GHOST PORTAL (#1 GHOST PORTAL series)

THREE

After such an abrupt revelation, Jessamine needed to sit down. Her legs had turned to jelly and she could only grip the counter so hard before her hands were too weak to steady her.

"Okay," she said, taking a quick peek at the door, hoping its bell wouldn't chime and announce any coffee-seeking patrons coming into Common Grounds. She was in no mood to make, let alone serve coffee, right now. "Explain this to me—what?"

When so frustrated, she'd normally go to the backroom and visit the strays her boss rescued as his side-job, and give them some snuggles, play with them. But lately, the strays weren't warming up to her and she found that they were reluctant to approach her. Weird, she knew, but she hadn't thought much of it, figuring not all animals could like her.

"The house? Or your accident?" Mrs. Spencer had helped her to a seat and now sat across from her, after having made herself an espresso—when no customers were around, she tended to take over the place as if it were her own. And as long as Chad wasn't watching—which he might have been, thanks to the security cameras he'd set up—Jessamine let her do it.

"All of it, Mom." Jessamine looked into her own mug, sneering at its contents. She'd let it grow cold, and though she did appreciate an iced coffee here or there, she was more traditional, and lukewarm black java wasn't appetizing in the slightest. Yet this magical mixture was the only thing keeping her head straight; she took a sip and winced. "Three years. Three years you've known so much about what happened and never told me?"

Mrs. Spencer shifted in her seat. It took a lot to make her uncomfortable—she was a divorce lawyer, and wasn't easily bothered by anyone staring her down or talking down to her. But here, she was definitely not in her element. No matter how often she visited Jessamine for coffee—usually once a week—she'd never once given a full explanation on what had happened to Jessamine, three years prior. She'd remained tight-lipped and brushed off Jessamine's questions. After a few months, Jessamine had given up; not that she'd moved on, but she'd realized that of all people, her stubborn, single-minded mother wouldn't be the one to tell her what had happened to her. If anything.

The woman tucked a stray of her straw-blonde hair behind her ears and sighed. "It's more complicated than that, okay?"

Jessamine scrunched her eyebrows, but it was hard to glare at her mom for too long. It was like looking in a mirror, minus the hair shade, and Jessamine didn't like to glare at herself. Mrs. Spencer had the same high cheekbones, the same pouty lips, the same discreet freckles that populated over her nose in summer. And those eyes—almost identical to Jessamine's, a grassy green that changed to dark pine when irritated.

Those eyes were bright, sparkling. Mrs. Spencer looked down and cupped her small mug with one hand. "Your doctor ordered me to keep all this from you. For your own safety."

Jessamine leaned back in her seat, wishing she'd insisted on getting new chairs; these were hard, with no cushion whatsoever. She'd argued with Chad about their purpose—he'd said the chairs were strictly for patrons coming in for a quick coffee, she'd said the patrons would appreciate something more comfortable and that would prompt them to order more coffee, to stick around a while longer, and to maybe pick up a book from the bookshelves and consider buying it.

His response? "If they want to read books, they can sit in the fancy sofa-chairs over where the books are, dammit!"

"How do either of you know anything that happened to me, then?" Jessamine sucked in a deep breath, taking in the usual scent of ground coffee that kept her balanced, calmed; it wasn't working. "If it's so complicated and secretive. I woke up in the hospital and all you told me was that I'd hurt myself and I'd be better now."