Ghost of a Chance (7 page)

“Do you have everything?” I asked, changing
the subject.

“I’ve probably forgotten something, but I’ll
come back later for the things I’ve left.” He glanced around the
room one more time, his gaze narrowing on my purse and a manila
envelope I’d put on the table. “What’s this?”

Before I could snatch the envelope from him,
he opened it and was quickly scanning the documents. He turned the
envelope over and read the name stamped in the corner. “Akashic
League? What were you doing there?”

“A little research on your house,” I
answered, seizing the papers from his hands.

He gave me an odd look before dismissively
shrugging. He checked his watch and grabbed his keys. “How you
waste your time is no longer my business. Be at the house at
eight.”

“Spider, wait.” I bit my lip, hesitating to
tell him about the planned séance. Part of me wanted to see
Savannah pulling something over on Spider, but the realist in me
pointed out that few people have ever managed to do that. “There’s
a ghost-hunting group who plans on investigating the Walsh
house—”

“I know all about them,” he interrupted with
yet another smarmy smile. “There’s not going to be anything for
them to investigate by the time you’re done, now, is there?”

“But—”

“Don’t be late. I want that house cleaned by
no later than ten.” The slam of the car door shot through my head
like a red-hot bolt. I didn’t so much close the door as slump
against it, collapsing to the floor in a giant puddle of
pain-racked goo.

Sergei’s concerned face and the sound of the
phone were the first things I became aware of when I returned to
consciousness several hours later. Somehow I’d been carried over to
the couch.

“You all right?” Sergei asked me. “You look
bad.”

“Migraine,” I croaked, the very act of
speaking enough to bring on waves of pain and nausea.

He drifted over with my purse and the phone,
silently handing both to me. I took the purse, dug through it for
the pain meds, then downed them before collapsing back onto the
couch. “Let the machine answer it.”

A tinny male voice came from the kitchen as
the answering machine kicked in, but I was too out of it to listen.
Twenty minutes later I swam up from the blessed numbing action of
the medicine and carefully sat up.

Sergei hovered in front of me, holding a
handful of papers. “These were on the floor. You want? Or
recycle?”

“I want them. Thank you for tidying up so
quickly.” I put the papers back into the envelope. Sergei continued
to hover in front of me, a worried expression twisting his face.
“Is there something else?”

He pointed at the envelope. “It says Akashic
League.”

I stared silently at him, unable to work out
in my fuzzy brain what it was he was so concerned about.

“You going to banish me?”

“Oh,” I said, the light finally dawning.
“No, the League hasn’t ordered me to banish you. I was simply using
their library to do some research on the house I’m going to clean
tonight. Speaking of that, what time is it?”

Sergei moved so I could see the clock above
the mantel.

“Oh, no! How could you let me sleep so long?
I only have twenty minutes to get to the house… Urgh.”

“You look horrible. More horrible than you
did earlier when you fainted,” a voice said from the doorway.”
Pixie stood watching me with arms crossed over her chest. “Are you
going to barf?”

“I don’t think so. I’m sorry if I frightened
you.” I pushed damp hair back from my forehead, trying to think. My
head was woozy and felt like it was filled with molasses, making my
thoughts thick and slow-moving. I shook it in an attempt to clear
it.

“I wasn’t scared,” she said as she strolled
into the room, trying hard for nonchalance in her voice, but I
heard an undertone of relief that warmed my heart. “There was a
turkey sandwich in the fridge. I ate it.”

“That’s fine. I’m sorry I was so out of it.
This has been some first day for you.”

She shrugged. “I’ve had worse.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. And I’m sorry to
have to leave you, but I need to go. Will you be all right by
yourself? There’s food, and the TV, and I’ll have my father check
on you to make sure—”

“I’m
not
an
infant
!” Her back
stiffened with indignation. “I can be left by
myself
, you
know.”

I rubbed my numb head. “I’m sorry,
Desdemona—”

“Obsidian Angel,” she interrupted.

“What?” I wondered if the drugs were making
me hallucinate. “Obsidian what?”

“Angel. It’s my new name. I’m done with
Desdemona. You may now call me Obsidian Angel.”

I stared at her for a second, wondering if
the repayment for my sin was worth having Pixie in my life. “We’ll
talk about that later, OK? Right now I need to get going. Sergei,
can you please get my bag of tricks?”

Sergei toddled off to get the bag in which I
kept my tools. I tried to get to my feet, gritting my teeth to keep
the waves of nausea roiling around inside me from coming to
fruition. “Can you help me get up, Pixie… er… Des… oh, whoever you
are? I think once I’m on my feet I’ll be OK.”

“I doubt it,” she said, hauling me to my
feet. I stood weaving for a second, my vision swimming

“Thanks. Sergei? Where are… What’s wrong
with you?”

The domovoi was a dim figure in the darkness
of the hallway. He was evidently struggling to pull together enough
energy to move my bag from the other room. That surprised me. “Why
are you so wiped out?”

