“Crow, you ain’t gonna believe what Bruce the Spruce said!”

That would be the tree in Peggy’s yard. Char’s new arboreal advisor. And no, I’m probably not going to believe it. Unless it suits me.

“Oops! Didn’t know you had company.” The words spill fast and furious in spite of her breathlessness. “Allie . . . Wendigo! Witches, right? Starting a coven? You need a fourth corner? I’m cool with the lezzie stuff, but no cousin lovin’.” Char winks and elbows me, then plunks Daktari on the floor. Before he can fuss, there’s a bippy in his mouth and a book about trees in his hand, and I can’t even figure out where those things came from because all Char is wearing is a python print tube dress and Peggy’s old sneakers. The mess of green and violet fanning out around her head is inversely proportionate to the size of her dress. Meanwhile, Allie’s colours have gone all broody blue and bruised, and if there was ever such a thing as an amused shade of what-the-fuck-orange, well, it’s wafting from Wendy like weed clouds from Willy’s truck.

Allie’s aura is headed for the door a few solid seconds before her physical body begins to move, but it snaps right back to the table when I say, “Stay put there, missy.” I put another bag and another splash of water in the teapot. Because nobody’s going anywhere.

“Look, I’ll not go to my grave with the two of you carrying on a decades’ old feud over who said what, and what screwed who. This foolishness is ending. Today.”

“Jesus, Crow, you sound like your mother,” Allie murmurs.

“Well, somebody’s got to.”

But unlike Mama, I order them both out to Willy’s truck to smoke a gigantic joint, and to not come back until they’ve both laughed, cried, and begun building a bridge to get over all that has come between them.

“And believe you me, I’ll see if you’re faking it,” I warn.

When they come back an hour later — eyes red from toking and crying, hair mussed up from both hugs and hollers, bodies soft from the release of tensions and secrets, big and small — there’s been another shift that only my eyes can see. Streaks of the same violet that have been popping up from Char’s new-found ground now dance and smear around the periphery of Allie’s freshly brightened blues. And they both have the faintest flicker of a warm, golden fuzz in the centre of their chests.

“That one’s still a grubby skank.” Allie shrugs at me. “And I can’t believe she’s your cousin.”

“Fuck you, Walker, ya melon-dramatic ice queen,” Char drawls, thumping Allie’s cheek with the most wayward dreadlock on her head.

“Shut up the two of you and give me some love.” I waddle toward their glowy hearts and open arms. I pinch Allie’s arse and wipe my snot- and tear-streaked face on Char’s bare shoulder just to be a dick and remind them who is in charge of holding this world together, for now. I whisper, “Wait’ll you hear what me and Wendy cooked up for Mama’s proper memorial.”