“With a what?”

  “Never mind.”

  “You were going to say ‘phone,’ weren’t you?”

  “Oh, look. We’re here!”

  “Weren’t you?”

  I kill the engine, continuing to ignore Amaya, even as she softly mutters, “It sucks being a demon.”

  I snatch my phone from her hand and check to see that it’s just going on eight o’clock. Technically, we’re three minutes early. Although, as I explained to the woman who called, we didn’t have to do this at night. She claimed that the ghost is more active then, but that’s also when she’s home. The ghost is probably just as active during the day. Ghosts don’t care what time it is.

  We ring the doorbell and two dogs start barking out in the backyard. The client comes to the door, a thin woman in her early sixties. She looks us up and down, and the feeling I get is that she isn’t impressed. As in, she sees two young women wearing leather jackets and jeans, mine torn at the knee. Of course, I’ve been down this road before. Most people expect some sort of professional looking team, presumably wearing coveralls and toting high-tech gizmos. Thank you, Ghostbusters. Of course, it probably doesn’t help when her eyes travel from us, to my ancient car, and then back to us again. Maybe I really should start popping out of portals and risk giving people heart attacks.

  Finally, she says, “I’m Rachel. And you must be…”

  “Cassie, and this is Amaya.” I don’t refer to her as my assistant, since that role is reserved for Julia. Technically, she’s not my assistant either, but it just wouldn’t feel right breaking tradition.

  Rachel hesitates long enough that I wonder if she might ask us to leave. But then she says, “Please, come in.”

  Are you sure, lady? Because I’d just as soon go grab a beer.

  Still, we step inside as, out back, the dogs keep barking. Rachel turns and shouts, “Shut up!” She turns back to us. “Stupid things. My husband’s dogs, but it’s not like he was kind enough to take them with him.”

  An awkward silence lingers. So, I say, “I’m sorry. Did you, um, recently get divorced?”

  She laughs bitterly. “No, I recently became a widow.”

  More awkward silence, followed by me asking, “Is it, perhaps, his presence that you’ve felt here?”

  Rachel walks toward the kitchen. “Hell, no. That man never stuck to anything in his life. In and out of jobs more than most people change underwear. Thankfully, I run my own consulting business.”

  Which leaves me wondering two things. Just how often does Rachel change her underwear? Also, consulting on what? How to be unpleasant?

  Still, a gig is a gig, so I guess it’s time to get down to business. The sooner we wrap things up, the sooner we get to leave. Once we enter the kitchen, I ask, “So, what seems to be going on here?”

  Out back, the dogs start barking again.

  “Hang on.” Rachel throws open the back door and strides out into the yard. One of the dogs yelps. All barking ceases.

  “What a jerk,” Amaya mutters.

  “Not to mention, a slob,” I point out, given the state of her kitchen. The sink is full of dirty dishes, not even soaking, and food sits out on the counter. Currently, several flies are circling around a blob of something I can’t identify.

  Gross.

  I have half a mind to leave, just based on animal mistreatment, but decide to stick it out. Mostly, to give Amaya more exposure to the world of ghosts. No, I haven’t forgotten that day at Elmhurst when she channeled the spirit of Rory Wallace. Well, more like unknowingly allowed him to possess her. While she’s started to master some of her demon powers, her Crossroads Witch side seems all but forgotten. The way I figure it, since she has the power to let the dead back in again, she needs to learn the ropes. First and foremost, that not all ghosts are innocent souls who just haven’t managed to move on from this plane of existence. Some are just mean-spirited nonliving assholes.

  Rachel slams the door on her way back in again. “Okay, where were we?”

  We were at the part where you started beating an innocent dog.

  But what I say is, “We were just getting to why you called.”

  She frowns. “You remove ghosts, right? That’s what your ad claims.”

  Such a sweetie. Did I already tell her my fee? Because I’m thinking about doubling it.

  I say, “We do. If, in fact, you have a ghost here.”

  Rachel folds her arms across her chest. “There’s a ghost, trust me. Always setting things in their place, tidying up around me. Just like my husband always did. The other day, she folded my socks! Who folds socks, for God’s sake?”

