Chapter Eight #2
I grab the lepidolite and funnel magic into the containment sigils along its smooth surface.
I don’t need the ghost breaking out once it’s safely inside.
“Time to go, big guy.” I delight in the surge of anger the poltergeist displays as I set the crystal on the floor and nudge it past the nearest piece of obsidian.
There’s a sudden pop and a whoosh, and then the ghost is sucked into the depths of the crystal.
Immediately, the kitchen feels a solid five degrees warmer. I grab a sturdy cloth and scoop up the purple crystal, careful not to touch it with my skin. This magic is notoriously fickle, and direct contact with a living person could release the ghost within.
Unsteady, I clean up the spilled cinnamon and broken glass, store my supplies and the covered crystal in my bag, and stumble for the front door.
Outside, I find Marisol and Jackie waiting near the end of the driveway, underneath one of the large oaks. I wave them over as I deposit my bag in my car.
“Done already?” Jackie asks, a note of suspicion in her voice.
“With the first part,” I confirm. “The ghost itself is gone. I’ll do a final sweep to clear out any lingering energetic funk, add some protective stones to the four corners of the home, and finish up with strong wards to keep anything else from sneaking in.
” I stumble, catching myself on the car as my head swims. “Just need to eat first.”
“Come on.” Marisol links her arm through mine and leads me toward the front door. “The pork should be done any minute now. I have a potato salad in the fridge already, too.”
“You don’t have to do that. I have a granola bar in the car.”
Jackie laughs. “Marisol won’t take no for an answer when it comes to food. Let us pay you with a good meal.” She pauses, tilting her head to one side. “Unless you don’t eat meat. I know a lot of you witches are vegan or whatnot.”
I snort a laugh. “That’s no more true than all lesbians being vegan.”
“The meat is ethically sourced,” Marisol chimes in. “We get it from a local farmer in the next town over. All pasture raised and everything.”
“Sounds amazing,” I say, and I mean it. There’s a lot to do before I can leave, and a good meal will make it easier to protect the home the way this couple deserves.
But as we eat and laugh, my mind keeps going back to Elle. To the soup she’s making for dinner because Xander said I’d like it.
My chest is tight with something that feels dangerously close to longing.
It’s late by the time I leave Jackie and Marisol’s house.
They plied me with food, followed me around the house while I cleared out the last remnants of the poltergeist’s spectral energy, and chatted endlessly while I protected their home from future ghostly invasions.
Their gentle ribbing and clear love for each other were a welcome distraction, and I leave with an open invitation to come for dinner again soon.
As I make my way back to Midnight Manor—back to Xander and Elle and a tomorrow dedicated to dealing with the malevolent spirit trapped in the sphere of lepidolite in my back seat—an anxious, jittery feeling leaves me on edge.
My time at the manor is temporary, so why does this drive feel like going home?
Because Xander is family, I reason, absentmindedly tracing a calming sigil on my thigh. That’s all it is.
It’s nearly eight by the time I pull into the long driveway. The night chill sweeps across my skin when I leave the car and gather my things. Goose bumps prickle along my arms, my chest, the back of my neck. I shiver, the stars overhead judging me for the anticipation that swirls in my gut.
The front door is unlocked, so I let myself in. A burst of chicken and herbs and warmth fills my senses, and I’m sad I missed dinner. The manor itself is quiet. No signs of Xander or Elle on the main floor. In the dining room, I find a note from Elle.
Saved you a bowl. It’s in the fridge.
Beneath the single line is a PS written in Xander’s familiar lazy scrawl. I want to hear all about your ghost busting in the morning!
I can’t imagine either of them is already asleep, but I creep up the stairs and slip quietly into my temporary bedroom just in case.
Exhaustion floods my system at the sight of the queen-size bed and its mountain of pillows.
While I unpack from the trip, I wonder idly how upset Elle will be if I save the soup for breakfast tomorrow.
All I want right now is twelve hours of uninterrupted sleep.
As I work, a to-do list for tomorrow slots into place in my head. I’ll need to cleanse all the tools I used, I note as I unload everything from my bag onto the credenza by the door. And set up additional safety measures so I can release this asshole and test the room barriers.
Careful not to touch the lepidolite with my skin, I collect the trapped spirit by the fabric I’ve wrapped around the crystal and set it next to the other tools. I’ll have to make sure Xander and Elle are safely out of the way when I begin my tests.
I have a feeling that things could get dicey, if what happened at Jackie and Marisol’s house is any indication.
A soft rap on my door draws my attention, and I turn to see Elle loitering in the open doorway. I must look as bedraggled as I feel, because her eyebrows shoot up her forehead. “Are you okay?”
“Just tired,” I assure her. “Long day.”