Ghost of a Chance (3 page)

“Then why the hell haven’t you gelded him
yet, girl?” Dad stomped around the table, his footsteps stabbing
into my head.

“Because I didn’t have any hard proof.” I
waved a hand toward the envelope. “Not until now. And… well, you
know how it is. Sometimes it’s just easier to maintain the status
quo. Spider is hardly ever here, and what chance do I have of
getting a job to support myself with the League calling me in at
the drop of a hat?”

“You could ask them for a leave.”

“That would only be temporary,” I said,
sighing.

“You can’t go on like this, Karma,” he
pointed out.

I glanced at the envelope again. “No, I
can’t.”

“I think you’re going to have to revist the
subject of divorce,” Dad said.

I shrugged. “I suppose. I don’t know how I’m
going to handle a job in addition to the League, but that’s
something I’ll just have to work out. I guess I should grit my
teeth and start the divorce process.”

“You’ll be better off without him,” my
father said, giving my shoulder a comforting squeeze. “You have no
idea what a slimewad he—”

“Spider’s home!” Sergei’s voice cut across
my father’s as he zipped out of the study, racing through the house
as if he were some sort of ghostly Russian Paul Revere. “Spider’s
home! Everyone hide! Spider is here!”

“Crap, the imp,” I muttered, leaping to my
feet to catch the imp that I heard still rustling around the
kitchen. My headache exploded at my sudden movement, leaving me
clutching the back of the chair.

“I’ll get it,” my father said, shooting me
an unreadable look as he went to catch the rogue imp. “Although I’d
like to point out once again that you wouldn’t have the problem of
hiding houseguests from your husband if you would banish him to the
Akasha.”

I slumped back into my chair, rubbing my
head, wishing there was a way to hurry up the migraine
medicine.

“I’m home for a few minutes, darling,”
Spider said. “Oh. Matthew. You here again? Didn’t you just see
Karma yesterday?”

My father and I had an agreement to keep his
daily morning visits quiet. Spider wasn’t a control freak or
anything like that, but the two of them didn’t get along very well,
what with the differences in their beliefs.

“A father has a right to visit his daughter
whenever he likes,” Dad said stiffly.

“Hmmph,” Spider said, pulling off his tie
and his shirt as he headed to our bedroom. “Where are you,
Kar?”

I watched him dispassionately for a moment.
Blond, with laughing blue eyes, a dimpled chin, and a body that I
knew from firsthand experience was impressive, Spider wore his
forty-six years well. He had the handsome boy-next-door good looks
that left so many women sighing with desire.

It was the ones who did more than sigh who I
took issue with.

“I’m in the dining room. I thought you were
closing on a house today,” I said loudly enough for him to hear me
down the hall. He emerged from our room wearing a new shirt and
holding up two ties. “Which goes best?”

“The one on the left.”

“I like the one on the right,” he said,
tossing my choice on the couch as he wrapped the silk around his
neck. I bit back all sorts of unkind comments and waited to see
what he wanted. Spider never popped home unless it was important.
“And yes, I’m closing on a house today. Very exciting stuff, and
actually, that’s why I’m here. You’re not busy tonight?”

My father appeared in the doorway and made a
crude two-handed gesture. I ignored him. “Not exactly, although
there’s something I need to talk to you about. We’re going to have
a visitor for a short while—”

“Another family member?” He shot my father a
seething look.

“No, not a family member. It’s a girl from
the children’s home—”

“Just keep her out of my way,” he
interrupted. “I need you to clean a house for me tonight.”

“No.”

“It’s the old Walsh house out on Tamsin
Road. You know, the one that looks like something left over from a
Psycho
movie? Great location, five bedrooms, three baths,
twelve rooms altogether.”

“No.”

“It needs fixing up, of course. It’s fifty
years out of code, there’s all sorts of wood rot, termites, the
basement is bound to be flooded when it rains, the roof is covered
in moss—”

“No, Spider. No cleaning.”

“—and it has that horrible asbestos
insulation, but I’ll get a few itinerants in to fix it up. The
place will make us a fortune.”