  “I do,” Amaya says softly.

  Rachel glares at her, apparently not one to suffer sock folders.

  Amaya just shrugs. “Well, I do.”

  I ask, “What makes you think it’s a woman?” I mean, come on. It has to be her husband.

  “Because I can hear her, that’s why. Always humming some stupid tune. Drives me crazy. I swear it’s been getting worse lately.”

  Hang on. She can hear the ghost? Most people lack that level of psychic sensitivity. So, does that mean she might be a little psychic? I doubt it. More like psychotically territorial.

  But I just say, “So, it feels like the ghost has been getting more active lately.”

  Rachel nods vehemently. “Absolutely. Enough so that I thought about putting this place on the market. You know, make it someone else’s problem. But then I learned about your service.”

  Lucky me.

  Just to be sure, I ask, “When did you lose your husband?”

  Rachel scoffs. “Not much of a loss, frankly, but just over three months ago.”

  Out in the backyard, one of the dogs lets out a lonely, half-hearted howl. The rough translation being, Is somebody else in there? Anybody, please! Can you help us?

  Rachel spins around and shouts, “Shut the hell up!”

  The dog complies, presumably afraid of being beaten again.

  Rachel turns back to me. “I also get a bit of a chill when she’s around me. Plus, sort of a sad feeling. Which, if you ask me, is perfectly pathetic. What does she have to be sad about? She’s not the one paying the bills. She’s not the one stuck here with Charlie’s dogs. Why couldn’t they have just died when he did?”

  They probably wish they had.

  To avoid killing her and adding another ghost to this scene, I stick to business. “Once you leave, we’ll see what we can do. Usually, the process takes about—”

  “You’re joking.” Rachel stares at me hard.

  This part always takes a bit of cajoling, so I push on. “Quite often, ghosts are unwilling to leave while the homeowner remains present. Just like the living, they tend to form attachments. Especially, I suspect, in a case like this, where clearly you can sense the ghost’s presence. Ghosts want nothing more than to be noticed.”

  Once I finish my spiel, which is mostly nonsense, Rachel stands firm. “Not gonna happen.”

  Fine. Works for me.

  Soon, Amaya and I make our way toward the door. I’m reaching for the knob when Rachel mutters, “Well, you do have good Yelp reviews. The one that came in yesterday was especially impressive.”

  I have a new Yelp review? Sweet. While Rachel continues talking to herself, I use my phone to check it out. Apparently, it was posted by none other than Reginald Fernsby. Thankfully, he does, in fact, give me a solid review, but not without plugging what’s currently in production at the Old Mill Theater. Does he not realize his review is permanent? Or does he plan to update it for each new season? Hmm. Maybe Parker could hack in and—

  “Okay, fine.”

  I snap out of it to see Rachel watching me. Still somewhat warily, it seems.

  I shove my phone into my pocket. “Change of heart?”

  Like she has one.

  “One hour, tops,” she says.

  I assure her that should be fine. It’s not like I want to hang out here any longer than we have to. She reminds me of my money-back guarantee, of course, then finally forks over the cash and leaves.

  “Nice lady,” Amaya says, as we surreptitiously watch Rachel back out of her driveway.

  “Yeah, a real peach.”

  Apparently, we’re not the only ones relieved to have her gone, since at that same moment something thumps in the kitchen. Amaya’s eyes meet mine and I hold up my hand, signaling her to wait. We stay silent for a few moments, and soon hear the clinking of dishes being moved around in the sink. Then comes the sound of running water.

  I raise my eyebrows, impressed. Is the ghost actually doing the dishes? If so, that is one seriously manifesting spirit. Also, what the hell is Rachel complaining about? I’d kill to have my very own dishwashing ghost.

  We enter the kitchen to see a woman standing at the sink. She’s petite, maybe just a little over five feet, with long brown hair tied back in a ponytail. She looks to be in her late thirties. Or, she must have been when she died. And while she’s partly translucent, that’s not stopping her from trying to clean up Rachel’s mess. And, yes, she starts humming. Over the Rainbow, if I’m not mistaken. A little offkey, but whatever. Seems like a small price to pay to get your kitchen cleaned.

