I’m also pretty sure Mimi is kidding herself about something else too. “If he’s...away for a while, why would this Cynthia hang around?”

  “Because she blames me for what happened. She refused to accept the truth.”

  Imagine that. I open my mouth to speak, then decide to go in a different direction. “Okay, sure. So, what does the ghost actually do?”

  Mimi finishes her wine in what seems like record time. “Oh, she’s horrible. Always moving my things so I can’t find them. She leaves the refrigerator and the kitchen drawers open. She turns the lights down all the time too, and she draws the blinds when I leave the room. It happens all the time. And no wonder, right? Dark souls must hate a sunny place.”

  Grayson and I exchange eye contact again, and I get the feeling we’re both thinking the same thing. All in all, this is pretty common ghost stuff. None of it seems particularly personal.

  “Anything else?” Grayson says. “I would imagine as a psychic yourself, you may well have seen her manifest.”

  Mimi hesitates. “Well, no. But my spiritual mentor tells me that not all psychics function as mediums. Many use their gifts in a more intuitive fashion.”

  “Of course,” Grayson says, ever the diplomat. “I’m sure that’s true.”

  “Oh, and doors!” Mimi says. “She slams doors all the time, particularly that one.” She points across the room.

  “The back door?” I say.

  “No, the basement door.”

  Are you freaking kidding? How many suburban homes even have basements anymore? “Naturally,” I say.

  Mimi cocks her head. “I’m sorry?”

  I shrug. “It’s not important. Well, we should probably get to work. Hopefully, by the time you get back, you won’t be sharing your house anymore. With a ghost, I mean.”

  Mimi looks shocked at the news. “I have to leave? I just assumed—”

  “It’s definitely for the better. We may not be able to get Cynthia to leave if she feels your presence. Especially since it might be your own enhanced psychic abilities that drew her to you in the first place.” I’m just winging it with that last bit, but it seems to do the trick.

  Mimi’s eyes widen. “Of course. That honestly never occurred to me.”

  It takes us another few minutes of answering questions and cajoling to get Mimi out the door. Once she’s gone, Grayson and I stand in the living room looking at each other.

  He wears that crooked grin again. “No way it’s Cynthia.”

  “Agreed,” I say. “Why would she wait until they bought this house?”

  “Exactly. Shall we have a look at the basement?”

  Yeah, I can’t wait. “It sounds like we sort of have to.”

  Soon, the two of us descend the stairs into the gloomy space below. Although, as basements go, this one isn’t bad. Someone took the time to put up drywall, as well as install a dropped ceiling with inset lighting. And while the cellar holds pretty much what’d you’d expect to find—a washer and dryer, the furnace, and a dusty old workbench—one corner features an old braided area rug, a battered leather lounger and a blocky old television with rabbit ears.

  The corner also features something else, as in the old guy sitting in the leather lounger. He wears boxer shorts, a wrinkled gray t-shirt and slippers. He’s mostly bald, with a few wisps of gray hair sticking up here and there. He stares at the TV, which is presumably showing some sports game from the past only he can see. My guess is he was probably in his late-sixties when he died.

  “Excuse me,” I say. “Who are you?”

  He’s just reaching for his can of ghost beer at that moment, but jumps in his seat, startled at the sound of my voice. He turns to look at me. “I’m Norman. Who the hell are you?”

  “I’m Cassie, and this is Grayson,” I explain.

  A moment passes as Norman looks us over. “What kind of name is Grayson? Wasn’t that Tarzan’s name?”

  As luck would have it, the door troll just tripped me up on that bit of trivia last week. “I believe Tarzan was the Earl of Greystoke,” I say. “Before he lived with the apes, that is.”

  Norman doesn’t seem to care. “And you’re not going to pretend I’m not here, like that other idiot?” He gestures with his can toward the ceiling.

  “Mimi?” I say.

  Norman nods. “Right, Mimi. Did you see what she did to my house? Did you see it?”

  “Meaning the décor?” Grayson asks, apparently not too wounded by Norman’s comment about his name.

