We looked out at everything displayed before us. There was a smal brass bel , the Witch Bottle, two unmarked glass vials fil ed with clear liquid (which I assumed was holy water), a box of salt, two smal bowls, packets of red and saffron-colored spices, a smal bottle of crimson oil and a black candle and a white candle.
“You’re going to do some show and tel with us first, right?” I asked.
Maximus smiled and walked over to the broom closet.
He emerged with a broom, which he handed to me, and a mop, which he handed to Ada.
“I wil . But first we have to clean the house from top to bottom.”
“Perry! You promised me there wouldn’t be any manual labor!” Ada cried out, staring down at the mop in horror.
“I didn’t know!” I shot back and looked at Maximus for an explanation.
“We have to make sure al the affected areas are clean before we do this,” he said calmly. “Dust and dirt hold a lot of negative energy.”
“Oh, please,” Ada said.
“Hey, I don’t make the rules,” Maximus said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “And I’m not getting off any easier either. I’l be dusting.”
I eyed the clock. We were going to have to clean in a hurry.
We started with the first floor before we made our way through the house together with Maximus dusting hard-to-reach areas, fol owed by me with a broom and a garbage bag and Ada with the mop and a bucket. Our house wasn’t a mansion by any means, but it was quite large and there were an awful lot of nooks and crannies. It took almost an hour for us to do the whole house. My parents were definitely going to think something was up when they came back to a sparkling clean home, but I was hoping that by then it wouldn’t matter what we told them – our problems would be over.
When we finished, we gathered back in the kitchen, which Maximus deemed as the heart of the home (and probably why the pig carcass was original y hidden there).
He organized al of our special items on top of my mother’s navy blue dish cloth so it resembled an Ikea altar of sorts.
Then he brought out a pair of nail clippers and smal scissors from the front pocket of his black shirt, clipped his nails, had me snip a smal chunk of hair from the back of his pompadour do, then he stuck it in the bottle with the rest of our offerings and deftly sealed it with duct tape.
“Now,” he said, lifting up the container of salt, “we purify.”
He walked out of the kitchen and to the front door. Ada and I fol owed him, staying a few feet back, unsure of what he was going to do.