I had really wanted to go to the concert, and sighing for the lost chance, I reached to snip a holly leaf off the centerpiece. It would give the spell a measure of protection. Apparently I was going, to open a door, and holly would insure my dad's essence wouldn't track anything bad in on the soles of his feet.

Nervousness made my hands shake. I had to do this right. And I had to do it without Mom knowing. If she saw Dad's ghost, it would tear her up—send her back to the mess she was in almost five years ago. Seeing Dad was going to be hard enough on me. I wasn't even sure by the description of "desired results" how substantial a ghost he'd be. If we both couldn't see him, Robbie would never believe that I'd done it right.

Standing at the table, I used my mom's silver snips to cut the holly leaf into small segments before brushing them into the wine. My fingers were still shaking, but I knew it was nerves; I hadn't done enough to get tired, low fatigue threshold or not. Steadying the crucible with one hand, I started grinding the holly leaves with all my weight behind it. The lemon juice and yew mix I had measured out earlier threatened to spill as I rocked the table, and I moved it to a nearby counter.

Lemon juice was used to help get the spirit's attention and shock it awake. The yew would help me communicate with it. The charm wouldn't work on every ghost—just those unrestful souls. But my dad couldn't be resting comfortably. Not after the way he died.

My focus blurred, and I ground the pestle into the mortar as the heartache resurfaced. I concentrated on Robbie's voice as he talked to my mom about how nice the weather was in Portland, almost unheard over some solstice TV cartoon about Jack Frost. He didn't sound anything like my dad, but it was nice to hear his words balanced against Mom's again.

"How long has Rachel been drinking coffee?" he asked, making my mom laugh.