  “Right, the décor,” Norman says, drawing the word out distastefully. “What the hell did she do? My living room looks like a lady’s bathroom! Did you see the purple feathers? And that goddamned furry rug? How many llamas died to make that thing? Has she ever even heard of curtains? You could go blind in there!”

  “I believe she thinks of it as her home now,” I say.

  Norman looks back and forth between us. “Yeah, I can tell. But why?”

  “Um, well, she bought your house after you died. Sorry about that, by the way.”

  “I died? When?”

  Norman doesn’t seem too bothered at the news, which is a first for me. “I’d have to guess at least five years ago.”

  “Son of a bitch! That explains it,” he says. “I kind of wondered, but I couldn’t be sure.”

  Since this is also another first, I’m definitely curious. “What do you mean?”

  “Listen, sweetie. I worked a soul-sucking job for three decades with a bunch of dipshits. My kids grew up, my wife left me, and I spent every weekend mowing the lawn and watching TV. I wondered if I might have died, but couldn’t really tell. Why didn’t someone let me know?”

  “Well, that’s why we came to see you,” I say. “We wondered if you might like to leave.”

  Norman polishes off his ghost beer, slapping the can down on an upturned trunk. “I can leave? Shit, yeah. I’d love to! What do I have to do?”

  ~~~

  Grayson and I are still laughing when we pull up in front of the Cauldron. Norman was, without a doubt, my favorite ghost encounter so far. I can't imagine topping that experience any time soon. I also can't wait to tell Autumn.

  “I particularly liked the beer part,” Grayson says, chuckling once more. “I wonder how many cans a day he imagined himself still drinking.”

  I have to laugh too. “Given his upstairs roommate, I would guess quite a few.”

  As for Mimi, we decided to embellish things a bit, telling her that Cynthia had put up quite a struggle before being persuaded to walk toward the light. For effect, we knocked over a couple of kitchen chairs and littered things about, then pretended to still be cleaning up when she arrived back home. One could argue against the ethics, but the way we figured it, Mimi would much rather remain convinced that she'd attracted the postmortem scorn of a jealous lover than accept the idea of Norman hiding in his man cave hoping to avoid her. Sometimes there’s just not enough drama in the truth, even when it comes to the paranormal.

  I glance out the car window, confirming the impression I got when we first pulled up. It appears to be a quiet night at the Cauldron, with some apartments already dark. Even Anna and Lissette need to take a break sometimes.

  Grayson turns to look at me. “I have to say, I enjoyed that quite a bit. Thanks for letting me tag along.”

  Something tells me that's probably not a phrase he uses very often. He strikes me as the kind of guy who’s typically in charge. Still, I'm not about to encourage his snobby side. “You're very welcome,” I say. “With a little practice, you might even have a future as a supernatural cleaning assistant.”

  Grayson chuckles, his eyes showing that, beneath the polished exterior, he also has a humble side. “And there I was thinking myself nearly unemployable in the real world.”

  “Well, that probably hasn't changed.”

  Grayson laughs this time. “True enough, I'm sure. Well, I suspect you’ll be successful in your new business.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And based on what I saw earlier, I'd say you might be giving the mages a good run for their money soon too.”

  My mind flashes back to the moment when I made those rocks explode. It seems quite possible that Grayson helped me push on toward another level of magic. My gaze lingers on his as I say, “Thank you for today too. I really enjoyed it.”

  And I mean it. Right now, any lingering worries about Phoenix are all but forgotten.

  Grayson reaches out, gently pushing back a strand of my hair. His fingers softly graze my forehead. “I meant to check earlier, but it looks like you healed up just fine.”

  “You do good work,” I say, my pulse escalating at his touch.

