LAMIAE

CHAPTER SIX: A GOOD GHOST

"Are we going?" the person behind Casper brought her down to earth when she opened the front door. Dagmara still couldn't see her, but judging by her height, which must have been short, her voice, and the way she spoke, she imagined a lively girl with delicate makeup emphasizing her harmless personality. She must have looked younger than she really was.

The blond boy looked away from Dagmara, but he made no sign that he had seen her.

"Let's go," he turned to his companion, and they both left through the door that led to the courtyard.

It wasn't until they left that she dared to speak.

"I've already unpacked," she said coming out. Casper shuddered. He looked as if he was still not used to her presence in the house.

It took her two seconds to think about whether to tell the boy who she saw or not.

"Who was it?" she asked finally, walking over to the window to see if the two unexpected visitors were still in her sight in the courtyard. She didn't want to admit it to herself, but she wouldn't mind looking at Casper's friend a little longer and from an even closer distance. Unfortunately, they were no longer there.

"Who are you talking about?" he replied evasively.

"Don't lie, you lost ten points on my scale anyway because you lied to my face. The curtains were moving by the wind," she hissed. She wasn't offended, more interested, but she couldn't help the sarcastic tone of her voice.

"It's like siblings," he mused a little, but then assumed a belligerent stance. "You'll meet them later anyway so I didn't want them to bother you."

As had happened once before, in the car, she was sure he wasn't telling her everything, but she didn't want to push the subject. She felt somehow satisfied with the promise of interacting with these people. When she was leaving the train station, she thought that she would never see the blonde guy again, and yet by a twist of fate she met him again.

"Can everyone do that?" she asked softly, nodding towards the door. "Walking into the house without asking..."

"No, only people who have a duplicate key, and Arleta, that is, this girl, has one. Auntie gave it to her."

"Why?" maybe she poked her nose into other's life again, but where she came from, they didn't make duplicate keys to the apartment just because you knew someone.

"Oh, long story," he shrugged, pulling her toward another room. "Come on, let's watch a movie," he suggested to her, and though she tried to protest, he was more insistent than she was assertive. Finally, after a few minutes of walking to the first part of the mansion, she plopped down on a stylized couch with a packet of crisps in her hand, firmly refusing to eat anything warm.

Casper started channel flicking when suddenly she heard a car, and after a while the sound of the door slamming. She sprang from her seat.

"It's grandma," she said, pressing an icy hand to her forehead. Suddenly she felt as if she had lost all her vitality.

"You're right," he admitted, grinning at her, although he didn't hear the car. She was more sensitive than him to any noise.

She pulled the sleeves of her sweatshirt up to cover her hands, she felt so cold. Casper passed her in the hall, opening the front door for "aunt".

"Hey," ," he said cheerfully taking from the woman the purchases she had made.

Dagmara came closer to greet her grandmother. The person who stood in front of her, however, was hard to call a grandmother.

She was very well-groomed, from her face, moisturized with cream, to her nails, painted with some kind of pearl varnish. Dagmara stared at Genevieve so much that it must have looked funny from the side. But what could she do about it? The term grandma is used to refer to someone in slippers and glasses who sits in front of the TV with cats around and knits, not a woman with high heels and sunglasses, jewellery, and a big hat on her head. The image in front of her definitely didn't match the one in her head. She hadn't seen her grandmother for six years, but it hit her that she didn't remember her at all.

"Oh, you're finally here."

The woman gracefully walked over to her and placed three kisses on her cheeks, barely touching her or embracing her. She didn't seem to be an outspoken woman.

"I'm so glad you came and that you'll stay here for three hundred and sixty-five days," she added, as if she wasn't even aware of the fact that it was only because her daughter, Dagmara's mother, died of cancer, so the girl needed a legal care during her father's absence.

The girl blinked nervously, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. While she accepted the idea of ​​living with an older person and a boy rather calmly, she couldn't bear the thought that her grandmother was a bit crazy. She finally understood why she had never come here before.

"Thank you, grandma."

"No, no, no," the woman sang, taking off a huge hat that made it look like she was wearing a fabric-filled miniature hula hoop. "Call me auntie, it makes me feel younger," she winked at her granddaughter.

"In that case. Thank you... auntie," somehow the word couldn't pass through her throat, but she finally got over it. Casper smiled warmly at her, but seeing her uncertain face, he moved closer to her, whispering:

"She seems a little weird, but give her a couple of hours."

She nodded, still unsure of one thing - the relationship between Casper and Genevieve. Just an hour ago she hoped to get this information from the person concerned, but now she doubted that her grandmother would give a straight answer why the boy lives here. Not that she cared much or was jealous, but she would just feel much better if all the inconsistencies were cleared up. The atmosphere would certainly improve, and she would walk around the mansion freely, without fear of catching these two in an unambiguous situation.

"So you've lived here alone up until now?" she asked as she followed Casper and Genevieve into the kitchen. She hoped she didn't sound too rude.

"Not really," her grandmother muttered as the boy shook with laughter. He knew at once that she was heading for questions similar to those in the car again.

"She thinks we're together," he murmured, which she thought was tactless. She wouldn't have dared ask such a question outright, though of course it had crossed her mind. Now that he had said it, it seemed silly to her.

"Sure!" The woman laughed, putting the groceries in the fridge. "Everyone loves the forbidden fruit."

Dagmara lowered her eyes in shame. Only now did she remember that a few months ago her parents had received a message from Genevieve informing about the funeral of her brother, Anthony. Everything indicated that Casper had been here before her grandmother's brother died, and Anthony was a conservative.

How could you even think about it? she chided herself mentally. Grandma with a boy almost my age? Pathetic...

"I'm sorry about your brother. Actually, I don't think I've sent you my condolences," she said to grandma-aunt, who sighed bitterly.

"The Grim Reaper doesn't choose," Genevieve explained life wisdom, although she was slightly morose.

"What about school?" Casper suddenly changed the subject, and both women accepted it with relief.

"I spoke to the headmaster," said Genevieve, sitting down slowly in her chair. Dagmara didn't know that sitting could be done so solemn. Someone should probably blow a congratulation tube right now. "As it happens there are too few students in one of the classes. You will be assigned to it."

"But these people know each other, right?" she asked, already feeling uneasy.

"Yes, but you make friends easily, don't you?" replied Genevieve, grinning like a teenager. The girl preferred not to ask where the woman got this information, sensing that it was from her dad.

"It's just the whole class know each other well. I'm a little afraid I'll stand out," it was different overseas, different here in Europe. In Poland, the whole class went together for most classes, only languages and physical education were exceptions.

"You certainly won't," Casper assured her so firmly that she almost believed him.

When he spoke like that it seemed to her that he would make sure that she felt at home here, and in the classroom as among her old friends. She nodded, finally understanding who Casper could be. Not a drug dealer, not her grandmother's lover, just her own personal good ghost.