Ghost of a Chance (4 page)

She tossed her head, still refusing to look
my way. After a few minutes of silence, she finally capitulated.
“All right. I will recognize your dictatorship, but you have to
call me by my
proper
name, respect my privacy, and not
intrude in my life any more than you already have.”

“I agree to the first two terms, and will do
my best on the last within reason.”

An uneasy peace was reached. I kept silent
for most of the ride, preferring to let her have a little time to
sort through her no doubt tangled emotions.

“Where exactly are you dragging me?” she
asked, breaking the silence forty-five minutes later as we exited
the highway and headed down a narrow country road.

“Otherworld petting zoo. The owner is a
summoner, and said she wouldn’t mind if my imps ran free on her
acreage. There should be a sign somewhere around here pointing the
way… Ah, there it is.”

“Ew. Imps. They light fires and things. Why
don’t you just kill them?”

“These aren’t common imps. They’re
Australian House Imps; they’re quite friendly, and not in the least
bit destructive, as normal imps are, unless they are
mistreated.”

“An imp is an imp is an imp,” she muttered,
directing her frown to the back, where the dog crate sat. “How come
you’re taking them to live outside if they are house imps?”

“They’ll have a nice imp shelter to snuggle
into when they are done romping around outside,” I answered with
confidence, more to convince myself than her. I wasn’t sure how the
imps would take to life on a farm open to the public, but Simone,
the summoner, assured me that they would have the run of a distant
pasture and bordering woods, and a chicken coop that had been
specially customized for imps. They certainly seemed cheerful
enough as I let them free from the dog crate. They
eek-eek
ed
happily without a glance back at me as they scampered off to
explore their new home.

“Let’s hope they stay there this time,” I
said after telling Simone good-bye.

“This time?” Pixie asked as we bounced our
way down the long unpaved driveway.

I was pleased. She hadn’t said a word the
whole time we were releasing the imps, contenting herself to stand
behind me like a big unhappy black and red rain cloud. This was the
first thing she’d said that didn’t concern just how miserable she
was.

“I’ve tried to set them free two other
times. Each time they found me. I really hope they stay where they
are safe; my life is complicated enough without having a dozen imps
trying to wreak havoc whenever they can.”

“That servant said he let them loose. You
should fire him.”

“Sergei isn’t a servant. He’s a domovoi, and
domovois help out because they want to, not because they’re being
paid anything. Well, anything other than oats and the occasional
package of Pop Rocks.”

She shot me an inquisitive glance, clearly
struggling with the need to appear aloof and a natural curiosity
about her new—if temporary—home. “Why do you have a Russian ghost?
And the little thing in the refrigerator?”

“Sergei is there because he needed a home.
The same applies to the dada; I found him in a restaurant. He’s
harmless, and very sensitive to noises, so if you could keep from
screaming at the top of your lungs when you see him, I’d be
grateful.”

“He
scared
me!” she said, bristling
with indignation. “I wasn’t expecting to find
living things
in the veggie bin!”

“You have yet to meet Cardea. She’s very
shy, but if you’re gentle with her, she’ll prove to be an
entertaining companion.”

“That’s the goddess who lives in
closets?”

I nodded.

“You’re really weird,” was her verdict upon
consideration of the other members of the household. “No wonder
your husband left you.”

“Ouch. You’re big on judgments, aren’t you?
My husband isn’t important, and won’t be around to be a part of
home life.”

“Whatever. So, how many spirits and things
have you killed?”

I wondered if she’d overheard anything from
the League home people.

“Technically, you can’t kill something that
is already dead, but I have banished to the Akasha only two
spirits, and they certainly had it coming. The rest I’ve taken in,
and they will stay with me for as long as they like.” The sight of
the dog crate in the rearview mirror caught my eye. “Well, other
than the imps, that is.”

She mouthed another “ew.”

Silence reigned for ten minutes before she
broke it with “Margo said you were working off wergeld, and you had
to foster me or else you’d get in trouble. What’s wergeld?”

I jerked convulsively, causing the car to
veer onto the shoulder. With a mental scold at the overreaction, I
tried to calm my wildly beating heart. “Who is Margo?”