  He leans in closer, maybe to get a better look, or maybe not. It doesn’t matter, because I tip my face up, telling him that, yes, I want this to happen. My lips part, and Grayson slowly brings his mouth to mine. His lips are every bit as soft and full as I imagined, and I close my eyes, my pulse escalating more as his tongue softly enters my mouth. The heat between us builds, the kiss growing more urgent as I press against him. He cups the back of my neck, his tongue stroking mine and his other hand running up my rib cage. It takes everything I have not to moan with longing. Finally, the kiss ends, and he draws back a little. My breath comes in shallow gasps that I try to conceal. Grayson’s eyes linger on mine and I see the question there. I also know the answer. Yes. Absolutely, definitely, yes.

  I part my lips to speak, about to invite him inside, when the strangest feeling washes over me. In contrast to everything I’m physically experiencing—my racing pulse and shallow breathing, a desire so strong it’s nearly painful—some inner sense tells me to wait. No, it more than tells me. It all but yells at me, as a coldness seeps through me to replace the heat. It makes no sense, but it’s already too late. The words about to leave my mouth go unspoken. I wrap my jacket around myself.

  “Is everything okay?” Grayson looks back at me, his head slightly cocked.

  “I just...” I shake my head. “I don’t know. Suddenly, I don’t feel very good.” I don’t know what else to say, or how to explain it, since I don’t understand either.

  Grayson hesitates, then nods. “I’m sure you must be tired. No doubt, it’s been a long day.” He says it with just a bit of that stiff formality slipping back into his voice. “How about I give you a call?”

  “That would be great,” I say. “I’m sorry... I should probably get some rest.”

  Before I know it, I’m out of the car and walking up the front steps of my apartment building. What Grayson said is true, I suddenly realize. I am tired. In fact, I’m exhausted. It’s been another strange day, in a strange week, in an ever increasingly strange life. Even so, I have no explanation for what just happened.

  CHAPTER 20

  In the dream, I’m back in the car with Grayson, the two of us sitting in front of my apartment building. Just like last night, he gently brushes my hair from my face. He looks into my eyes and I feel his gentle touch. I relive the moment when he leans toward me, as well as the longing I feel. Again, I feel his lips upon mine, and his tongue entering my mouth. This time, I have no doubt that we’ll go inside together, up to my apartment and into my bed. We draw apart, and I open my mouth to speak, when suddenly my vision shifts. Another man looks back at me, one with a gaunt, bone-white face marked by a jagged scar along his cheek. He has platinum hair tied back flat against his skull, pointed ears and eyes the color of jade. I’m frozen, cold to my core, as I stare back.

  “Is everything okay?” he says.

  My eyes pop open with a start, and I wince against sunlight pouring through my window. My heart pounds in my chest as I throw back the covers, swing my legs out of bed, and rub my face. Damn, that was freaky. What the hell was that?

  I get up and cross the room, running my hands through my hair. The dream starts to fade, and I tell myself that I shouldn’t be surprised at my brain blipping out that way. After all, I’ve been pushing it on several levels lately, messing with all kinds of dark things. Demons, poltergeists, and vampires. A talking Book of Shadows. My own personal haunting, and visits to that other realm. No wonder I’m having bad dreams. It’s a miracle I slept as well as I did.

  But, shit, that was weird. Really weird.

  I trudge into the kitchen, yawning as I reach for the coffee in my cabinet. The bag is nearly weightless, and I know before I even give it a shake. It’s basically empty. Great. I could seriously use a jolt of caffeine. But, wait. I’m flush with cash, aren’t I? My new gig as a supernatural bouncer might be giving me nightmares, but this girl can afford a trip to Starbucks. Nice.

  I throw on some clothes and venture down the street to stand in line with a bunch of people way too awake and dressed way too nicely. I shell out almost five bucks, plus tip. Right, I better not make a habit of this. Venti caramel latte in hand, I hoof it back again, telling myself that I deserve this bit of extravagance. I’ve earned it, after all. I tell myself I have nothing to feel guilty about, that I am now a successful paranormal entrepreneur. At the same time, I have to wonder why witches spend so much energy on creating love potions when not one of us, as far as I know, can conjure gourmet coffee. We really do need to prioritize.

  I get back to the Cauldron just as Anna comes walking down the sidewalk carrying a box of donuts. She gets closer and, oh, my God, they smell amazing. The aroma of hot dough and sugary sweetness rises to my nose. I try not to stare at the box in her hand.

