Thankfully, he breaks the silence. “Before you can master displacement, and even think about teleportation, you have to master deflection.” That grin starts to appear on his face again. “However, despite my snooping, I have no idea if that skill might already be in your bag of tricks.”

  “Where did you go to school?”

  It just pops out of my mouth, and the question takes Grayson off guard. He frowns, just slightly, then shakes his head. “Why does it matter?”

  I shrug. “Just curious. Well, to be honest, you speak like you kind of have a stick up your ass.”

  Grayson blinks like fifty times, and the feeling I get is that he’s used to an entirely different reaction from women. And, obviously, it’s not like I don’t find him attractive. Which he knows, I can tell. Hence my messing with him again. I’m kind of used to having things on my own terms.

  Grayson nods. “Okay, well. The Order arranged for my education to be obtained abroad.”

  I fight against a smirk, and Grayson sees it in my eyes.

  “Was that an example of speaking like I have a stick up my ass?”

  “Kind of, yeah.”

  He nods thoughtfully. “Right, sorry. I suspect that’s the result of spending half my life with old mages who only stick their noses out of a book when they absolutely have no other choice. Which, in a nutshell, describes most of my true education. What about you?”

  “VCU, but I was living inside someone else’s body at the time. It’s kind of a long story.”

  Grayson and I stare at each other within our now seemingly tiny circle, both of us suddenly self-conscious at the gulf between our backgrounds. Nice job, Cassie.

  “Should we get back to it?” Grayson says.

  “We probably should.”

  “Okay, deflection.” Grayson raises his hands and tennis balls rise from the trunk, at least ten of them at once. They streak through the air and suddenly stop above his head, where they remain suspended. Damn, the guy really is good.

  He starts walking backward, the tennis balls circling above him. “Deflection is basically creating a shield around yourself. How are you with levitation?

  “Not bad.”

  “Similar skill.” Grayson steps into his circle again. “Only, instead of pulling things toward you—and believe me, that’s where all basic levitation starts—you use that same energy to propel things away. And, by that, I mean fast!”

  Tennis balls fly at me. First one, then another, popping into my shoulder, then my thigh, then my arm, then the top of my head as I try to duck. A few miss, but not many. Before I even look up again, Grayson is out of ammo.

  Or so I thought.

  More tennis balls fly across the room and stop, poised above his head.

  “Hey, not fair.” I bet he’s just pissed off about the stick up the ass comment.

  This time, it’s Grayson who smirks. “Why?”

  “I wasn’t ready.”

  “And why should I care?”

  My lips form an F sound, but it’s too late. More tennis balls start smacking into me. I raise my hands to block them, but get smacked several more times.

  “Because I think you are ready,” Grayson says. “In fact, I know you are.”

  My eyes widen as I see what he has planned next. This time it’s rocks flying his way, and then mine, coming at me way too fast to dodge. Instinctively, I thrust out my arms, hands spread, as a blast of light flares in front of me. I watch in amazement as the rocks explode mid-air, as if hitting an invisible shield. Fragments ping off the floor, others streaking through the room in all directions, some trailing tiny sparking arcs in their wake.

  It all happened so fast, and I remain frozen with my arms held out, my breath coming in short gasps. I call out, “You asshole!”

  Blood trickles down Grayson’s forehead, although he doesn’t seem to notice.

  “Wait? Did one of them hit you?”

  He shrugs, gazing back at me. “I knew you were ready. How did that feel?”

  And the fact is, it felt great. It felt amazing. Yeah, definitely no need for soft music and candlelight. I don’t know if this is a first date, or what it is. But, come to think of it, I met Phoenix after he knocked me out with a spell and chained me up in a barn. Okay, at the time he suspected me of being behind a string of witch murders, but still. One could argue that my choice in men might be a little questionable, if not self-destructive. Which might be yet one more indicator that years of living without a body left me at least mildly maladjusted.

  Yeah, I’m a mess. I get that. Still, that was really fun.

  “What’s next? I say.