  I call out softly, “Hello?”

  The ghost wheels about, her eyes wide. One hand pressed to her chest, she says, “Oh, my! You scared me.”

  Which, for the record, is the first time I’ve heard this from a ghost.

  “Sorry. We were just…” Just what? Coming in to kick you out of your home? “We just weren’t sure anyone else was here.”

  “Just me.” She looks around, then says, “She’s gone, right?”

  She sounds nervous.

  “Just left,” I assure her.

  “Oh, good. I thought I’d take care of this while I had a little time.” She gestures toward the sink, then lowers her voice. “Rachel gets so cross. I try to wait until she’s not here.”

  I’m not sure what to say. I’ve never met a ghost who’s afraid of the living. It’s supposed to work the other way around.

  “That’s really nice of you,” Amaya says. “By the way, I’m Amaya and this is Cassie.”

  “I’m Bonnie,” the ghost says.

  Of course, introductions would be in order. God, I’m rude sometimes. “Is this your house?”

  Bonnie shrugs sadly. “Not really. It was when I was living, but that was a while ago.”

  Again, I’m taken aback. As far as ghosts go, Bonnie sure has her act together. Usually, they’re confused about everything—first and foremost about being dead.

  I ask, “When did you die?”

  “1938,” Bonnie says. “Influenza. I really should have gone to see a doctor.”

  Yep, that might have been a good idea. Too late now. “I’m sorry.”

  She shrugs good-naturedly. “It’s okay. I’m used to it.”

  To start her moving toward the door, I ask, “Did you have any family?”

  Quite often, that does the trick. If you can first convince the ghost that he or she is dead, and then assure the ghost that loved ones are waiting on the other side, you’re halfway there. Pull on the old heartstrings sort of thing. Then again, Bonnie already knows she kicked the bucket, so she may well have already adjusted to being on her own.

  Sure enough, she says, “I used to, of course, but not by the time I died. My parents had already passed on and left me the house.” She hesitates, looking a little ashamed, then adds, “I never married.”

  Right, that was a big deal back then. Even now, people get weird about women choosing to remain on their own. Of course, I can’t say if that’s the case for Bonnie, but she certainly looks to have been attractive and nice. Not to mention she was also a homeowner, which was probably unusual at the time.

  “Good for you,” I say.

  Bonnie glances around, as if to make sure no one else hears her. “I never really minded, to be honest. Many marriages don’t seem very happy. For example…”

  She rolls her eyes up to the ceiling, presumably meaning Rachel and dead Charlie’s bedroom. Yeah, I can imagine. Although, I vigorously refuse to do so.

  “Besides, I have Cupcake.” She turns and calls, “Cupcake? Where are you, girl?”

  A few seconds pass before the ghost of a cocker spaniel trots into the room. She goes directly to Bonnie, plants herself down, and stares up adoringly. Bonnie reaches down to pet her. “Such a good girl.”

  Cupcake lets out a little bark. Which, of course, sets off the dogs in the backyard. Unlike humans, dogs have no problem seeing and hearing ghosts.

  “Those poor beasts,” Bonnie observes.

  Yep, she’s one very astute ghost. But a quick check of the time shows that we need to get moving. “So, here’s what I’m thinking. Would you and Cupcake maybe like to move on?”

  “As in, go to Heaven?” Bonnie asks.

  Since I’m not the least bit worried about her going to some sort of hell, I say, “I can make that happen.”

  “How?”

  “Like this.” As always when I’m around a ghost, my magic stands at the ready. It takes no effort whatsoever to summon a pale blue Veil Witch orb.

  Bonnie stares as the shimmering light keeps growing brighter. “That will open a doorway, won’t it?”

  Somehow, they always know. “Yes, it will. Do you think you’ve spent enough time here?”

  Bonnie thinks for a moment, then glances down at her dog. “Do you want to go to Heaven, girl?”

  Cupcake merely keeps panting and staring, confirming she’ll happily go wherever Bonnie goes.

  Bonnie looks at me again. “I guess we probably should?”