  “Hey, stranger,” she says. “Where ya been keeping yourself?”

  It seems like kind of a strange question, considering our recent bonding experience, but I just say, “Um, upstairs?”

  Anna laughs and gestures to the front door. “Feel like hanging out? We just made coffee.”

  Now she tells me. Still, there might be the offer of a donut involved. So, like a true mooch, I follow her inside to find Lissette and Wendy watching an episode of New Girl. Things just keep getting better. I plunk myself down on the sofa and Lissette stops the show. Crap. I don’t think I’ve seen this one. “Hey, Cassie,” she says. “We just made coffee if you need some.”

  Seriously? Is this some kind of joke? I hold up my expensive—too sweet, in my opinion—Venti caramel latte. “I’m good for now.”

  “Okay, gotcha,” Lissette says. “Starbucks kind of girl. I hear you.”

  Well, no, you don’t hear me. I paid almost five bucks for this thing.

  Wendy holds up a cup full of something on ice. “I’m actually allergic to caffeine.”

  “Well, I guess there’s always decaf.”

  Wendy flashes her happy smile. “See? That’s one way of looking at it. I like that. But the way I see it, making me allergic to caffeine was just the universe’s way of making sure I discovered the benefits of iced green tea.”

  I have to think about that for a moment. “But doesn’t green tea have caffeine?”

  “Some, but that’s where the ice comes in,” Wendy says. “Ice all but negates the effects of caffeine.”

  “Is that maybe because it waters it down?”

  Wendy shakes her head. “I chill the tea first, although I buy decaf just to be on the safe side.”

  I nod and smile, knowing we just came out the other end of somewhere. I’m good with it. “Sounds like a plan,” I say.

  Thankfully, Anna comes back out of the kitchen bearing a plate full of donuts. “Check out these beauties,” she says, which we all do with lustful expressions. She sets them on the coffee table and we dive in like starved wolves. Now, if someone would just take New Girl off pause, my day would be complete.

  Instead, Lissette wipes sugar off her perfect lips. “So, hey, not to be nosy or anything, but we kind of saw you getting out of Grayson’s car last night.”

  Normally, a comment like that might rub me the wrong way, but it’s kind of hard to miss a gleaming Jaguar pulling up out front. Those of us who can actually afford cars drive old ones. I swallow my last bite of donut. “Do you know Grayson?”

  “More like know of him,” Lissette says.

  “Think he's gorgeous enough?” Wendy says. She looks around and adds, “Wait. Did I just say that out loud?”

  Anna perches forward on the sofa across from me. “Did you guys meet at the party?”

  Did we? We sort of met at Grimoire, but not really, and should I tell them about encountering the vampires and how Grayson chased them off? That could open another can of worms, but I decide to be honest. Well, to a degree, and it's the big part I leave out that at first raises questions.

  “Hang on,” Anna says. “I thought veil witches could easily take out vampires.”

  “Well, maybe not easily,” I say. “But usually we can.”

  Lissette perches forward now too. “So what happened?”

  I hesitate. “I'm not really sure. I guess it could have been the Blue Meanies.”

  Lissette bursts out laughing. “Oh, shit! I bet that was it!”

  Since I didn't tell them about visiting that other realm, I can't explain that as soon as I crossed over I felt no remaining buzz from the drinks. And that, for some weird reason, when I returned to this realm—well, got yanked back, really—I was both completely sober and all but drained of power. Once again, I wonder who the hell yanked me back. That wasn't Grayson, right? He would have had to mention that by now. And besides, he wasn’t wearing a hoodie.

  I just say, “Yeah, it had to be the cocktails. Thankfully, Grayson happened to be out there.”

  “I'm not so sure that was a coincidence,” Anna says. “He was keeping his eye on you pretty good at the party.”

  “I noticed that too,” Lissette says. “It seems like Grayson has the hots for our girl, here.”

  Again, I have to be evasive. I can't tell them about the Shadow Order, presumably, since it's a secret organization. “I highly doubt that. I think he just came out to get some air.”

  Anna, Lissette and Wendy stare back at me as if I must be clueless.

 

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