by Vivi Andrews
“Welcome to Senility Hills,” Jo quipped from the passenger seat as they rolled through streets with ten-mile-per-hour speed limits. “Just follow the main road. It’ll eventually get us to the Assisted Living building where Gram lives.”
Wyatt followed her instructions, even as he wondered whether it was too early to put down a deposit on a golf-course-view bungalow of his own.
Beside him, Jo snorted out a laugh.
“What?”
She grinned, unrepentant. “I can see you planning your golden years,” she snickered. “Nine o’clock tee times and four o’clock dinners. Pinching little old ladies and flirting with the nurses.”
“While you gab with your pinochle partners, both the living and the deceased,” he countered.
Jo shrugged. “Probably. I’ve never given much thought to retirement. I’m not a planner like you.”
Wyatt frowned. “Don’t you have a 401K? What kind of a business is Karma running?”
“A ghost-catching, demon-exorcising, spell-casting, aura-reading business, Wyatt. But, yeah, I have a 401K. And benefits. I’m a regular grown-up.” Jo made a face, sticking out her tongue and crossing her eyes—very grown up.
“It’s never too early to start planning for the future.”
“The future will get here in its own good time. No sense rushing it. Might as well enjoy the now.” When Wyatt just frowned, Jo burst out laughing again. “I swear, Wyatt, you are going to have the mid-life crisis to end all crises when you finally figure out that there is more to live for than just financial security.”
“I know there’s more to life than financial security,” he protested. Right now there was Jo and ghosts and more chaos than he normally dealt with in a year. He hadn’t been to work in days. And he had to admit, if only to himself, that it felt pretty damn good to play hooky.
The lobby of the Assisted Living building reminded him of the foyer of the posh Mayflower Hotel in DC where the Kennedys had once lived and he started fantasizing about retirement again. Jo moved straight to the front desk and signed them in before leading the way to a bank of elevators.
“Gram spends most of her time at the pool on sunny days,” she explained, hitting the button for the top floor.
The elevators opened onto a rooftop pool deck overlooking the landscaped grounds. The senior citizens scattered around the patio were bundled up in scarves and caftans in a nod to the breezy October weather. No one was in the pool, though from the steam drifting off the top, it looked to be kept at the same temperature as the average hot tub.
Jo moved straight toward a petite white-haired lady sitting by herself at a table for four and Wyatt fell into step behind her.
“Gram!” Jo bent and gave her grandmother a squeeze before turning to one of the empty chairs and waving cheerfully. “Hiya, Grandpa.”
Wyatt thought it was a sign of how far he had come over the last few days that he didn’t even blink.
“Jo Ellen, aren’t you just pretty as a picture. I just love what you’ve done with your hair,” her grandmother said in a soft, breathy voice. “Don’t you think it’s just lovely, Harvey?”
Wyatt had to cough to cover the laugh that threatened to erupt when he heard that Jo’s grandmother’s invisible friend was named Harvey, of all things. From that point on, the image of a six-foot rabbit as Jo’s grandfather refused to leave his brain.
Jo smiled in response to whatever Harvey said. “Gram, Grandpa, this is Wyatt Haines. He’s a friend of mine who has a little ghost problem and we wanted to tap your expertise.”
Wyatt reached out to gently take the elderly lady’s papery hand in his. “Ma’am.” She gave his hand a surprisingly fierce squeeze and flashed him a wink.
“Your young man is quite handsome, Jo Ellen.”
“Yeah, he’s a looker,” Jo agreed readily, and Wyatt glanced at her in surprise. She gave him a lazy grin and shrugged before turning back to her grandmother—or rather her grandparents.
Wyatt hesitated for a second, unsure whether or not he was supposed to greet her invisible grandfather. Jo grabbed his arm and shoved him into an empty chair before the indecision could paralyze him.
Jo quickly summarized the problem for her grandparents. Her grandmother listened intently, taking each bizarre revelation in stride and occasionally instructing Harvey to “Hush up”. Once Jo was done, the sweet little old lady settled back in her chair and gave them a soft smile.