  CHAPTER 19

  What's actually next is me and Grayson rushing to his car, since I lost track of time and totally forgot about the cleaning. The address is outside the city limits again, somewhere in the West End, but I still have half an hour. So that's not bad. But it's rush hour and, technically, I have no true idea where we are, geographically speaking. In fact, Beatrice's parting comment of “Feel free to drop by anytime, dear”—delivered with both a merry little twist to her lips and a twinkle in her eyes—served to emphasize the point she made before. We may be leaving a location on the other side of the James River with a clear view of the city, or we may not.

  “Don't worry, you should make it just fine,” Grayson says, stepping on the gas and peeling down the driveway. “But I should probably take you directly there.”

  Thankfully, I'm not a flashy ghostbuster, so I don't need to swing by my place for any gizmos or special clothes. “Sure, whatever works.” I gaze out the window, this time determined to remember the way. But, sure enough, as soon as I memorize a landmark or a street name, it fades from my consciousness immediately. Son of a bitch, Beatrice really wasn’t kidding.

  True to his word, we pull up in front of the address I was given with just a couple of minutes to spare. Only then do I realize that, at some point while we were driving, our location started to register again. Still, everything before that remains a blur. It also dawns on me, as we park in front of the client’s house, that I don’t have my car and figuring out the bus route back into town would take more magic than I possess. Which means I’ll probably have to spring for a taxi. Not exactly how I feel like spending my rent money, but there’s not much I can do about it now.

  I reach for the door handle, ready to get out. “Well, thanks. That was fun.”

  “I enjoyed it too. Sorry if I, well, came across a little stiff. Like Beatrice is so fond of reminding me, I really need to work on a few things.”

  Suddenly, I feel like a total asshat for saying what I did before. Just because he comes off all smooth and confident doesn’t mean he isn’t sensitive. “You were fine,” I say. “Really. I can be an idiot sometimes. Just ignore me.”

  Grayson keeps his eyes on mine. “I think I’d find you pretty hard to ignore.” My face grows warm, but Grayson offsets the awkwardness by adding, “For one thing, that was very impressive combat magic you performed earlier. A deflection shield like that can be difficult to master. For many it would require weeks of training. Possibly months.”

  I reach over and give him a mock-punch on the shoulder. “Well, it was either that or get pummeled to death.”

  Grayson rubs his jaw, as if considering a decision. “Okay, I probably shouldn’t admit this, but they’re enchanted rocks. Just don’t tell anyone.”

  I swivel in my seat to stare at him. “What are you saying?”

  “Just that they couldn’t have actually hit you. They would have swerved around you. At the very last moment, of course.”

  My mouth drops open. “Are you kidding me? I almost pissed my pants!”

  Grayson bursts out laughing. “I’m sorry. But, hey, you didn’t, did you? And it’s not as if they’re fake rocks. What you did was absolutely real. Bravo.”

  I tilt my head and smile. “Well, thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome. I mean it. Nice job.” Grayson nods toward the house. “I could wait out here, if you’d like. I mean, it’s sort of my fault that you’re getting here at the last minute. Not to mention without a way to get back.”

  I grasp the door handle again, about to say I’ll be fine, but then change my mind. The company would be nice, and I really don’t feel like shelling out thirty bucks to get home. “Well, Mr. Enchanted Rocks,” I say, immediately regretting it, but moving on quickly. “Think you can handle a real haunting?”

  “Actually, I’m terrible at that sort of thing. But I have no doubt that you can.”

