by Harper, Lou
Denton stood and pushed the balcony door open. "Don't worry, Lyn, everything's fine," he said. As his eyes got used to the dark he saw Bran's arm stretched over the circle, one hand on the boy's forehead. He heard the murmur of incantation. Bran was putting a spell of torpidity on Sean.
A second later Bran pulled his hand back. "We're good."
And they were. Denton more felt than saw the spirit beat against the invisible walls of its prison. Bran turned to Lyn. "Would you like a glass of water?"
She shook her head. Tension radiated from every line of her face. "What are you going to do now? What about Sean? Is he all right?"
Denton gathered his most soothing tone. "Sean is safe. He's sleeping. Won't remember a thing. Bran and I will take care of everything, but we need you to stay calm and let us do our thing. Why don't you sit down?" He nudged one of the other chairs to the corner, next to the herbs. He hoped they would calm her. Ideally he wished she wasn't there at all but it wasn't an option. Lyn reluctantly took the offered seat.
"Ready?" he asked Bran.
Denton nodded and walked to the bookshelf. He took the blue folder lying atop a row of books and pulled a stack of photographs out of it. Having a photo of a person made summoning their spirit much easier. Something having to do with the image carrying the trace of the person. When he'd asked Gabe to obtain the photos for him, Gabe grumbled at first, but delivered within days.
Crouching at the edge of the summoning circle Denton tossed the top picture—the one of Carlton Gorman—inside. Even staying safely outside the ring he could feel the rage and the heat of wordless threats. Still perched on the dresser, Murry growled. The cat's ears were flattened to his head and his fur stood on end.
The rest of the photos were of Lucy Parks, the four murdered girls from Springfield, and two of the working girls from St. Louis. Seven in total—a good number for witchcraft. Denton dropped their photos into the circle one by one and stood. He'd reached out to all the girls during the week of preparations, and knew he could count on them. As Bran stepped behind him, Denton closed his eyes and began the ritual. As the light filled him, he summoned the girls first and they came easily, without resistance.
When Denton opened his eyes he saw their pale gray shapes circling the dark figure of Carlton's spirit. Denton reached out with his mind and felt their pain and fear transform into to vengeful fury. He lifted his hands and the white light surged from him though the palms of his hands, and into the circle. As Bran's arms closed around him, he leaned back and drew on Bran's strength and kept pushing the light with all his might. The pale shadows grew in strength and they twisted tighter and tighter around the dark one. A cacophony of sounds whirled inside Denton's skull—screams, high-pitched laughter, and deep growls being swallowed up in the roar gale force winds. Denton felt heat engulf him, as if he was burning from the inside. Then abruptly, it all stopped.
With his feet dangling in the air and head flopped to the side Sean slept. Drool dribbled from the corner of his mouth.
"Done, right?" Bran whispered into Denton's ear.
Denton let his hands drop and nodded. "Done." He probably had never felt so drained in his entire life. When he tried to push away from Bran he swayed, realizing how light-headed he was.
"Come, lie down." Bran pulled him toward the bedroom.
"Need to clean up," Denton mumbled.
Bran chuckled. "You cleaning up? Why start now?"
Denton wanted to respond with something witty, but his brain had gone on vacation. Bran pulled him into the bedroom and lifted him onto the bed. Denton had enough strength to crawl under the blanket. Bran left and Denton heard snippets of conversation from the other room before passing out. He woke up at some point for a minute as someone was pulling his clothes off. At any other time he would have had some smart comment, but again he had nothing. So he settled to a grunt of approval when Bran climbed under the covers next to him.
***
Weeks later Saturday morning found Denton in the same park where he'd spied on Lyn Burke and her son with Gabe. This time he was alone. He spotted Lyn's red coat in the group of kids and adults from a distance and headed straight to it. The little ones were building a snow fort under the supervision of one of the dads. Lyn was on her knees shaping fresh snow into a block. She looked up just as Denton stepped up to her. Her face broke into a smile and she hopped up. "Denton! What a surprise to see you." Her cheeks and nose were red from the cold but she seemed ten years younger than last time Denton saw her.
