Ghost Of A Chance Part 3

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 circ.u.mstances."

"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 sh.o.r.ebirds 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 sh.o.r.eline, 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.

"Dem! 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 h.e.l.lo, 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...h.e.l.lo?"

"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 seance?"

"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 doc.u.ment the ent.i.ties 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 seance 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 a.s.sumed 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 ent.i.ties! 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 seance. 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?"

"Oh, surely no one could object to us doc.u.menting the ent.i.ties!"

Savannah said at the same time. "This house is unique! Everyone knows it's the most haunted building on the Olympic Peninsula! It's a fabulous resource that has been kept from true researchers like those of us in PMS for far too long.

Now at last we have a chance to do some serious investigation, and Jebediah a.s.sures me that our work will be fruitful."

"PMS?" I couldn't help asking.

"Psychical Mysteries Society. Silly acronym, isn't it? It's a lovely group, though, and very scientific. We seek to solve the age-old mysteries of life after death, hauntings, demonic possessions, clairvoyance, and poltergeists."

"Poltergeists?" Pixie asked, her face a frozen mask.

Savannah turned her smile on the girl. "Yes. That's German for 'noisy ghosts.' Poltergeists are known for their disruptive and malicious behavior. I'm particularly interested in them because I had a poltergeist experience in my teens that I've never forgotten. It darned near scared the life out of me! I have high hopes we can call one tonight."

"I think you'll find that most of what you've read about polters is fabrication, created to sensationalize rather than inform," I said quickly.

" 'Polters' being poltergeists?" Savannah's brow furrowed.

"Sorry, yes."

Her frown cleared. "Oh, are you interested in them, as well?"

Pixie sent me a warning glare. It was unnecessary: I had no intention of allowing the woman before us to see the extra set of arms that Pixie kept hidden beneath the cape. The kid had enough problems without having her heritage exposed. "I'm familiar with the history of poltergeists, yes."

"Excellent! I knew you were a fellow enthusiast!"

"Enthusiast might be an overstatement. About this seance tonight-I happen to know the new owner of the house, and I'm sorry to say that I really don't think he'd be overly pleased to have people traipsing around inside. From what I understand, it needs quite a bit of work, so it could actually be dangerous to go in there-"

"You know the owner?" she interrupted.

"Well...yes. He's my husband, actually."

Her face lit up with happiness. "You're the owner's wife? Oh, that's wonderful! There will be no problem, then, if you're along with us!"

"Oh, I'm not here to join your group-"

"But you just said you're interested in poltergeists, so of course you must come!" She beamed at me as she gave my hand a little squeeze before moving off to her car. "Both of you!"

"I'll come," Pixie said quickly with a defiant glance my way.

"Regardless of my interest, my husband isn't going to be pleased with the idea of people holding a seance in a house he's about to sell."

That stopped Savannah dead in her tracks. She whirled around to face me.

"Sell? Your husband is going to sell this fabulous resource?"

"I'm not privy to his thoughts, but I believe that is his intention, yes."

She rushed back over to me, her face clouded. "But you can't let him! This house is absolutely unique! There's not another like it on the entire peninsula!

There have been hauntings here for the last one hundred and ten years! If new owners come along...who knows what they will do with it! They may not provide an environment in which the spirits will thrive!"

"Or perhaps the new owners will be as enthusiastic as you to have the house investigated," I pointed out.

Her eyes narrowed on nothing for a few moments while she thought.

"No," she said, shaking her head and marching back toward her car. "I can't allow that. This house is too important. My husband will talk to the owner and make him see reason."

I didn't bother telling her that the person who could change Spider's mind once he had made it up hadn't been born. Instead, I murmured polite, noncommittal noises of vague agreement.

Savannah's frown lightened when she rolled down her window and waved at me. "We'll start the investigations proper at eleven, so I hope you are up for a late night. The seance is at midnight, as I mentioned earlier. I'm so pleased you'll be joining PMS!"

"I ... but I ... I don't- You haven't listened to me at all, have you?"

"Wear something old that you don't mind getting dirty," she called as she pulled away. "We're bound to have an evening to remember!"

"I have a horrible feeling those are going to be famous last words," I told Pixie as the SUV bearing the perpetually cheerful Savannah made its way down the winding drive.

"Yeah, and I can guess who they'll apply to," she said with a dark implication before stalking off to the verandah.

I had a nasty feeling she was right.

4.

"This house is ..." I paused, not for dramatic effect, but to try to put into the words the sensation that skittered down my back.

"Clean?" Pixie asked, drifting past me to a bow-front window that looked over a short bit of scraggly lawn.

"Hardly that."

"Yuck. Flowers. That's probably where the bees were."

A mouse dashed out in front of me, froze when it spotted me, nose and tail twitching.

"It looks like Spider will need to contact the real sort of exterminators.

What I was going to say was that the house is ... different."

The mouse ran off to hide behind a love seat when I stamped on the floor.

"Different as in deadly? Filled with toxic fumes, do you mean?

Carcinogens leaching into the air, the kind that seep deep into your healthy pink lung tissue, corrupting and destroying every healthy cell in their path?"

"You are the strangest child!" I said, giving her a look that should have scared her silly.

She shrugged. "Strange is what I do best."

"Evidently."

"And I'm not a child. I'm almost sixteen."

"What I meant was different as in ... well, different. Or not, given the present company. Take that picture, for example."

Pixie stalked over to the wall opposite me and stood with two hands on her hips, the other two arms crossed over her chest, an obstinate look on her face.

We were in what must have been the house's parlor, a sunny room that overlooked a small garden that had been allowed to run wild. Faded heavy maroon curtains dated it to at least a hundred years in the past, and the thick, dark mahogany furniture couldn't have been much newer. Several uninspired, muddy watercolors hung on the dusty yellow and cream wallpaper, occasional squares of brighter color indicating where pictures had been removed.

But there was nary a spirit to be seen.

"What? What's wrong with it? It's just a picture of some boring old people," Pixie said, her eyes lighting up at the sight of a sharp letter opener that had been thrust into a small bud vase.

"Take a closer look at it."

She sighed the sigh of the put-upon and gave the picture another glimpse.

"It's just some Victorian people. A family. OK? Can we go now?"