Magical Spice - Part Twelve
This episode is part of a larger story, Soft Touch. If you haven’t yet, you can go back and read it from the beginning right here.
“Who is this guy, again?” I ask.
Aiden, Ralph, and I are huddled around Ripley, watching the video he’s got playing on his phone. The footage shows a lean guy about Ripley’s age, maybe a little older. He’s attempting some truly wild shit on a skateboard, flips that defy physics. Unsurprisingly failing to land most of them. I press my fingers over my mouth as he bails on a doomed trick, tumbling off of his board to disappear into a clump of bushes.
He pokes his head up a second later, panting and bruised, but grinning wildly.
“This is Marco Blue,” Ripley explains, as the skateboarder scrambles out of the branches. “He’s a skater who’s up and coming on his circuit.”
“This guy?” Ralph asks doubtfully, as Marco trots over to his cameraman to laughingly show him the new scrape on his arm.
“He’s starting to get more bookings and interviews and stuff. He’s already a known name in the surf ‘n skate scene in Biarritz, where he’s from. He started out surfing there, but now he’s moved to skateboarding, since he’s way better at it. Noah told me and Raj about him.”
“Did he try to buy a board from you guys, or something?”
“Shit, no,” Ripley laughs, startled at my suggestion, pushing his bright green forelock out of his eyes. “Jesus, can you imagine? I’d be freaking the fuck out if someone that famous bought a board from us! We’re actually thinking about sending him a custom deck, as a gift. I mean, I doubt he’ll ever use it, I’m sure different companies send him free stuff all the time. Still, if there’s even a chance…”
We all watch as Marco makes a second attempt at the ridiculous flip. Once again, he goes crashing down, this time landing more softly on an old mattress placed nearby.
Ralph arches an eyebrow at Ripley. “I’m guessing this is you attempting to follow my get the company name out there instructions?”
“Yes!” Ripley slips his phone back into the pocket of his rippy black jeans, looking imploringly at Ralph. “Even if he never rides the board, if he just shows it to a few of the people he hangs out with, that’s potential business for us, right?”
“Okay, I hate to be a bummer about this,” I break in gently, since no one else seems to want to say it, “But he crashes kind of a lot, Ripples.”
“Oh, yeah,” Ripley agrees eagerly. “But that’s not the point, Jamie! He crashes all the time because he’s trying new tricks and techniques that nobody’s attempted before. That’s why he’s gaining a following. Not because he’s the best, because his passion for it is off the charts, and he’s got tons of raw talent. Watching him compete is amazing. You never know what he’s gonna attempt. And when he does land it, it’s incredible.”
I was about to say that I don’t know if Ripley and Raj want their boards associated with someone who constantly wipes out, but - after that explanation, I’m reconsidering. Ralph seems to be thinking along the same lines, because he turns it over silently for a moment, then gives Ripley an approving nod.
“Fine. But we need to actually have the workshop set up before you send it. Website should be done by then, too.”
“Alix is working on the website. Workshop will be ready in no time. Hey, Aiden - careful.”
We all follow Ripley’s pointing finger to the floor. Aiden is standing on a stripe of red spray paint. He shoots a bewildered glance at Ripley, moving out of the way to reveal that the spray-painted line on the ground is actually a spray-painted box. Written within the box with a tagging marker are the words: WARNING - YOU ARE IN THE SPLASH ZONE.
“The splash zone?” Aiden asks, backing up another step or two.
“Yeah, that’s where the water pours down from the hurricane shower on the second floor,” Ripley explains. “It’s like the giant tippy bucket at a water park down here if someone happens to turn on the shower up there, so generally speaking you don’t want to stand in the splash zone.”
“That’s why we put the warning in a nice bright color, so no one gets splashed!” Raj calls, from where he’s chatting with Floyd and Spencer. “Ripples picked it out!”
“It’s called Molotov,” Ripley tells us, with a big grin.
Ralph catches his lip between his teeth, clearly battling down a laugh. “Is this supposed to back up your claim that the workshop is coming along?”
“Well, shit, we got it marked!” Ripley protests, gesturing to the spray paint. “Isn’t that progress?”