“Well, that’s quite a pickle, isn’t it?”
Jo smiled patiently. “We were hoping you could help us figure out how to stop it.”
The little old lady smiled beatifically. “No, dear, I’m afraid I can’t do that.”
Jo sat forward abruptly. “What do you mean you can’t?”
“It wouldn’t be fair to you, dear.” Her grandmother reached across the table and patted her hand. “It’s high time you started doing for yourself, Jo Ellen. If I tell you how to solve your problems, you’ll never figure out how to do it on your own.”
“Gram, I’ve tried solving them on my own. My mojo is busted. I can’t—”
“Nonsense. There is nothing wrong with your mojo. The problem isn’t your abilities. You’ve always been more powerful than Lucy and I combined. The problem is you. Until you learn to embrace who you are, take the reins in your own life—”
“Gram, this is life and death we’re talking about. Can we save the self-discovery bull for some time when things are less urgent?”
“No.” Her grandmother insisted stubbornly, the mulish set of her mouth suddenly reminding Wyatt strongly of Jo. Then she turned to the empty chair and said, “Oh, hush, Harvey. I’m not hurting the child. She has all the tools she needs to solve her own problems. It’s her Pandora’s Box. She can just figure out how to close it herself.”
Something in Jo’s posture changed slightly during this little speech. When she spoke, her expression was contemplative. “Gram, what about Wyatt’s problem? He doesn’t have all the tools he needs to solve his own problem.”
“Oh, you think you’re so clever do you? Trying to turn my argument back on me, are you?” Gram waved one gnarled finger back and forth. “Not so fast, missy. Is it really Wyatt’s problem? Seems to me it’s Teddy and Angelica’s problem. Which means it is your problem, since ghosts are your business. The host is just a house.”
“Just a house?” Jo asked in confusion. “But if I open a portal inside Wyatt, won’t that be a danger to him?”
“Yes, yes, you can’t do it that way,” Gram agreed. “In, out, in, out. It can’t be too easy or everyone would do it.”
“But how do you do it?” Jo asked, exasperated.
“Ghosts just don’t go places for no reason, Jo Ellen,” her grandmother said, her tone indicating that she had clearly expected Jo to come to this conclusion on her own. Then she turned sharply to the empty chair and exclaimed, “Hush, Harvey! I’ve told the girl plenty.”
Wyatt wanted to protest that she hadn’t told them a damn thing, but Jo was smiling and rising from her chair. “Yes, you have. Thanks, Gram. You’re a lifesaver.”
“You’re leaving already?” Gram sighed dramatically and Wyatt saw the guilt-trip train rolling into the station. “You only come to see me to ask me about your ghost problems. You never see me just to talk.”
Jo snorted. “Nice performance, Gram. Luce and I come out here every other week, bringing you sweets you aren’t supposed to eat and all the gossip mom thinks is too delicate for your aged ears. You can try to play the neglected, forgotten grandparent all you want, but Wyatt isn’t going to believe you any more than Jake did.”
Gram smiled Lucy’s dimpled smile. “You are good girls, but you didn’t bring me anything today.”
“The bakery you like in town isn’t open on Sundays and I didn’t think you wanted to risk my attempts at baked goods. Next time we come I’ll make Lucy bake you whatever you want.”
“Lemon,” Gram demanded imperiously. “Lemon bundt cake. Glazed.”
J
o saluted as she rose to her feet. “Lemon it is. Have a good week and I’ll see you on Saturday. Be nice to the nurses. Hasta la vista, Grandpa.”
Wyatt trailed along in her wake, even more confused than he was before their fact-finding mission. He waited until Jo was signing them out in the lobby before turning to her and asking the question that had been burning a hole in his brain. “Was your grandfather really named Harvey?”
“Yep.”
Wyatt shook away the image of an enormous rabbit. “Did he give you a bunch of advice I couldn’t hear? What was he saying?”