"I was walking past and recognized your coat," he replied. "How's everything?"
"Sure, sure, you sneaky devil," she chided him without scorn. "Sean's imaginary friend's gone. He was upset at first, but he's already over it. He keeps bugging me about getting a puppy."
"Kids are resilient." Denton watched Sean patting snow on the side of the fort with an expression of intense concentration. There was no spirit shadow in sight. But Denton already knew there wouldn't be. It wasn't the first time he’d checked. He liked to be thorough. He turned back to Lyn. "And how have you been doing?"
"Fine!" She leaned closer. "You know, the dreams I told you about? I haven't had a single one since. I can't remember the last time I slept so well." She nudged Denton with her elbow. "You should go on TV with your skills.
"Oh, gawd, no. Bran is an introvert—he couldn't take the attention. And what we did for you is not really our regular line of business. We cleanse houses and commercial properties mostly."
"I will recommend you to anyone I know. But now you better run."
"Run? Why?"
She grinned, took a few steps back, lifted her hand. It had a snowball in it. Denton spun on his heels and ran but didn't get far. The snowball smacked the back of his head and its shattered remains slipped under his collar. Brrr!
FROG DAY AFTERNOON
Chapter One
"Ha! I knew it!" Denton crowed as he barged into Bran's study—if you can call taking two short steps inside as barging. The room looked as always, just more so. The number of books seemed to have tripled the past couple of months, and now they towered in multiple piles on the floor, on a spare chair, and pretty much every horizontal surface. The windowsill was the sole exception—potted herbs crowded there, drinking in the spring sunshine. Like offshoots of an exotic plant, Bran's hand-scribbled notes spread from the cork board to the naked walls, but Peter still held court among them. Denton resolutely ignored Peter.
Bran had been staring at the screen of his laptop but Denton's entrance made him tear his gaze away and wheel his chair around. "Knew what?"
"Murry may be your demonic companion or whatnot, but he's still mostly cat by nature." According to Bran, his familiar could also turn into a raven, but Denton had never witnessed it. Murry clearly preferred fur to feathers.
"I could've told you as much," Bran replied matter-of-factly.
"Don't try to undermine me by conceding before I can present my proof. I worked hard on this, you know."
Bran leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. With a wisp of a smile playing on his lips he said, "Please, proceed."
"So this is what I did: I took a T-shirt and laid it on the bed and I left the room. When I returned a few minutes later Murry was sleeping on top of the shirt. I repeated the experiment several times. So far it's five for five."
"Ah, the scientific method. I approve."
Denton wasn't finished yet. "I tried different locations on the bed, with the same result. It doesn't even matter if the shirt's clean or dirty."
Bran nodded. "Same thing with jeans or any other clothing. And towels."
"Why do cats do it?"
"I have no idea."
"You could ask Murry. You guys communicate."
"Some mysteries are not meant to be uncovered. The universe might unravel. Are you going out? Wearing a skirt?" Bran added, pointedly glaring at Denton's boots, clearly visible under his kilt. He didn't normally wear shoes in the apartment.
"A kilt.
And sure, why not? The weather's finally good enough, and I'm secure in my masculinity." Denton had grown so comfortable with the kilts, he'd bought three new ones and wore them at least as much as his jeans.
"You're going to get a lot of attention."
"I can take it."
Bran shook his head minutely, but kept whatever objections he had to himself. "Where are you going?"
"Paying Joy a visit. She got us a new web design job and wants to go over details at brunch, since she's so much into cooking now."
"Didn't you just have breakfast?"
"Have you never heard of second breakfast?"
"No," said Bran with absolute seriousness.
Denton mentally rolled his eyes. He could always count on Bran not to know the classics. "Aaanyways, I'll be back for lunch. Don't start without me." He turned and marched out. After a second of indecision he walked out to the balcony to check the sky. The spring that year had been particularly unpredictable, full of frequent and sudden downpours.