“And we’re all here right now, so we’ll get more done,” I add encouragingly.
“Then let’s get to work,” Ralph laughs, giving Ripley a shove in the direction of the paint cans lined up against the wall.
We spent an extremely fun afternoon watching old footage from PRIDE, snacking, smoking a little, laughing. Floyd and Spencer were the ones who ultimately ended up with the fake mustaches, and they resolutely wore them until the glue gave way. We were all surprised and delighted when Floyd joined in on smoking a bowl with us.
Spencer has been shy and quiet, but smiling. For some reason he started taking notes while we were watching the fights. Floyd didn’t seem to find anything unusual about that, so I think it’s something Spencer just does for fun, whether or not he needs those notes for anything.
Floyd has been his usual self, beaming widely, chatting away with me, Ripley, Noah, whoever, firing off book recommendations faster than any of us can mentally note them down. As for me, I did find some of what we watched terribly sexy, much to my personal horror. But thankfully no one asked me about it, so I haven’t had to make a god-awful attempt at a lie. Aiden did give me a knowing little smirk, though, which I pointedly ignored.
Overall, it was a blast. Ripley loved it, much to Noah’s obvious delight. Eddie did okay with all the shouting and laughter, waking up when things got loud purely to add his own tiny voice to the mix. And it’s been agreed that a photo of Don Frye and his god-tier mustache will have to be added to the art inspiration wall that Ripley has planned for the back of the workshop.
But now it’s time for us to get down to business. Restoring an old building, and setting up a new bookshop.
We start off by getting all the rest of the boxes out of Floyd and Spencer’s hatchback. Not too difficult of a task, but it comes with a surprise. I thought every box would be full of books, but Floyd directs us upstairs to their apartment with some of them. Based on the noises the boxes make as their contents slide around, this is stuff for their kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom.
They’re not just moving inventory into their bookshop. They’re moving in. Like, right now.
My suspicions are confirmed when the last two things we have to bring in from the hatchback are one battered, stickered-up suitcase, and one tidy leather duffel bag.
“Where’s all the rest of the furniture?” Aiden asks, once we’ve set the last few boxes where they belong. “Only thing up here is the bed, and I’m pretty sure the car is empty.”
“We decided to only bring over the most necessary pieces of furniture,” Floyd explains, smoothing a few flyaways out of his face. “So that we could sleep here tonight, and do the rest in waves.”
“So - just the bed?”
“Well, that wasn’t quite the original plan,” Floyd admits. “But we did the bed, and then we were tired.”
After that, it’s decided that Aiden and Raj should go with Floyd back to Greenrock to retrieve Ida, Naomi, and a few more pieces of necessary furniture. They opt for Raj’s truck instead of Floyd’s little hatchback, which is good. I know all too well what old cars look like when they’re exhausted, and Floyd’s car needs a while to get its breath back after that first run of moving boxes.
The rest of us split off to our own tasks once the Greenrock team is on their way. Noah and Ripley get going on the replastering, while Ralph unpacks the boxes of sound-proofing material to go up on the shared walls. Spencer heads up to his and Floyd’s apartment to do some unpacking, and I head out into the tiny backyard behind the workshop, pulling on my gardening gloves.
“You don’t have to clean this all up, Jamie,” Ripley tells me over his shoulder, halfway through filling in a busted part of the exterior wall with Noah. “I’ll be honest, I’m not probably not gonna maintain it all too much. I sort of like it all wild like it is.”
“That’s okay! I’m not really trying to organize it, just taking out the invasive stuff. If it’s not in your backyard, it can’t escape your backyard, so. This is always the first place to start. I’ll probably go take care of Floyd and Spencer’s little yard area, too.”
There’s no answer from Ripley, so I glance over, just in time to see him and Noah exchanging an affectionate grin with each other.
“What?” I protest, my cheeks reddening. “It’s important to do, especially if Ida is gonna be nosing around out here! Dogs can carry invasive seeds on their coats-”
I cut myself off and whip around, startled by a dull thump from somewhere above us. Spencer just pushed open a window upstairs. From Ripley’s backyard, we can all see him step out through the window, gingerly testing his weight on the fire escape.