“The woman who brought me to your house,”
she said in a tone that dripped disbelief that I could be so
clueless.

“Ah. I didn’t catch her name. As it happens,
Margo is correct about the wergeld, although no one forced me to
take you in.” A little white lie wouldn’t hurt and might make her
feel wanted. I had a hunch that particular emotion was a stranger
to Pixie. “My situation is a bit complex, and I’m not sure if I can
explain it quickly. Wergeld is a payment someone makes when they
have inadvertently caused the death of someone else.”

She gave me a long, thoughtful perusal. “You
killed someone? Really killed them? Someone mortal?”

“No. And to be perfectly honest, this isn’t
a subject I’m comfortable discussing. Since we’re allowing limits
in conversational topics, I’d like to move on to something
else.”

“Afraid to talk about it?”

What an annoying girl. No wonder the League
home was having difficulty finding her a foster home. “I’m not
afraid, no. I just don’t wish to discuss the situation with you,
just as you don’t wish to discuss your parents with me. It really
has nothing to do with you and me, so I think we can let it
drop.”

“Maybe,” she said with a cryptic look, then
continued her silent examination of the passing scenery.

I bit my lip, trying to think of the best
way to deal with my unexpected charge with regard to the evening’s
activities. “As long as we’re dealing with unpleasant subjects,
there is something I have to do tonight, a job I’ve promised to do
for my husband.”

“A job? A killing-ghosts sort of job?”

I refused to give her the satisfaction of a
reaction. “A cleaning, yes.”

She looked at me with as much indignation as
my father did. Despite my better intentions, it put me on the
defensive. “I don’t like the job any better than you do, but I
am
the only licensed TAE in the area, and there are
extenuating circumstances.”

“Suuure,” she drawled. “So how many spirits
will you be killing tonight? I get to watch, right?”

“For someone who professes such abhorrence
of the subject of cleaning, you certainly are jumping on the
opportunity to watch.”

“They used to have public executions, you
know. My foster dad said they were really popular.”

I reminded myself that she would be with me
only a month and, more importantly, that I’d survived worse
calamities. “I have no idea how many beings there will be; that’s
why we’re going out to check the house now. I need to see who and
what is there to be cleaned… if anything. As for you coming along…”
I paused for a moment. “We’ll see.”

Pixie pulled out an iPod and dismissed me as
we drove back to town.

Although the Olympic Peninsula was best
known to tourists for its spooky rain forests, glorious mountain
range, and fiercely beautiful coastline, the shallow, quiet inlets
were what I loved best. Short stretches of smooth sand dotted with
sandpipers and other shorebirds were tucked away between jagged
edges of coast. The calm, protected waters in which waterfowl
paddled around with contented pleasure provided a peaceful haven.
Sea lions sunned themselves on the sandbars while overhead gulls
and terns dipped and rose on the air currents, singing a harsh song
of life on the water. I breathed deeply of the sharp tang of the
sea air as we followed a narrow road along the shoreline, a stubby
spit of land curving in a half-moon to create a small calm lagoon
populated by birds and wildlife. Above it, a dull red Victorian
house sat hulking against the skyline.

“It looks haunted,” Pixie said in a voice
rich with perverted satisfaction. “Very haunted. With, like, really
evil spirits and things.”

“You should know better than to make such
gross generalizations. Regardless, it’s hardly something we can
tell until we get there,” I said calmly, although my heart rate
sped up as the car climbed a twisting road that finally emerged at
the crown of the hill. I was pathetically aware of the undertone of
worry in my voice.

The house was even more impressive when
viewed close-up. Built to last, it had a wide covered verandah that
ran around three-quarters of it, cupolas fringed with delicate
gingerbread trim, and, at the top, a widow’s walk that must have
commanded a tremendous view of the Strait of Juan de Fuca.

“
Deus!
What’s that? It’s
horrible
!”

I looked to where Pixie was pointing. A
woman strolled around from the far side of the verandah. She looked
like something from a Fleetwood Mac video, dressed in a long, filmy
gown, a flower garland on her head, ribbons fluttering in
waist-length golden hair that fell in long ringlets.