“He’s not listening to you,” my father said,
still in the doorway.

“He seldom does,” I answered.

“Karma.” Spider yanked my chair sideways,
taking my hand as he squatted next to me. “I know you don’t like
cleaning houses, but this is important, love.”

I started laughing. I couldn’t help myself.
Only someone with Spider’s immense ego would believe he could have
a threesome with two other women and still be able to sweet-talk me
into doing something for him. I pulled my hand from his and gave
him the envelope as I got to my feet. The pain meds were starting
to work, making my head feel oddly numb. “No. No cleaning. Not
tonight, not ever. We’re through, Spider, through with
everything—the marriage, cleaning, us.”

“What?” Spider asked, doing a good
impression of a startled husband. “What are you saying? Why are we
through?”

I pulled one of the pictures out of the
envelope he held. “This, for one.”

He barely glanced at it. “Darling, I can
explain that—”

“I’m sure you can. But it’s not going to
work this time.”

“This time?” my father asked. “You mean
there have been others?”

Spider opened his mouth to protest, then
closed it quickly as a hard look came into his eyes. “All right. I
thought there would be need for your particular talents for some
time to come, but recently, I’ve begun rethinking that
strategy.”

“Strategy?” I asked. “Do my abilities have
something to do with why you said no to the divorce last year?”

The mocking glint in his eyes as he gave me
a once-over left me feeling soiled. “You don’t think I said no to
the divorce simply because I couldn’t be parted from you?” He
laughed, but there was no humor in it. “Sweetheart, you had value
to me, but not between the sheets. Now, do you want that divorce or
not?”

“I think that would be best,” I said, the
numbness seeping from my head down to the rest of me. Not even his
cruel words had the ability to hurt me anymore.

“You can have it on one condition.”

“I don’t need your permission to divorce
you,” I said, welcoming the dulling sensation. “This is 2008, not
1908. I can do it without your consent.”

“But it will be easier if I don’t create a
fuss, won’t it?” he asked, a small smile curling his lips. I hated
that smile. It always made my palm itch. “After all, you don’t want
certain…
truths
coming out, do you?”

“You bastard!” Dad started forward. I held
him back with an upraised hand.

“What condition?” I asked my hopefully
soon-to-be ex-husband.

His smiled deepened. I had to clench my
hands to keep from slapping it off his face. “You clean the Walsh
house for me, and I won’t contest a divorce. I won’t fight an
equitable settlement, and won’t argue over the division of our
assets. I’ll even let you keep this place,” he said, glancing
around the dining room with a look of distaste.

I hesitated. Oh, part of me wanted to tell
him just where he could shove his precious Walsh house, but the
other part of me, the part that knew full well I had a faerie’s
chance in Abaddon of finding gainful employment of the mundane
variety, prodded me into considering his offer. It was just one
house, one cleaning. I wouldn’t have to send whatever was there
into the Akasha… Despite my father’s accusations to the contrary, I
had banished only a couple of nasty house spirits. The rest I’d
acquired as roommates, and with Spider gone, at least they wouldn’t
have to hide. “How many entities are there?”

“How the hell should I know?” He shrugged.
“It’s an old house, built by one of the timber lords a hundred or
so years ago. It’s got a few creepy crawlies in it. I just want
them gone so I can get the place turning a profit. Tell you what:
I’ll give you a cut of the first six months’ profit. Ten percent.
That ought to keep you living pretty high on the hog for a long
time.”

“First six months?”

His smile changed slightly. “I’m going to
use the house for a little moneymaking venture.”

“Oh.” I thought about what he was asking,
what it took out of me to exterminate a house, what it would mean
living with even more Otherworld beings. Then I thought about the
alternative.

“All right,” I said, ignoring my father’s
horrified gasp. “I’ll do it. I’ll clean the house for you, and then
you’re out of my life.”

“Forever,” Spider promised with yet another
of his smug smiles.

Ironically, it was one of the rare times in
his life when Spider actually spoke the truth.

“So, what, you expect me to be your slave or
something? Like my life isn’t hell enough, now I have to play cozy
family with you? I don’t even know you!”

