Witches for Hire (Odd Jobs #1)(78)
“Wouldn’t that be shameful if we pretend not to see these horrors?” Mr. Evans asked.
Clive shook his head. “The only person who deserves to see them is their killer.”
The clients convened quietly amongst themselves until Mr. Evans gathered their son in his arms. “Okay, we’ll leave it to you.”
Clive pointed his staff opposite the way they had come in, and they walked single file to the back door. They stepped carefully around the glass littering the floor.
Jeremy contained his whistle as they walked by a large Mark Twain bust. So Southern and rich people of them, he thought. He pointed at the statue just as it trembled. “As if I didn’t see that coming.” The statue shook, but the poltergeist couldn’t move it.
“Don’t taunt it,” Clive muttered.
“I’m not. I don’t want to get bashed in the head by the décor either.” Jeremy hurriedly shooed the family through the swinging broken double doors leading to the spacious yard. He acts like I’m gonna call the stupid thing Casper when I’m standing right next to a kid. If it was only the two of us, I’d totally taunt the fucker. As they walked on the lawn, a thick branch from an ancient tree broke and sailed toward them.
Clive lifted up his staff, and the branch slammed to the ground.
Mr. Evans pointed at the gazebo, and they ran to it as the small breeze picked up into a gale.
“Never mind, Jeremy, mock it!” Clive shouted.
Jeremy grinned. The gazebo stood in front of them, but the intricate wood started cracking. “Looks like Little Casper’s afraid of us!” he yelled. “You big bad ghosts can’t handle some digging!”
Clive ushered the family away from Jeremy and closer to him.
“Too bad you didn’t put up this kind of a fight with Mr. Cooke. I doubt you’d be fertilizer if you had.” Jeremy suddenly sprinted away from the group and started skipping when he put enough distance between them. “What, no glass to throw? Maybe you can chunk some dirt at me!” Part of the gazebo’s railing snapped and flew at his head. Jeremy took his wand out of his pocket and whipped it in the plank’s direction. “Bibbidi.” The wood turned into a bouquet of flowers. Another piece broke and sprang for his head. Jeremy spun and pointed his wand at it. “Bobbidi.” The entire roof of the gazebo cracked off and tumbled to the ground on its side, rolling fast to Jeremy. “Cheating wanker.”
Jeremy moved into a bullfighter’s stance. As the gazebo’s top reached him, he slammed his magic into it, stopping it midroll. The crinkling of all the glass from the house, any spare wood from what was left of the gazebo, and tree limbs dotting the yard swirled into a deadly tornado, preventing his celebration. “It’s one thing after another with this bloody tosser.” He cupped his hand over his mouth as he had seen rude viewers at a basketball game do. “You suck!”
A wave of debris spiraled toward Jeremy, who ducked behind the gazebo roof. Small fragments from the oncoming ghost wind pelted his shelter like a dartboard. “This is marvelous.” Heavier junk began hitting the gazebo. “Clive! I believe it’s sufficiently pissed!”
“I knew I could count on you!” Clive shouted back at him. Unlike Jeremy’s previous bosses, who had left him in the lurch when he acted as bait, Clive saturated the gazebo roof in a brash yellow glow of a ward as solid as Desmond’s work. The channels in Jeremy’s body twitched to form a link with it. Jeremy balled dead clumps of grass into his hands so he wouldn’t be tempted to touch the gazebo. Instead of sating the conduit of magic running through him, fucking Desmond regularly seemed to shorten the timetable for releasing the excess power. “That bloody magician,” Jeremy muttered.
Harder thunks and crashes of debris slamming against Jeremy’s shelter grew louder as the house’s unwanted guests hurled bigger objects to break Clive’s ward.
“I’ve had enough of your tantrums!” Clive’s voice boomed so loud that Jeremy ducked lower and shielded his ears. “I know someone has caused you great pain, but this family will not be a surrogate for your wrath.”
The gale died down, so Jeremy quickly peeked over the gazebo’s edge to see Clive now surrounded by the winds of destruction that had been aimed at him. Like the eye of a tornado, the air directly against Clive was still. Clutched in his hands, his staff pulsed with power. Light burst from its bulbous knob on top. Like a sliced orange skin, spikes emerged from it, allowing more light to escape the staff, revealing its source, a golden orb suspended in its middle. It sent out a flare of magic so strong that the wind and the whispers of voices trapped on the property died instantly.
One by one, the wooden spikes resumed their position on the staff, sealing the orb away once again. Clive shook his head. “There are more bodies than I anticipated for it to be this powerful. At least it’s weak after using so much power.”
“Have Simone or Edarra ever seen it fully unsealed?” Jeremy gazed longingly at the staff. It was too ostentatious for his tastes, but that crystal must be rare.
Clive bit his lips as if thinking about his answer, but he turned his back to Jeremy and walked to the pit where the gazebo had originally stood. “No.” He pointed his now nondescript staff at the ground, where only a bench and cement were left. “We’re on a treasure hunt. Please think of your fondest memory.” His magic churned bucket-sized piles of dirt onto the grass. To the right of them, moans of happiness emitted from under a bush of intertwining vines, which unraveled to reveal the sleeping clients.