Ghost Of A Chance Part 2

"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 b.a.s.t.a.r.d!" 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 a.s.sets. 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 ent.i.ties are there?"

"How the h.e.l.l 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.

3.

"So, what, you expect me to be your slave or something? Like my life isn't h.e.l.l 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 pa.s.senger 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 partic.i.p.ation in conversation, keeping your room relatively clean, and generally staying out of trouble."

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 dictators.h.i.+p, 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, a.s.sured 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-eeked 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 G.o.ddess 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 pa.s.sing 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?"