“Don’t worry, Pix… er… Desdemona. She’s not
a spirit.”

“I
know
that. But it’s still
horrible! She’s all
flowery
! It’s positively
ghastly
!”

“To each his own,” I said, unable to keep
from shooting a pointed look at Pixie’s lace skirt and black and
white-striped leggings, visible below the bottom of her cape. “Do
you have a glamour handy?”

She shook her head, a mulish look on her
face. “Mrs. Beckett said it’s bad to rely on glamours, and we
should work on other techniques to blend into the mortal
world.”

“Yeah, well, sometimes a polter has no other
choice but to use a glamour to hide the extra arms. Since you don’t
have one, and I have no idea who this is, keep your cape on, just
in case it’s someone unaware of the Otherworld.”

“Oh, I’m very good at hiding the truth about
myself.”

I didn’t have time to wonder what on earth
she meant before the woman spotted us. The woman called out a
cheerful hello, hurrying toward us with a wave and a smile. “Are
you both here for the sitting? I’m afraid that isn’t until
midnight. Witching hour, you know. Hi, I’m Savannah. And you
are…?”

A faint buzzing noise was barely audible. I
glanced around quickly but didn’t see a bee or a hive nearby.

“Um… hello?”

“Sorry. I was just distracted for a moment.
Do you hear a weak sort of buzz? Kind of like a distant bee or an
electrical box?”

“A bee? No, I don’t hear anything.”

“Ah. Must just be a side effect from the
migraine I had earlier.” I shook the offered hand, returning the
woman’s smile. “I’m Karma Marx. This is a friend of mine, Pixie,
although she prefers to be called Desdemona. I’m afraid you must
have us confused with someone else; we’re just here to take a peek
at the house. Er… you’re having a sitting tonight? A séance?”

“Yes! Isn’t it exciting? We’ve been dying to
get into this house for ever so long, and it’s just recently been
sold, so now at last we can go inside and document the entities
within. I was just taking a look at the house to see where we
should concentrate.” Her smile brightened. She was around my age,
mid- to late thirties, with a sunny nature that fit her name.

“I see. Does the new owner know that you
plan to hold a séance here tonight?” I asked, wondering if Spider
was pulling some sort of trick on me.

For a moment, her cheerful, happy-puppy-dog
exuberance was dimmed. “Well… I did ask my control, Jebediah—he’s a
Quaker, you know, and
very
honest—and he said it would be
all right, that the new owner was very sympathetic to those who had
gone beyond the misty veil. And I do have a key from the
Realtor.”

“A
Quaker
!” Pixie gawked at Savannah
in apparent shock.

I knew how she felt, although for another
reason. If there was a man alive less tolerant of things Otherworld
than my husband, I had yet to meet him.

“I see,” I said again, at a loss as to how
to explain the reality of the situation. I was a bit confused about
why Spider had let her have a key, but I assumed he had some
purpose in doing so. Unfortunately, the purpose that came foremost
to mind involved adultery. I pushed it away and kept my face as
placid as possible. “Did you talk to the owner himself, or just get
the key from the agency?”

“Oh, my husband got it for me. He knows the
Realtor, so all he did was make a call and one of the realty
secretaries let me have the keys. I took a peek inside. It’s just
perfect! Positively ripe with entities! I have high hopes we’ll
make contact tonight.”

Pixie’s perpetual frown cleared. “That
sounds
creepy
. I want to go.”

“Hmm.” I didn’t pay her much attention,
still mulling over Spider’s unusual action and finally deciding
that without realizing someone had an ulterior motive, he’d given
instructions for the keys to be handed over to interested persons.
Usually one of the agents showed people the houses for sale, but
occasionally Spider allowed people he felt trustworthy to examine
property by themselves. “I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings,
but I believe it would be best if you were to talk to the realty
agency before holding a séance. I’m sure they don’t have a problem
with people viewing the house, but holding a group meeting there is
another matter.”

“What do you have against seances?” Pixie
demanded. “You don’t want me to have
any
fun, do you?”