“It’s solid!” Ripley holds out a thumbs-up as Spencer’s eyes flit to him. “Raj and I already checked! You’re good!”
Spencer flashes him an appreciative smile, then steps the rest of the way out onto the fire escape. He leans his elbows on the railing, taking a moment to gaze out at the sky, which is deepening to a late-afternoon orange. The light turns the birds into shadowy silhouettes as they flit around in little flocks.
Spencer’s glasses reflect the warm light, so it’s hard to make out his expression. But his narrow shoulders are more relaxed than I’ve ever seen them, and he’s holding very still, breathing deeply.
Noah, Ripley, and I lapse into excited conversation about the various fights we watched. I pull down the ivy growing up the side of the backyard wall. When that’s done, I get to work pruning up the healthy and welcome plants, at one point stopping to show Ripley the nice surprise of some snowy white mushrooms growing in a shady corner.
I pull up a few, listening and trying not to laugh as the fight conversation grows increasingly ridiculous. We’re all still in a silly mood, and eventually this culminates in Ripley and Noah sort of chanting the approximate melody of the PRIDE theme song. I smother a laugh behind my hand, then join in.
After a minute of this enthusiastic stupidity I remember that Spencer was up on the fire escape enjoying a moment of calm and peace, which we just took a sledgehammer to. I glance up at the place where he was, preemptively wincing.
But he hasn’t gone back inside. His elbows are still folded on the fire escape railing. He’s listening to our voices bounce off the walls with a quiet, laughing smile in his eyes.
I get back to my feet as Spencer turns and slips back through the window. I head through the workshop, onto the front sidewalk, then through the bookstore. It already looks more full with the boxes in here, even if none of them are unpacked. Ripley and Raj have started installing the Littleshin Books sign they made, the one that goes on the wall behind the counter. But they’ve only hung two of the typewriter-key letters so far, so that the wall says L I and nothing else.
“Spencer,” I call, when I reach the stairs leading to the apartment. “Can I come up?”
“Of course!”
I find him in the process of very carefully setting up a tank for Naomi, adding some little logs, rocks, and clumps of plants. He’s already got Ida’s dog bed placed against one wall, and her water bowl filled up beside it.
“Naomi won’t like being put in her carrier,” Spencer tells me anxiously, adjusting the angle of the heat lamp. “I got her some special treats for putting up with it. I think we’ll be okay, if her tank is nice and cozy when she gets here. She’ll probably have hissed at Aiden or Raj by now, though.”
“Oh, they won’t take it personally.” I hold out the mushrooms, careful not to let any loose soil tumble onto the floor. “Do you and Floyd like to cook? These are safe to eat, they’re-”
“Oh, yes!” Spencer smiles warmly at me, accepting them with a nod of thanks. “Believe me, I know my mushrooms. I study magic and the occult, you remember.”
“True,” I laugh, following him through the kitchen, where he carefully places the mushrooms on a square of paper towel. “You’re right, I take it back.”
Actually, speaking of Spencer’s area of knowledge…
“Hey,” I begin, choosing my words carefully. “Are you quitting your stitch ‘n bitch group, now that you’re moving to Ketterbridge? It’s based in Port Sitka, right?”
Spencer looks up from the mushrooms in surprise. He finishes rinsing them off and leans his palms on the counter, looking at me searchingly.
“Did I tell you I was part of that? I must have forgotten. Well, no, I wasn’t planning to quit. We only meet once a month. I don’t mind driving to Port Sitka for it at that rate. Besides, I wouldn’t want to miss out on seeing everyone. You could say we’re a very tight-knit group.”
The instant Spencer cracks this joke, he winces at himself in dismay, his eyes full of horrified regret.
But honestly, it’s just such a nice surprise to hear Spencer attempt a joke with me - without the nervous stutter, either - that I let out a delighted little laugh. Spencer takes it to be in response to his joke, and the relief on his face is so obvious that I decide not to correct him.
“Actually, one of my friends in the group texted me to make sure I’m still coming to the next meeting,” he adds. “So I can’t miss it now.”
I had been reaching out to accept the glass of water he was offering me, but I stop and stare at him, caught by surprise.
