“I spoke to the contractor,” Chauncey said. “He had a deal with the Hainbridge coven for a lot less.”
“They can’t do the work. It’s a complicated spell,” Evan said. “They called in my wife, and she can. So you work with her or you can think about it for a few days, while the contractor starts another job somewhere and you get left with an unfinished building.”
“I have a contract with Hainbridge General Construction,” Chauncey said.
“With an ‘act of God’ clause in it. Haints fall under that category.”
“And you can’t negotiate with a haint,” Jane said, amused.
“Will she do the job for what I was paying the coven?” he hedged.
“No. And it isn’t extortion,” Evan said, eyes narrowing. “Haints are dangerous. What my wife will give you is a solution to a bigger problem than you knew you had. Let us know when you make a decision.” With that, Evan hustled me out of the house and Jane followed, her boots pattering down the front steps.
Before we reached the bottom step, Chauncey raced from the house, squealing like a child. A metal bucket barely missed his head. Jane must have been expecting it, because she caught it out of the air and handed it to him, shaking her head. “Bet you had to touch the stove to see if it was hot when you were a kid. Idiot.” But it sounded like good-natured ribbing more than insult. To me she said, “Later, Molly.”
Big Evan said, “See you around, Jane,” and opened my car door for me. I got in. Evan came around to his side and got in, his bulk making the old rattletrap rock. Jane keyed on her used Yamaha motorcycle. And Chauncey caved. “Wait,” he yelled. Jane turned off her bike. We got out of the car. To Evan, he said, “I can’t afford the fee you named. I can go . . . maybe half that.”
Evan and he dickered for a few minutes over price, and I had to turn away. My services were going to cost a lot more money than I thought they were worth, but they finally settled on a four-figure sum that meant I could get a new refrigerator and put something toward that new car we’d been saving for.
“I’ll draw up the contract,” Chauncey said. “I can fax or e-mail it over in two hours.” He looked at me and said, “Can you get rid of the haint today?”
I almost said yes, but Jane shook her head, very slightly. Right. Negotiation. “By Wednesday,” I said. “Sooner, if possible, but I can make no promises.”
“Okay.” He stuck his hand out at Jane. “Deal.”
Jane pointed at me. “Your deal is with the lady and her oversized galumph.”
? ? ?
We spent the rest of the morning flying spells. I write incantations, conjures, spells—which are pretty much, but not always, the same thing—out in longhand on legal pads. When I reach a point where the spell stops working, I fold it into a paper airplane and fly it across the room. Big Evan balls his up and plays trash can basketball. What we wanted was a spell that would keep us safe in the house, and a totally separate but overlapping conjure that would allow us to see the moment in time when the warding/keep-away spell transferred to the stethoscope. That transference had caused all the house’s problems. A spell that should have died had instead mutated and found a way to persist long after its creator was gone. It was going to be tricky, and that was even before we tried to dismantle the spell and free the house.
We spent lunchtime in the Hainbridge Historical Society, looking at photos of the people who had lived in the house, and photos of the townspeople, so if we happened to see one or two of them when we went searching for the pivotal, instigating event, we could call them by name. Then Evan and I went home for dinner and explained to Angelina that we’d be going out. She wasn’t happy at being left behind, but when Regan and Amelia showed up carrying an armload of old movies on DVDs, a bag of popcorn big enough to feed an entire family for a month, hair color to add blond streaks to their reddish hair, a dozen shades of nail polish, and a bottle of wine, she perked right up. I was jealous of the girls’ night I’d miss, but I was smart enough not to say so. We left the three watching the opening credits of an old black-and-white version of Cinderella, the scent of popcorn filling the house and the volume on the TV turned up high enough to rattle the walls.
? ? ?
At dusk, Evan and I entered the house, Jane behind us. I knew she had other things to do—tonight was belly dance class—but here she was, curious as any cat. And she had brought a cooler with colas, iced tea, and sandwiches, two battery-operated lights, a first aid kit, and a bedroll. She was dressed for business in heavyweight denim jeans with stakes and blades strapped on her waist and thighs. When she saw me staring at the pile of supplies and at her silver-plated knives she shrugged. “Insurance, not that I expect to need any of it.”