  I open the car door. “Well, maybe you’ll learn some new skills. Come on. We better get in there.”

  ~~~

  We’re greeted at the door by a woman in her fifties, with a puffy helmet of black hair streaked with white. She wears a tasseled blue shawl, a flowing gauzy black dress and dangling lapis earrings. She reaches out to shake my hand, her forearms encircled by too many silver bracelets to count.

  “You must be Cassie,” she says. “My, you are young, aren’t you? Well, you probably have an old soul.” She shifts her attention to Grayson, shaking his hand too, as her eyes run up and down in an appreciative appraisal. “Hello, I’m Miriam, but please call me Mimi.”

  Grayson smiles. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Grayson.”

  I wait, counting the beats. I’m almost to three when, there it is, she raises a hand to fix her hair. Yes, she’s definitely feeling the Grayson effect. To break the spell, and to once again mess with Grayson, I say, “Grayson is my assistant in training. I hope you don’t mind him tagging along.”

  Mimi straightens her shawl, making her tassels quiver. “Not at all!”

  Right, I kind of thought she’d feel that way. To his credit, Grayson merely nods and steps further into the room. Mimi closes the door behind us.

  I look around to see a living room that looks like a new age Bed, Bath and Beyond. White fluffy sofas, along with the white shag rug, give the impression that you’ve just stepped onto a cloud. Prayer candles of various kinds—ranging from simple colored glass to Tijuana roadside vendor merch —vie for space on end tables, the coffee table and across the mantel, the fireplace itself holding an iron candelabra. A folded white screen stands for no evident reason in one corner, before it a massive sea-green glass vase resting on the floor and erupting with a spray of purple peacock feathers. The walls hold not one, but three, oval mirrors, one with a frame of encrusted seashells, another with turquoise fronds, and the third with bronze sunrays and a snakelike mermaid curved around the bottom. Crystals abound pretty much everywhere I look. If my eyes could barf, they would.

  “You have a lovely home,” Grayson says.

  I glance at him, my eyes delivering a “remind me never to trust you again” message.

  He keeps a straight face and adds, “I particularly like the painting of Buddha. Do you mind my asking where you got it?”

  “Isn’t that lovely?” Mimi says. “That was actually a gift from a friend. I think she got it in California.”

  Probably at a garage sale.

  “Well, it’s certainly befitting the space,” Grayson says.

  Yes, it is.

  Mimi checks her hair again. “Thank you.”

  “So, about that ghost?” I say, mostly to avoid commenting on the décor. “What’s going on?”

  Mimi’s tassels swirl in my direction. “Oh, I'm sorry. I'm sure your time must be limited. We really should get to work, shouldn't we?”

  I make an attempt at a chipper smile. “Well, the sooner we get started, the sooner you’ll be able to enjoy your own home again.”

  Good luck with that, by the way.

  Mimi walks toward the kitchen, and we follow. “So, when did you first discover you were psychic?”

  Ugh, here we go again. I decide to put a spin on my usual response. “I started to notice certain abilities when I was a child.”

  I leave out the part about the sudden appearance of floating glowing orbs descending toward my bed, casting an eerie glow upon my stuffed animals. This probably isn't the time for going into the whole psychopomp thing.

  “How remarkable. I’m sure you must be gifted,” Mimi says. “I guess it’s a little different for everyone. As for me, I actually remained unaware of my own psychic abilities until much later in life.”

  Good lord, here we go. The interior decorating pretty much tipped me off, but I was still hoping not to go there. For that matter, the kitchen isn't much better, abounding with woo-woo bric-a-brac and another array of crystals cluttering the counters and windowsills.

  Thankfully, Grayson comes to my rescue. “I wondered if you might have psychic abilities,” he says. “You have that way about you.”

  I'm not really sure what that means, but Mimi certainly looks pleased. “Isn't it funny how we can just sense that in other people,” she says. “And what about you… Grayson, is that right?”

  He nods. “Grayson, that's right.”

  “What an interesting name. Tell me, Grayson, do you believe some people are simply born with a higher level of spiritual attunement, or is it something that anyone can learn?”

  No doubt sensing the answer Mimi wants to hear, he says, “I believe some of us are born to it, definitely.”

  Mimi nods emphatically, gazing at him longingly for a moment before coming to her senses. “Can I get you something to drink? I have some lovely chardonnay. Or maybe you'd care for some sparkling water.”

