Witches for Hire (Odd Jobs #1)(76)

Clive shook his head. “I’m happy to see your priorities are consistent.”




MCMANSION AFTER McMansion rolled by with an occasional true sprawling mansion sprinkled between them. “These are probably tiny compared to what you have in your world,” Jeremy said.

Clive sighed from the driver’s seat. “Yes, I lived in a castle, but it’s not like I owned the thing.”

“It still counts, moneybags.”

“According to your strange rules that you use to make digs at me.”

Jeremy whistled as they drove by the brick governor’s mansion. I’m a hypocrite because I’ve been inside that house, but he doesn’t know that. He wanted to forget himself. All that brushing shoulders with people who touted family values on Sunday, voted against scary liberal ideas on weekdays, but came with open palms out to Senator Ragsdale on Saturday to help them cast success spells for elections. Jeremy hated the difference in how they treated his father in public versus privately, but the senator would chuckle with a gleam in his eye and say, “That’s politics.”

“You probably spent your time guarding rich people at balls and eating rich people food.”

“I was also fighting wars. I don’t believe those are glamorous in your world either.”

“You officially win this argument,” Jeremy said. Silence met his comment. He summoned what little consideration he had for others and changed the subject. “I expect lunch to be fabulous since we’re headed near the nice foodie places.”

Clive looked at him as he slowed the car at a stop sign. “You wheedled me to bring you. Why should I treat you too?”

“The food around here is too expensive for my unnoble blood, so you should be buying.”

The knight shook his head as he turned down a short road. Clive made another turn and a driveway to a large glass art piece of a house stood in front of them. For early December and Georgia’s abnormally warm days, some foliage should have been left, but every plant surrounding the house was dead.

“Would it be wildly inappropri….” Jeremy shook his head and frowned. “I forgot I’m with you and not Edarra. You don’t know squat about American movies, so breaking out into the Ghostbusters song would be a waste on you.”

“Why are you so eager? Usually I have to fight you to be the bare minimum of enthusiastic, and now you’re professing your desire to sing.”

Jeremy smiled so brightly that it made him look unguarded for a brief moment. “Ghosts are nostalgic. They’re the first things you sense when your magic starts to grow, and they’re the only beings in this world with a justified reason for being pissed.”

“Sometimes you’re rather simple.”

“Comments like that are why I don’t share things with you,” Jeremy said.

“It wasn’t meant as an insult. It’s just nice to know that you’re not complicated all the time.”

“You say that like I’m sudoku.”

“I played that game at a restaurant. It was very soothing.”

“Whatever floats your boat,” Jeremy said as Clive parked behind an SUV. They got out of the car and walked down a bricked pathway to an intricately carved door with stained glass windows Jeremy couldn’t see through. He waved his hand at the door. “You do the honors.” I don’t want whatever’s haunting the place to take a mystical shot at me first.

Clive rang the doorbell.

It opened, and a man in his midthirties answered. “Witches for Hire?”

Clive nodded. “I’m the man you spoke with on the phone.” He pointed to Jeremy. “This is my associate, Mr. Ragsdale.”

The man frowned. “The senator’s son?”

Jeremy smiled widely. “I get that a lot,” he said with a Southern accent. “I’m sorry, but no relation.”

“My mistake. Please come inside.” The client held the door open for them.

Jeremy tried not to shiver when he crossed the threshold. Showing fear would give the entity’s crushing presence a foothold to worm its way in their thoughts. Shit. This place is a fucking Hell House. “Did you construct your house on top of an older one?”

“Yes. There was rot in the older house’s foundation, so I decided to start over completely.” The client half smiled as he opened his arms to encompass the whole entranceway and the rooms beyond. “I made the designs myself.”

“Mr. Evans, did you follow my directions?” Clive asked.

The client cleared his throat. “There was a problem with that. My wife and son couldn’t leave. Every time they tried… an accident happened.”

“Big Bertha knows you’re up to something,” Jeremy said.

“Who?” Mr. Evans asked.

“I believe he’s referring to the poltergeist,” Clive said. “May we see your wife and son?”

“They’re in the living room. Follow me.” Mr. Evans walked toward a hall that led past the gleaming white kitchen. As they passed the room, a set of knives sailed through the air.

Clive stopped them midair, still pointed at Mr. Evans’s head.

“What was that—” Mr. Evans broke off as he noticed the floating weapons. “How?” He licked his lips. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”