Something tells me that friend was Rose, making sure Spencer would be in attendance so that she - could maybe tell him the truth? About Guardians, magic, and herself?
I hastily accept the water from Spencer and take a long sip. Mostly to hide my expression, but it does feel good after so much gardening out in the summer sunlight.
“Of course, getting the bookshop set up is my top priority,” Spencer adds, watching me with puzzled eyes.
“Oh, absolutely! Bring that myth and magic mastery over to Ketterbridge.” I hesitate, taking another moment to choose my words. “Actually, while we’re on that topic, there was something I wanted to ask you about.”
Spencer turns to face me with obvious interest, leaning his tall, lanky self back against the kitchen counter. Mercifully he doesn’t reach for a composition book to start noting things down. He does look excited to have his expertise sought out, though, just like last time.
“Fire away,” he says eagerly.
“So, if… if a human was visited by a spirit… what would be the best way for him to communicate to the spirit that he’s a friend?”
“What sort of spirit?”
“That’s unknown.”
Spencer isn’t thrown off by my question at all, although he takes some time to think before he answers.
“Different spirits want very different things, and there are many different kinds of spirits. First of all, are you sure it’s something that should be welcome? You wouldn’t want to invite in an ifrit or a demon, for example.”
“Oh, trust me, I know! But if you’re sure it’s something you want to communicate nicely with?”
“Then… well, you would get different advice across every different culture and era, when it comes to befriending a spirit. But the commonality would be that it always begins with a sign of respect. Some demonstration of the fact that you respect the spirit, and will treat it accordingly. This is usually communicated with an offering of some kind.”
A memory I haven’t thought of in years suddenly rises to the surface of my thoughts.
“My mom used to sing a song and pour out a cup of cider on the roots of our cider apple tree, after we harvested it.”
“Ah, yes.” Spencer smiles at me approvingly. “For the Apple Tree Man. Very wise of her.”
I draw my head back, blinking hard. “Um… the-?”
“But I doubt that your mother does apple wassailing in the hopes that the Apple Tree Man will show her where there’s hidden treasure. That old tale originated in and spread from England. If there ever really was an Apple Tree Man, he resided there, or in surrounding areas. Your mother still does it because she knows it’s good to show the spirits and their land respect. She does that as she knows how.”
I turn that over in my mind, fidgeting with the malachite necklace. “So - what could someone do to make an offering, if they don’t know the nature of the spirit?”
Spencer tilts his head to the side, his perceptive eyes searching mine.
“The Celts tend to make offerings that are warm and nourishing and filling. A bowl of buttermilk, that one’s quite common. Left out at night on a doorstep or windowsill, replaced the next evening.” Spencer is speaking more slowly, with a slightly inquisitive tone in his voice. “For the Persians, it would depend greatly on the religion and era… in Zoroastrianism, for example, it would’ve been liquid from the haoma plant, ritually pressed between sunrise and noon.”
I blink hard at Spencer, surprised to find myself stumped. “The haoma plant? I don’t know what that is.”
“No one does. It’s a plant referenced in ancient texts like the Shahnameh, but no one has ever been able to figure out which plant the name haoma correlates to. Some scholars have theorized that it’s the lotus, others say it’s sugarcane, others cannabis. We can only guess based on the vague descriptions of it in the texts.”
Well, we just used up all our cannabis, so I guess buttermilk it is. I straighten up from where I’d sat myself on the windowsill, then gratefully slap Spencer’s shoulder.
“Thank you, Spencer. You’re helping us out tremendously with our Ghost Office business.”
“Oh! Good!” Spencer beams at me. “You can always come to me with further questions, of course!”
I hand him back the empty glass, matching his smile. “It’ll be much easier, now that you and Floyd are so close!”
“Swing by anytime! Soon we’ll have something to offer you besides water. We don’t have anything in the fridge just yet, I’m afraid. Except for the mushrooms you just gave me.”
“No worries! Do you want a ride to the grocery store? I can show you where it is, if you want.”
“Oh, thank you, but maybe another time.” Spencer leans tiredly against the counter, flashing me a quick smile. “I think this will be a takeout night. I know we’re going to be too tired to do any cooking. So, rather, if you could recommend a good restaurant to order from?”