As soon as he stepped out he saw the frogs. A whole bunch of them. Bran had moved most of the herbs wintering in the apartment back outside, and the balcony was on its way to being transformed into a miniature urban jungle again. The froggies squatted in the pots, glaring at Denton from under the leaves. Denton had pretty much resolved himself to spend the rest of his life surrounded by imaginary amphibians, translucent figments of Bran's imagination. Maybe they'd go away once Bran stopped obsessing with Peter. If Bran ever did.
Murry joined Denton on the balcony. He sniffed several plants and after careful deliberation chose a clump of cat grass to chew on.
"You don't see them, do you?" Denton asked the cat.
Murry turned his head. "Meow?"
Denton thought he glimpsed curiosity in the green eyes, but he could've been projecting. "The frogs," he explained.
Murry blinked once and went back to nibbling on the plant. "Never mind." Denton shrugged. So he hallucinated frogs. Big deal. There were much worse things to hallucinate. It's not like they were trying to kill him or possess him. At least, he didn't think they were. One of these days he might even tell Bran about them. He walked back inside, grabbed an umbrella and went on his way.
***
Joy served Denton crêpes Suzette. "Sorry, they're not flaming. I draw the line at culinary fire hazards." She said the last part in a raised voice for some mysterious reason. She dropped into a chair across from him.
"I don't mind." Denton stuffed big forkfuls of crêpes into his mouth to prove what he'd said.
Joy dropped into another chair, and with her head propped on an elbow watched him eat. "I hate you," she said warmly. "Wish I could scarf down food with impunity. I've put on five pounds since Alphonse."
Denton cleared the last morsels off his plate and pushed it aside. "So the old guy's working out, then?"
Joy let out a disgruntled groan. "Yeah, about that…"
"What's wrong?"
Joy leaned forward. "He's insufferable. You know, I put his cookbook together, and even got it printed. And I spent a lot of time and fair amount of money on it. Now, at first I was a little worried he might leave once he saw it—you know, his unfinished business finished, and so on." she said in hushed tones.
"And?"
"The exact opposite happened. He's more active than ever. He wants me to cook from the damn thing. Every fucking day. No matter where I hide the book, in the morning it's on top of the kitchen counter open to one recipe or another. At first I indulged him, but those dishes are not simple, let me tell you. Oh, and don't get me started on the ingredients. You know how long it took me to find trotters? And I absolutely refuse to cook with snails." She threw her hands up. "I don't have time to prepare a three course meal every day; I have work to do. I tried to explain it to the old geezer, but he won't listen."
"I thought this is what you wanted," Denton reminded her.
She scowled at him. "I was wrong. I'm a graphic designer, not a blasted Iron Chef. Bobby Flay can keep his gig. This shit gotta stop." Joy lowered her voice even more. "You should see the tantrums he throws when I order out."
"Tantrums?"
"Yeah, lights flickering, stuff falling off the shelves. I'm being bullied by a ghost. Denton, you have to help me."
Denton knew he was smirking, but he felt justified. "At what point can I say I told you so?"
Joy gave him a dirty look. "Not till after the Amazing Alphonse Bouchard is gone to the great beyond. So will you do it? I have everything ready."
Denton pushed his chair back. "Well, you fed me and it means I can't say no. Well played."
***
Alphonse was nowhere to be seen, so Denton set up for the summoning circle, pretty much the same as in the previous, aborted attempt. They laid Aunt Margie's tablecloth print side down on the kitchen floor again. To be on the safe side, Joy piled the whole Dutch oven and the madeleine mold in the middle. Denton used cinnamon-infused baker's sugar because Joy had a lot of it for some reason. It worked. Denton barely uttered a few of the incantation when the old guy appeared within the circle.
Alphonse Bouchard looked about the same as Denton remembered him—potbellied, mustachioed, and wearing a dark suit. Denton also noticed a red bow-tie.
"Good morning, Monsieur Bouchard," Joy said, so she could obviously see the spirit shadow too. "I'm really sorry about this, and I'm grateful for all your help, but it's time for you to move on."
Alphonse Bouchard swayed lightly like a leaf in a spring breeze. "We still have much to do. Coq au vin! Pistou! Croquembouche!" His tone was stern and commanding like a general ordering an attack.