  “Sparkling water sounds nice,” Grayson says.

  “So, about that ghost,” I say.

  Mimi suddenly remembers I'm in the room. “Oh, yes, of course. I suppose we should get down to business.” Which doesn't stop her from waiting until she retrieves a cut crystal glass and filling it with ice and sparkling water, with a slice of lemon, for Grayson. “Okay. Where were we? Oh, right, let's talk about that pesky ghost.”

  I stare back at her. “Yes, please tell me.”

  Mimi gazes back and forth between us knowingly. “She's a jealous one, that's all I have to say.”

  I wish that was all she had to say, so we could leave. Maybe I lack the right temperament for this kind of business. “So, you have reason to believe the ghost is a woman.”

  “Oh, I know it's a woman. A very jealous woman.”

  I nod thoughtfully for Mimi’s benefit. After all, she fancies herself a psychic. “It sounds like we're getting somewhere. Do you know who she is, or why she's jealous?”

  “Well, because of my Tommy, of course.” Mimi says it like we must know who Tommy is.

  “Who's Tommy?” I say, since we have no idea.

  “My husband. Is it my fault he had three wives before me?” Mimi doesn't wait for an answer. “No, it's not. Nor is it my fault if the women Tommy married before me weren't, well, woman enough for him.”

  Mimi's cheeks redden after her last statement, indicating she meant it how it sounded. Of course, without the past wives present, at least physically, it's difficult to determine if Mimi is more of a woman than they are. Or were. Which brings me to my next question.

  “I take it that at least one of Tommy's ex-wives must have passed away.” I hope it's only one. Otherwise, this case could get suspicious fast.

  Mimi decides on the chardonnay, after all, splashing some into a wineglass. “That would be Cynthia. Mean as a feral cat, that one, right up until she died in that crash. Guess how she died.”

  Grayson and I exchange glances.

  “Um, in a car accident?” I say.

  “Exactly,” Mimi says. “You really are psychic. And that accident happened because she was jealous of me and Tommy. I felt bad about that, I really did. It wasn't our intention to hurt anyone. We just couldn't resist our attraction to each other. Do you believe in soul mates?”

  She delivers her abrupt question to Grayson, which makes me wonder if Mimi might be persuaded to consider “soul mate” a temporary condition.

  “Yes, I believe I do,” Grayson says.

  Mimi takes an impressive gulp of white wine. “Well, that's what it was like for Tommy and me, especially in the beginning. But it's not as if we weren't trying to be discreet. In fact, we made great efforts to keep our relationship secret.”

  Mimi pauses, as if waiting for some sort of response, so I say, “I see.”

  That seems to do the trick, because Mimi continues. “Tommy also planned to tell her, as soon as the time was right, but you can't really blame him for waiting. To be honest, I think he was a little afraid to break things off between them. Cynthia was jealous and possessive to her core. If she hadn't hired someone to follow us around, she could have spared herself a world of pain. And if she hadn't decided to confront us after drinking too much, and then driving off in a huff, I'm sure she'd still be alive. So, her own jealousy did her in, and now it's keeping her soul from moving on.”

  Somehow, things aren't adding up for me, so I try fitting the pieces together. “Help me understand. When did Cynthia die?”

  “About seven years ago.”

  “Was this once her house?”

  Mimi shakes her head, her expression showing horror at the thought. “Oh, no! That isn't something I'd even consider. That would have been asking for trouble. Tommy and I bought this house after we got married.”

  “How long ago was that?”

  “Five years,” Mimi says.

  “And where is Tommy now? Is he going to be joining us?” The fact is, it makes me wonder that he’s not here at night, while we are. Call it a hunch.

  “Well, no,” Mimi admits, taking another gulp of her wine. “We're going through a bit of a rough patch, as it turns out.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I say. “Does he still live here?”

  Mimi shakes her head. “I’m sure it’s only temporary. He said he needed a little space to sort things out. But we’re both free thinkers. I can respect that.”

  Based on what we’ve heard about Tommy so far, I have to wonder if Mimi is kidding herself. The guy had three wives before they got married, so the chances of him taking some time to think seem slim. Tommy seems more like a man of action, and by that I mean a philandering douche.

 

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