The Clairvoyant’s Kitchen Suivre l’histoire

Ghosts rattled the steel side door that led to the vegetable garden, but Beatrice ignored them. Twinkling light poured on her from the chandelier as she checked the roast in the oven. “It should start burning in fifteen minutes if my theory is right.”

The kitchen was the largest room in the house, taking up half the floor.

“Will cooking help me?” The ghost inside hovered and stared at the hundreds of spice bottles lined up on the large coral-colored shelves. “Are these magic herbs?” She picked one up, and she vanished for a moment. The bottle floated around the room. The ghostly woman stood near the stove and, while not faded, was invisible. Her laughter echoed. She grabbed food off the counter next. It floated in the air before she put it down.

Beatrice laughed. “They are just for cooking. My main job is testing recipes, but something is wrong with the Sunday roast. It either comes out burned or tough.”

Spirits outside rattled the windows, and soon a human joined in. “Can I sell you a psychic reading since you closed your shop for living clients?”

“Your great-grandma and your sister Carol are furious. You’re a grifter,” Beatrice said.

The man fled her yard and trampled on a tomato plant.

Spirits remained. “Can we come in?”

“I’m with my last client for the day.” Beatrice waved them away.

The ghosts outside left into the late-night mist.

Specters didn’t come with the brand-new teal and red Queen Anne Victorian-style house when she bought it.

Uninvited spirits were not allowed around her.

She placed a see-through berry pie on her breakfast table.

The ghostly woman smiled. The tall, skinny ghost sat in a see-through chair and ate the pie. “Will my killer ever be arrested for my murder?”

Beatrice touched her hand. Images danced around her mind, then she vanished into time and flashed back.

“Your brother didn’t mean for you to fall off the roof.”

“It was his fault. Wasn’t it?”

Beatrice cut the ghostly woman another piece of pie. “He didn’t push you.”

The woman picked at the crust. “Maybe not. I wanted to string the Christmas lights like our late mother used to. I felt someone’s hands on my back. Someone pushed me.” She started to fade. “What is happening?”

“I changed the past. You’ll be waking up in the hospital.”

“But what about my father?”

“Memory magic doesn’t work that way. I can’t save everyone, only one’s whose time isn’t locked. Time travelers can’t go anywhere they wish. It’s like a tunnel with gates and your gate was opened. But I locked it on my way out.”

“I thought locked time would be more like a movie or a photo.”

“Yes, the tunnel sometimes has windows.”

“Thank you,” the ghost said. “Will I remember you?”

Beatrice waved goodbye. “You will, but your family won’t.”

The woman faded.

Beatrice timed her watch.

Smoke arose from the oven, and Beatrice called Alex. “Your recipe is wrong. According to the instructions, I have another two hours. You need to lower the temperature and add extra sauce beforehand.”

“No, it can’t be in error. Maybe the spirits are messing with it. I can make it work.”

“Alex, you could make shoe leather or beef tongue in the microwave, and it would taste fantastic.” Beatrice yanked the burnt roast and tossed it. “Pull the recipe or use mine.” She grabbed a binder off a cluttered counter and jotted down a few notes.

“No one could make improperly cooked beef tongue work.” Alex’s publisher paid her to test them. “Thank you for saving my life,” Alex said.

“You’re welcome. I needed to stop taking human clients because no one wants to hear how they were failing their ancestors. They want me to tell them how to get rich. I’d rather deal with ghosts and recipes.”

“Maybe so...um...I was thinking... my daughter adores you, and even Marsha says I should ask you out.”

“Sure, how about tomorrow over lunch? I still have two pot roasts to test.”

Swing music blared.

“I got to go.”

She ascended the stairs to the closest bedroom. Roses created from platinum paint decorated the wall. The hospital bed was empty, yet her clear Aunt Nancy danced around her floor lamp.

“Honey, I was on the phone.”

“But I can dance again.” Nancy twirled and shimmied.

It was Nancy who introduced her to Alex a month after she died.

Alex cooked her a meal and taught her to cook for spirits and monsters. His gifts were different from hers, and she admitted his berry pie tasted better. She wrote him a thank-you note and cooked him a meal.

They said I love you without words.

The bedroom window rattled, and a specter or ghoul hovered outside. Face paint could no longer disguise that she wasn’t human. Gaps and holes in her translucent flesh widened. “I’m not one of your clients! You’re not going out with him.”

“Who is she?” Nancy stepped back and hid behind her niece.

The ex screamed. “I’m rotting because of Beatrice’s interference.”

“Alex asked me out.”

“Finally, he’s been raising the girl by himself,” Nancy said. “But that can’t be Marsha. She is lovely. Does he have another ex-wife I never met?”

“No, Aunt Nancy, she was a terrible blind date. She’s never been alive.”

The specter rattled. “Don’t you dare go out with him?”

“You went on three dates,” Beatrice said. “And he knows what you’ve done.”

“But you stopped him from going with me to the bar. He was supposed to die. I needed a sacrifice to appease the curse.”

Beatrice closed the blinds. “I fixed the timeline by stepping into the past, and next time you try, you’ll be nothing but rot. There is no curse.”

The evil spirit changed into a creature with angelic wings, but the holes remained. “But I never owned flesh to manipulate like a puppet. Can I have your body instead?”

“No! You can’t have her.” Nancy ran through the wall, tossing the spirit like a rag doll.

The holes widened and widened until there was nothing left but a single translucent feather.