," the woman continues. "We were here last year and Louise was such a lovely host. I told my husband that we had to come back."

"Well, you knew her better than I did," I say, stretching my arms high over my head. My back and neck cracks, which serves to wake me up a little. I check my watch and wonder where Mom is.

"Oh, I don't know, dear," the woman says with a self-deprecating laugh. "But I do have to say, I love the flowers in her garden. She was very proud of them."

"Yeah, they're nice I suppose."

"The ones in her personal garden are even more lovely—or they were when we were here last."

I nod. Her words are mainly gibberish to me at this point. God, as a witch, one of the first lessons we're taught as children is to be careful about depleting our "magical batteries". Overuse of magic is heralded by headaches, which ramp up the intensity until the user simply passes out. I haven't gotten to that point, but just thinking about it causes a twinge to emerge under my left eye.

Glorious.

"Dear?"

The older woman's question bores into my brain. "Hm?"

"I'm sorry. I asked if you might permit us to see Louise's personal garden?"

"Now?" Who the hell wants to look at flowers in the dark?

"Yes, please."

I yawn again, not caring if it's impolite to not cover my mouth. "I'm sorry," I mumble. "I'm just too tired right now to think. Can we discuss this later?"

Her husband speaks up this time. "Surely it's no imposition ..."

A warning bell goes off in my head at his entitled tone. I swivel around on the step and muster all my strength to give him my most withering glare. "Sir, I'm tired and it's nearly midnight. They're just flowers. I doubt any of them look good at this hour."

Headlights bob down the drive. I follow them with my eyes as they pull into the parking lot. "My ride's here. Good night."

I get to my feet and march down the path and meet Mom as she's about to get out of the car. I wave her back in and slide into the passenger seat. I tug on the seatbelt and lay my head on the headrest.

"So, how was it?" Mom asks carefully, backing up.

"They wanted to see flowers," I mumble.

"Who wanted to see flowers?"

"The old couple on the porch. They wanted to see Louise's garden." I chuckle at the inanity of the request.

There's a pause, then Mom says. "Honey, what did you do while I was gone? You sound utterly exhausted."

My head lolls on the headrest and I stare out the window with lidded eyes. "I saw stuff. I can't even say."

Mom sighs and reaches out to pat me on the knee. "Poor kid."

"Poor flowers," I say, my eyelids growing heavier by the minute.

"Yes ... poor flowers," Mom repeats.

I close my eyes, only to open them when Mom shakes my shoulder. "El, we're at the hotel."

Groggily, I lift my head and stare at the bright lights illuminating the hotel's front entrance. I wince, hissing like a demon who's just had holy water thrown on it. Mom chuckles and grabs me under my arm. When did she open the car door?

"Can you walk or do I need to grab a luggage cart?"

As amusing as that mental image is, I have no desire to be wheeled about like a drunk college student. Gathering my remaining strength, I haul myself out of the car. My purse slips from my shoulder and lands on the pavement.

"I'll get it," Mom says, holding up a hand to keep me from planting face-first into the asphalt.

"Thanks."

The walk from the parking lot to the foyer, then the elevator ride to our floor, is a hazy blur. I barely remember entering our hotel room, only to hear Mom shutting the door and sliding the locks home.

I gaze around the small quarters and wonder which one is my bed.

"Here," Mom says, pressing a cup into my hands. "Give me that."

I take the cup and let her handle my purse. My mouth is so dry, I gulp the water as if I hadn't drunk in a week. It's enough to wake me up—just a little.

"Well," Mom says, "I hope you got some answers, anyway."

"We'll see," I reply, setting the cup down. "If that damned ghost will answer my questions."

Mom sits on the other bed and pulls off her shoes. "Is she giving you trouble?"

"More than you realize."

"Well, maybe it's time for your dear old mother to teach you a trick or two about recalcitrant spirits."

"Uh-huh. How about tomorrow?" I want to sleep.

And sleep.

And get some more sleep.

Possibly for twelve hours.

"I think we can do that," Mom says, her voice drifting away as I fall onto the bed. I'm asleep before my head hits the pillow, still wearing my clothes.

Well, it wouldn't be the first time that happened.

And no, you're not getting the story.