I give Spencer a thorough list, which he dutifully notes down in one of his composition books. I head for the door when I’m done, then pause there as a burst of laughter reaches us from outside. Ripley and Noah, yelling at each other in the backyard of the workshop. This time there’s a deep rumble of Aiden’s laughter, too, so I guess the party we dispatched to Greenrock is finally back.
The noise comes right in through the open kitchen window, the one that faces the fire escape. I wince and steal a glance at Spencer, but he’s smiling widely, busy placing an old-school radio on the windowsill.
“Don’t mind all the noise, Spencer?”
“Oh, no,” he says immediately, earnestly. “No, when it’s of this kind, a little noise is good. Besides, Floyd and I often end up-”
He breaks off as Floyd comes flouncing up the stairs with startling speed, followed much more slowly by Ida. He stops at the top step, his grey flyaways bouncing as he pants with effort. He flings one hand into the air to show Spencer the book he has in his ringed fingers.
“How dare you have this in your inventory? All these years and you’ve never accumulated one iota of taste, Spence!”
Spencer slams his fist into the counter, a scowl immediately spreading across his face.
“Goddamnit, Floyd! What are you doing? You’re supposed to be getting stuff inside, not rifling through the boxes! Can you-?”
“What am I doing?” Floyd cuts in, wildly waving around the book in his hand. “What are you doing? The theories in this one, Spence! You’ll forgive any mistake so long as a sunken city is involved!”
Sensing that I’m no longer needed, I quietly slip around Floyd as Spencer heatedly launches into his answer. I give Ida a gentle scratch of greeting before I go past her down the stairs, leaving the two new residents of the apartment to argue happily with each other.
Descending from the last step into the bookshop, I’m greeted with the welcome sight of Raj and Ralph by the wall behind the counter. Ralph is holding a ladder steady for Raj, who’s hanging the next carved typewriter key that he and Ripley made for the sign.
They’ve already put three more up, so that it says LITTL. Raj is working on the E as I watch.
Little by little, I think excitedly to myself, watching Raj straighten out the letter. It’s happening. Team Ghost Office will be all together, here in Ketterbridge. With Ripley right next door.
I pull open the door to step out into the sunlight, and nearly bump right into Aiden. He was opening the door with his shoulder, since he’s got a rounded kitchen table in his hands.
“Hey,” he says warmly, leaning down to brush a kiss onto my mouth. “That was an entertaining drive to Greenrock. Floyd is the type of driver you really hope picks you up when you’re hitching. He entertains you the whole time.”
“So everything went smoothly?” I ask, biting back a laugh.
“Mhm. Spencer’s turtle hissed at me, though.” Aiden flashes me a wounded, bewildered look. “I’m trying really hard not to take it personally, but I feel bad. Like I did something.”
“Oh, no!” The laugh escapes me, and I cup his face adoringly. “Don’t! You didn’t do anything wrong! Spencer predicted that would happen.”
“Did he?” Aiden immediately looks relieved. “Oh. Okay. Thanks, Keane. Good to know that was some unwarranted turtle-hate aimed my way. Makes me feel better, oddly enough.”
Aiden hands me a chair to go with the table as he talks, then grabs the second chair from the sidewalk. I back up to let him in, thinking to myself that I’m going to get him alone and kiss him hard once we’ve gotten the furniture dealt with.
“I think we’re all starting to run out of steam,” I admit, as we carry everything across the bookshop to the stairs. “We got a lot of work done today. Also, watching the PRIDE fights was - weirdly tiring?”
A soft huff of laughter breaks from Aiden. “Might be because we were laughing and yelling and fuckin’ around the whole time.”
“Mmm. Yeah, true. But we’ve been working for a while, too.” I roll out my neck and my shoulders, as best I can while carrying the chair. “My muscles are getting sore.”
Aiden casts me a warm little smile. “We’ll go home and do nothing once we’re all done, how about that? And I’ll take care of that soreness problem for you.”
“Perfect,” I sigh happily, then raise my voice to be heard as we approach Floyd and Spencer and the enthusiastic argument they’re having. “We have to make one stop on the way, though.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Mhm. To the grocery store. We need to get some buttermilk.”
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