Joy groaned. "Wouldn't you rather join up with your loved ones on the other side? Parents? Lovers? How about your sister?"
"Ah, Esther…mon petite chou..." The spirit wavered and flickered, giving the impression of indecision.
Denton figured it was time to give the old guy a firm shove. He stretched out his hands and blasted the late Alphonse Bouchard with a hefty dose of white light. For a brief second Denton saw the image of a very big and very warty frog interposed with that of the restaurateur, but then, poof, they were both gone.
Joy let out a relieved sigh and nudged him. "Okay, you can say it now."
"Huh?" Denton was a bit disoriented.
"You know…" Joy made a face, prompting Denton's memory.
"I told you so!" he said cheerfully.
Chapter Two
A bored Denton slouched on the couch, reading the Lesser Key of Solomon, and finding it exceptionally unhelpful. The problem with classic books of occult was that they offered very little practical advice. The frisky afternoon shower drumming on the windows was making him sleepy. Bran had been holed up in his study since morning, as usual, and Murry was nowhere in sight. The utter tranquility was driving Denton nuts, so when the door buzzer broke the silence he welcomed the interruption and bounded out to the intercom. "Hello?" he said pushing the talk button.
"Oh hi, I'd like to talk to Mr. Mills, please," came the female voice from the speaker.
"Denton Mills, at your service. How can I help?"
"My name is Sarah Martel. Lyn Burke said you could help. You see there's this ghost I need you to take care of. I can come back later, if this is a bad time," she added.
Denton hesitated only for a second. "Nah, it's fine. Come on up," he said and buzzed her in. Next he popped his head into Bran's study. "We have a client coming up."
Bran didn't jump for joy. "What, now? What does he want?"
"She. Ghost busting."
"Hasn't she heard of a telephone? I'm busy."
"I'll handle it. Is it okay if I see her here? My place is a little…untidy at this moment."
"Great surprise. Sure, knock yourself out," Bran grumbled and turned back to the dusty tome in front of him.
"Thank you." Denton turned but as he left he heard Bran muttering something about people who don't pick up after themselves. He felt it unfair. He wasn't so messy. Was he?
Sarah Martel appeared to be on the far side of forty, still good looking despite the shadows under her eyes. A few silver strands peppered her brown hair. "I'm so very grateful you could see me. I feel terrible not calling first, but Lyn lost your number. Some mishap with a software update—I always have my oldest son do it for me. Fortunately, she remembered where you lived." Her chattering betrayed her nervousness.
He made an effort to put her at ease. "It's fine, don't worry. I was getting rather bored, to be honest. Just put that over there in the corner," he added, motioning at her dripping umbrella. She did and he led her to the living room, where they took their seats at opposite sides of the coffee table.
"Oh, what a nice room. All those plants," she said looking around.
Denton smiled. "You mentioned a ghost."
She clasped her hand in her lap. "Yes. I believe my brother is being haunted by our mother."
"What makes you think so?"
"He told me. I didn't want to believe him at first, but why would Frankie—my brother—lie about something like this? And he looks terrible." She leaned forward an inch and her voice grew conspiratorial. "You know, I was five when my grandma died, and for days afterwards I saw her in her old rocking chair, rocking back and forth. Only a little, of course. My parents told me it was a draft making the chair move and I was imagining things, but I know what I saw. So I don't think it's impossible for my mother's spirit to appear to Frankie. He was always her favorite."
"Hm. Where is this haunting taking place? In your house?"
She pulled herself up. "Oh, no. I'm not telling this right, am I? Let me start from the beginning. My mom moved to a condo in Old Town after father died. She'd always been what they call capricious. When she was in a good mood she was fun and bright, like the sun, but she had dark moods when she couldn't get out of bed for days. Dad was very good at handling it, but after he passed away Mom started losing her grip. I really thought she would've been better off in a retirement community with other people, but she wouldn't hear of it. Then last fall she had a complete breakdown, had to be hospitalized. Adjustment disorder, the doctors called it. She got well enough to be released—she insisted on going home. That's when my brother, Frankie, moved in with her."