Jo just shrugged. “Hell if I know. He transcended fifteen years ago. That chair was empty. She just likes to pretend he’s still around. It’s sort of her last revenge against him to pretend he’s a ghost.”
“How is that vengeful?”
Jo grinned. “My grandpa was like you, Wyatt. He didn’t believe in ghosts. He told anyone who would listen that his wife was as mad as a hatter, but he loved her anyway.”
Wyatt frowned. “I’m still not clear on why we came all the way out here if your grandmother is crazy.”
“Oh, she’s a loon,” Jo acknowledged in the same way she would readily admit to being one herself, “but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t know more about the spirit world than anyone I’ve ever met, living or dead.”
“But she didn’t tell you anything,” Wyatt protested.
“Sure she did.”
Wyatt pushed the button to unlock the Bentley and they climbed in. Jo pulled out her cell phone, muttering irritably about her lack of service. They were halfway back to the main road before his hold on his curiosity deteriorated.
“Well?” he demanded. “What did I miss?”
Jo turned to him in surprise. “I thought you wouldn’t want to know the ghostly details. You don’t like the paranormal.”
“I still have a right to know what’s going on.” He knew his tone was unnecessarily sharp, but he was sick of being confused all the time. It was time he started paying attention to the rules of the paranormal game. Maybe he could figure out a way to beat it.
“Of course you do,” Jo acknowledged. “I would have told you right away if I thought you were interested.”
“I’m interested,” he snapped. It was his life, after all, that had been turned upside down. The invasion of his house and his body that had started this whole fiasco.
“Yeah, Wyatt. I figured that much out. So which do you want to know about first, the house or your personal problem?”
“Let’s start with the house.” It was a little easier to force himself to believe in a haunted house than a haunted stomach.
“The house it is.” Jo was silent for a moment, gathering her thoughts, toying with her cell phone in her lap. “Something seemed off about witches being responsible from the first,” she said at last. “In witchcraft, there’s this thing called the threefold rule. Kind of a you-reap-what-you-sow sort of thing, only more so. Whatever you do comes back to you threefold. So even if you aren’t a big fan of the do no harm philosophy, usually fear of the consequences keeps witches from messing with the universe too much.”
“But?”
“But there’s a loophole.” She shook her head. “I’m an idiot for not thinking of it myself.”
“Less recriminations, more explanations.”
Jo grinned. “You sound like Karma.”
“The loophole?”
“Talismans,” Jo announced with finality. “A witch will put an enchantment or a spell on an object, but as long as they have no intention to use the object, they avoid the threefold consequences. If a witch wanted to create mayhem without suffering for it, all she would have to do is put the mayhem spell into a talisman. An object has no intent and the intention to do harm is what triggers the reprisals.
“When my grandma mentioned closing Pandora’s Box, it was a clue. Pandora’s Box was a magic shop that used to sell talismans before it closed down a few years ago. Now, pretty much the only place to go for grimoires, tarot cards, and the occasional crystal ball is a place called the Prometheus Unbound Book Shop. The proprietor is not exactly known for being scrupulous in his business practices. He’s something of a supernatural mischief-maker. If someone were going to try to buy or sell a ghost-controlling talisman, odds are they went through Prometheus.”
“But if a witch used the talisman, wouldn’t the rule still apply?” Wyatt asked in an attempt to apply logic to this bizarre new world.
“That’s the bad news. You don’t have to be a witch to use a talisman. Any idiot can wander in off the street thinking he wants to be a practitioner and buy something he shouldn’t, because Prometheus has a more-the-merrier approach to magic use. Those wannabe witches might not even know what they have. Or worse, they might know exactly what they have. We don’t even know if we’re dealing with someone who wants to harm or help you.”
“So are we going to check out this Prometheus place?”
Jo made a face. “It’s closed today.”
“Right. Sunday.”
“No, Samhain. Tomorrow is Samhain night. It’s a big witch holiday.”
“Don’t you mean Wicca?”