  Not exactly the level of commitment I was hoping for. Still, it’s not getting any earlier and she’s obviously not all that happy here. So, I send the orb sailing and both Bonnie and Cupcake become engulfed in light. It takes them a few seconds to fade, but in the end they vanish. And there it is, job done. For once, no muss or fuss. I wish they could all be that easy.

  I turn to Amaya. “Wanna go grab a beer?”

  She shrugs. “Okay.”

  Not exactly the level of commitment I was hoping for there either. In fact, as we head toward the door, Amaya seems troubled. Suddenly, she stops and shakes her head, as if having made a decision.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Instead of answering, she strides back toward the kitchen with a clear sense of purpose. By the time I catch up to her, she’s opened a doorway of her own. On the other side of that iridescent circle, Bonnie stands waiting, Cupcake beside her. “Knew it,” Amaya says. “Come on back in here.”

  Bonnie and her dog hop back into the kitchen as Amaya closes the doorway behind them.

  I scowl. “Seriously?”

  Amaya shrugs apologetically. “Well, I mean…”

  As if to underscore Amaya’s point, Bonnie says, “I have to admit, I didn’t really feel sure about that decision.” She sighs and looks at the sink. “Will you just look at that mess, girl?”

  Cupcake barks and the dogs out back start up again. Bonnie resumes doing the dishes as if we’re not even there. Soon, she starts humming again.

  Okay, I get it. She’s not exactly sure about leaving. But the fact remains, I’m getting paid. So, I light up another orb, this time not asking permission as I send Bonnie and Cupcake on their way again. The plate Bonnie was just holding falls and breaks in the sink. My bad. Although, I’m not sure Rachel will even notice.

  I turn to Amaya. “Trust me, it’s for the best.”

  Light flares at Amaya’s hands.

  I narrow my eyes. “Don’t.”

  “Whatever.”

  Did I just hear that correctly?

  Apparently so, since Amaya opens the veil right back up again. Bonnie and Cupcake come through as, this time, Bonnie looks at me. Gesturing toward Amaya, she says, “I think your friend is right. We should probably stay for a while.” She looks down at Cupcake. “Will you look at that mess, girl?”

  Cupcake barks and, out back, dogs start barking again.

  I’m pretty close to barking myself. Maybe even biting. Instead, I settle for a growl as I light up another orb.

  “Ghosts have rights, you know.”

  Is it me, or does Amaya sound a little miffed?

  “Yeah, I know.”

  She scowls. “But do you?”

  Wait. Did I just get totally owned by my magical apprentice? Apparently so. Although, to be fair, I have been known to be less than patient with my nonliving brothers and sisters. Autumn, on the other hand, is much more sympathetic. But does she have any Yelp reviews? A big fat no on that one. Then again, she doesn’t go around giving ghosts the boot for cash. So, there’s that to consider.

  Letting out an epic sigh, I focus on Amaya again. “Okay, fine. What do you suggest?”

  A little smiled tugs her lips. “What about this?”

  She tells me her plan and, actually, it’s not half-bad. In fact, before long we’re driving home again. As expected, we don’t get far before my phone rings. Also, as expected, Rachel sounds seriously pissed. “She’s still here!”

  I try pointing out the bright side. “Well, you were right about having a ghost.”

  “Yes, I know!”

  “She really does hum too.”

  “As I told you. And you said—”

  “I said I’d try. And I did.” Which, technically, is true. “By the way, I left your money on the counter.”

  Sadly, despite having ejected Bonnie twice, I still couldn’t keep the cash. But this time around I figured I’d take my pay in the form of ghost social justice. After all, Bonnie and Cupcake aren’t hurting anyone. Just the opposite, in fact. Plus, the way Amaya figured it, if Bonnie just keeps up her offkey humming, sooner or later Rachel will crack. She’ll put her house on the market and Bonnie will end up with brand new roommates. And, who knows? Maybe if they take better care of the place, Bonnie will change her mind about moving on. Either way, things will work out in the end. Where ghosts are concerned, they always do. It’s just a matter of time, and time means nothing to ghosts.

  A glance in the rearview reminds me that there’s still one point left to cover. “Oh, sorry. We accidentally let your dogs out.”

  “You did what!?”

 

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