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understand that I could…that I wasn’t…” She gave me a smidgeon of a smile. “Wasn’t like other people. I didn’t know how to deal with it then. To be honest, I’m not sure I can handle it now.”
    â€œAh.” So that was it. It wasn’t just somebody’s haunted house, it was
Ruby’s
haunted house. And it wasn’t just one or two abstract ghosts lurking at the bottom of this, it was her very own personal dragon.
    I’ve known for a long time that Ruby isn’t always comfortable with her psychic talents. She prefers to use her intuition to fool around with the easy stuff, like the readings she offers with her Ouija board or the I Ching. She’ll tackle the more intense stuff if she has to, but she’d really rather not—unless she feels absolutely compelled. Which she doesn’t, very often. In fact, she goes out of her way to avoid it. She deliberately tries not to intrude into people’s thoughts. (If she looked into mine, for instance, she’d see that while I sometimes think of her as a flake, I secretly admire her intuitive abilities, especially her skill at reading people’s fears and motivations.) And she doesn’t like to be pulled into scary events or places. I remembered once, when her intuition—or her gift or her sixth sense or whatever it is—led the two of us to a dead body stashed in the basement of an abandoned school in the little town of Indigo. After that, she swore off psychic stuff for months.
    Now, I’m not psychic myself, not by a long shot, and I don’t pretendto understand how Ruby’s intuition operates. She doesn’t talk about it, and I don’t like to pry. But I’ve seen her in action often enough to know that she has an impressive talent. Whenever she uses it in a serious way, to deal with a serious matter, it’s a huge drain on her energy resources. It’s like she’s suddenly powered up by a massive electrical charge, and when it’s turned off, she’s limp and listless. Nobody wants to go through life like that: pumped up by something you can barely control, debilitated when the energy abandons you.
    â€œListen, Ruby, maybe you shouldn’t go,” I said. “If you’re at all apprehensive about this—”
    She looked as if she were glad for my support. “You’re probably right. I think I shouldn’t. But Claire needs me. And if I don’t go, I’ll never know—” She pressed her lips together.
    â€œNever know what?”
    Her glance slid away. “Nothing.”
    Never know what really happened in that house? Never know whether what she saw was actual or imaginary? Never free herself from this particular dragon? Never
what
?
    But Ruby wasn’t going to tell me. “Just…nothing,” she said again. Her voice was thin.
    I gave her a compassionate hug. “Stay here, Ruby. There’s always plenty to do.” This is true. If we aren’t waiting on customers or working in the tearoom or catering a party, there’s the bookkeeping, the inventory, the herb gardens, the classes. Being a small business owner is a full-time job and then some, with no overtime pay for nights and weekends.
    She squared her shoulders with her Ruby-the-Brave smile. “I’m going,” she said, putting on her sunglasses. The yellow plastic rims added to her retro look.
    â€œOkay, then go,” I said agreeably. “Have fun. Bust those ghosts. Purgethose poltergeists. Get rid of those ghouls.” I was beginning to giggle. “Banish those banshees.”
    â€œI’m gone,” she said, heading for the door.
    â€œExterminate those entities,” I chuckled. “Spook those specters.”
    BANG. She slammed the door in my face.
    I pulled it open and went after her. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Really, Ruby, I apologize.” I bent over to pick up a pot of mugwort and plucked a