Jo burst out laughing. “Well, well, look who’s all knowledgeable about the occult all of a sudden. But technically, no, I don’t mean Wicca. Wicca is the religion. Witchcraft is the art. Many witches are Wiccan because the principles coincide, but I’ve met Buddhist and even a couple Catholic witches as well. It takes all kinds.”
“But this Samhain is a holiday, regardless of religion?”
Jo wrinkled her nose. “Holiday is the wrong word, I guess. It’s a power day. A natural day of death and rebirth. Witches tend to retreat from the modern world and gather to focus their power. The greatest spells are always cast during Samhain and Beltane, a fertility festival at the beginning of May.”
“So the spell on the house, will it be even worse tomorrow?”
“God, I hope not. That’s all we need.”
They stopped at a light and Wyatt turned to face her. “Do we just wait until after Samhain then? Get our answers then.”
Jo glanced at him, her eyes somber. “I don’t think we can wait. We’ll have to search the house for the talisman.”
“The house didn’t like you very much last time.”
“I won’t be doing anything to the ghosts this time. Just looking. I don’t think it will kick the holy hell out of me if I don’t take a few shots at it first.”
“What does a talisman look like?”
Jo grimaced. “Yeah, that’s the tricky part. It could be just about anything. Usually it’s a medallion of some kind, mostly because witches are traditionalists, but I’ve heard of people enchanting vacuum cleaners. A talisman is just an object that has been imbued with a magic of some kind. For all we know, it’s the kitchen sink.”
“So how do we find it, if it could be anything?”
The light turned green and Wyatt pulled his attention away from Jo and put it back on the traffic.
“I have a theory,” she said, and the hesitation in her voice set off warning bells that almost had him veering off the road.
“Why do I have a feeling I’m not going to like this theory?”
“I think Teddy and Angelica might know where it is.”
He frowned. “Why would you think that?”
“It’s something my Gram said. She said I had all the pieces I needed to figure this out and she specifically mentioned Teddy and Angelica. I think they can help us get the talisman out of your house. Not only that, I think they might be able to help me pull them out of you, too.”
This time Wyatt did swerve, but he quickly brought the car back under control. “How?” If it involved Jo getting knocked around by the house again, he wasn’t so sure he was in favor, but just about anything else that would get these ghosts out of him was worth it.
“Gram said they don’t go anywhere without a reason. I thought at first she might mean there had to be a reason why they were in you, but
now that I think about it, I think she was trying to tell me that I have to give them a reason to be somewhere else. If I find a place where they belong, getting them out of you should be easy. I hope.”
“So you’re going to ask them where they belong?”
“Something like that. Let’s just hope they aren’t from Timbuktu.”
Chapter Twenty-Four: Love Means Never Having to Say Untie Me
Jo secured Wyatt’s wrists to the headboard with brand-new, pink-leopard-velvet-lined handcuffs.
She’d left a message for Karma outlining her talisman theory and, after a quick stop at a twenty-four-hour sex shop, they’d come straight back to Wyatt’s condo to see if Angelica and Teddy could save the day.
“You’re enjoying this far too much,” Wyatt complained when she bounced on the bed beside him, giving the handcuff links an experimental tug.
“Yup,” she agreed unabashedly. “Comfy?”
“As comfortable as I’m going to be, handcuffed to my bed.”
Jo chuckled throatily—Wyatt was so not a submissive—and stretched out beside him, leaning close but careful not to touch. “Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Haines?”
“Minx,” he growled. “Let’s get this over with.”
“No foreplay?” Jo flashed him a wicked grin. “You’re the boss, boss.” She bounded off the bed and disappeared out the door, returning a moment later dragging one of his dining room chairs. She plunked it next to the bed and perched on it, watching him expectantly. “Well? Go on. Go to sleep.”
“I don’t sleep on command.”
Jo rolled her eyes. “You don’t actually have to sleep. Just close your eyes and relax. I’ll do the rest.”
Wyatt closed his eyes, but his forehead was screwed up in a frown and he was about as far from relaxed as a man could be.
“You have trust issues,” Jo informed him.
The sound that came out of Wyatt’s throat did not sound particularly human.