I slammed shut the car door, giving the dog
crate inside another quick glance to make sure it was escape-proof
before turning to my surly companion. “Listen, Pixie—”

“I told you, my name is
Desdemona
!
Desdemona Macabre!”

The girl had a world-record pout; I’d give
her that. The rest of her… well, that wasn’t quite so perfect. She
radiated hostility and anger, her hands fluttering madly to
emphasize words when she spoke. Dark, distrustful eyes peered out
from brows pulled together in a seemingly perpetual scowl. If her
roots and fair coloring were anything to go by, she was a natural
blonde, but she’d dyed her hair a dull black, no doubt to match her
Goth ensemble of a long black opera cape, a black lace skirt, black
and white-striped leggings, a black and red-striped bustier, black
fingerless gloves, and a knee-length scarlet gauze scarf.

“I realize that you’d much rather be left
alone, but unfortunately you’re only fifteen, and the League home
has asked that I take care of you for a bit while things are sorted
out. So why don’t we try to make this month as drama free as
possible?”

“
Deus!
You just don’t understand!”
She stomped around to the far side of the car and flung herself
into the passenger seat.

“Quite possibly, that’s true,” I agreed,
surprising her enough to shoot me a puzzled glance. I slid into the
driver’s seat, praying for the strength to get through the next
month. “I’m sorry to rush you out like this when you just got here,
but I have an appointment I must keep. Why don’t we use the time to
get to know each other a little better? Were both your parents
polters?”

“I knew it! I knew you were going to start
grilling me the second I got here!” she snarled. “My parents aren’t
any of your business!”

“Whoa, calm down. I just asked a polite
question. You don’t have to answer it.”

“Oh, sure, you say that now, but what
happens if I don’t answer? Are you going to send me back to the
home?”

I slid her a curious look. She was really
upset about this. “Of course not. I was just trying to make
conversation, not pry into your life. I’m sorry. I guess I forgot
just how emotional everything is at your age.”

“Age discrimination! I knew it!” she said
with a triumphant glare.

I sighed. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh, right.” She stared out the front
window, bristling with hostility. “Well, go on. Is there anything
else
you want to know about my life, Mrs. Nosy? Like when I
had my last
period
; or if I’m still a
virgin
, or what
size
shoes
I wear?”

“The League worker who brought you said that
your parents died as a result of a drunk driver. I’m very sorry
that you’ve had to endure such a tragedy, but as I just said, I
didn’t intend to pry, so please lower the hostility level a few
notches. Let’s move on to something a little less personal… The
League woman said you were working on a novel; maybe you’d like to
tell me about that.”

“No one listens to me!” she said, looking
pointedly out the window. “I am a
poet
! I write
poetry
! And no, you can’t read any of it. It’s
personal
.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, where the
muscles were beginning to tense up despite the lovely migraine
meds. I had a horrible foreboding that the next month was going to
be one long drama… as though I needed any more of that in my life.
“What else are you interested in? Boys? Books? Movies?”

“What is this, the third degree? I don’t
have to answer your questions!”

“No, you don’t, but a little common courtesy
wouldn’t be amiss here. We have to spend the next month together,
Pixie. Let’s just try to get through that without drawing any
blood, all right?”

“My
name
is Desdemona Macabre,” she
said, grinding the words out between her teeth.

“I’ll make a deal with you: I won’t call you
Pixie if you promise to be civil.”

“Define ‘civil,’ ” she said quickly.

I smiled to myself as I turned onto the
highway that would take us to a small resort town an hour’s drive
away. She might not be the most pleasant teen in the world, but she
seemed intelligent and, despite the defensive posturing, needy. For
some inexplicable reason, I empathized with her. I certainly knew
what it was like to not belong. “It must be my biological clock.
Nothing else would explain it,” I said to myself.

“
Deus
, you’re old enough to have a
biological clock?” she asked, looking at me as if I was some sort
of scaly monster.

“We will leave my age out of it,” I
answered. “ ‘Civil’ in this instance means making an effort to get
along. That includes participation in conversation, keeping your
room relatively clean, and generally staying out of trouble.”