Sergei left the bag halfway down the hall
and floated into the living room. “I did the windows while you were
gone. And vacuumed, and dusted in the attic, and washed the kitchen
floor, and then there was a rattling in the dryer, so I took it
apart to find the bit that was loose, and after that I—”

“Oh, please stop,” I said, rubbing my head.
“I feel guilty enough that you’re working around here without
knowing you’re a virtual slave to housecleaning.”

“I like it,” Sergei insisted. “I am sorry I
did so much today. If I’d known you were going to need me—”

“It’s not a big deal. I can do this…” I
ignored the groan forced out as I bent to retrieve my bag from the
floor.

“You’re going to wrap yourself around a tree
or something if you go out like that,” Pixie said, watching me with
a dispassionate eye.

“I’m OK. Just a bit woozy. It’ll pass in a
minute.”

“The young lady with many arms is right,”
Sergei said slowly. “It would not be safe for you to drive as you
are. Cardea must help you.”

He hurried to the kitchen before I could
protest, and returned with a worried-looking Cardea.

“Sergei says you need me?”

“I’m fine,” I repeated, my vision slowly
clearing. I took a tentative step forward. “He’s overreacting.”

“Just look at her,” Sergei said, gesturing
toward me. “You must drive her to the house she is to clean
tonight.”

Cardea glanced back toward the kitchen. “You
know I would be happy to help you, Karma, but I really do have much
to do in the pantry. There’re all those cans of soup to be
organized, and some of the potatoes are growing eyes, and I thought
I would arrange the pasta by expiration date rather than shape, as
they are now.”

“You must put your own desires aside for the
mistress,” Sergei said.

I slowly bent to retrieve my jacket, pausing
a moment to breathe deeply as a wave of red wooziness washed over
me.

Cardea bit her lip. When I had first
discovered her, she had been haunting a small dank basement. The
owners of the house had sympathy for the agoraphobic goddess but
wished to finish the basement to house their growing family.

“I’ll be OK,” I said, slipping into my
jacket and staggering toward my tool bag. “I just need to take
things slowly. Well, as slowly as I can, which isn’t very slow at
all, but what the hell. Spider can just deal with me being a little
late.”

“You are going to clean a house?” Cardea
asked, panic rising in her pretty green eyes. Her hands fluttered
around helplessly. “Oh, I couldn’t leave here; I just
couldn’t!”

“Someone must take her,” Sergei insisted.
“She isn’t safe to drive as she is.”

“But… I couldn’t… so many people…”

“
Deus!
I’ll drive!” Pixie snatched
the keys from the hall table, grabbing her cape and a black leather
messenger bag before stalking toward the garage.

Sergei frowned. “You’re not old enough to
drive, are you?”

“Hel-
lo
! Driver’s ed? I so passed
that months ago,” she told him with an impatient gesture.

“Do you have a license?” I asked, unable to
believe I was seriously considering letting her drive me
anywhere.

“I had the highest score in the class,” she
said, tossing her head.

“Which means you don’t have a license.” I
sighed. I’d just have to get myself to the house on my own.

“I have a permit! It says I can drive with
an adult present, and since you’re, like,
ancient
, that
means I can drive you.”

I hesitated, weighing the hell it would be
driving myself against the concern of bringing Pixie with me to an
environment that was hostile, if not downright dangerous.

“Come on, Karma,” she said, her dark eyes
curiously vulnerable. “I’m a good driver. My last foster mom used
to have me drive her to the liquor store all the time.”

I winced. “All right. But only on my
conditions!” I said, holding her back when she leaped for the door
leading to the garage. “You have to promise me you’ll do as I say
when we get to the house. If Spider or any of the ghost people are
around, keep your cape on. Damn, I wish I’d thought of sending my
dad out for a glamour.”

“Mrs. Beckett says glamours give you brain
cancer if you use them too much.”

“That’s just an old wives’ tale.” I fretted
for a few moments more about taking Pixie with me but didn’t see a
way around it.

“Do you think the flower chick would freak
out at a real live polter?” she asked, waving her arms around in an
exaggerated manner.

“I have no idea how she or the other ghost
hunters would react. Some people have no issues with the
Otherworld; others refuse to believe the truth. Until I can judge
which group they fall into, I want you to keep a low profile.”

“
Maximus deus!”
she swore, rolling
her eyes. “Fine! Have it your way! I’ll keep my cape on, OK?”

“OK,” I said, going against my better
judgment. I kept one hand on the wall for support as I walked to
the car.

“It’s automatic, right? I can’t drive a
stick. My foster dad was going to show me how, but he was arrested
for DUI.”

“What lovely people they must have been,” I
murmured, then gave her instructions on where we were headed.

To my surprise, Sergei followed us.

“You need me,” Sergei said by way of
explanation.

“I do?”

“I would come with you, but I have all this
pantry rearranging to do,” Cardea called from the doorway, giving
us a little wave. “Have fun!”

“You need me,” Sergei repeated, shimmering
into nothing as he melted into the backseat of the car.

There wasn’t much I could say to that. I
didn’t have the energy to fight a determined spirit, so I gave in
with as much grace as I could muster. Before we reached the car,
the phone rang. I hesitated, looking at the garage phone for a
moment, assessing my need to leave against the possibility of a
phone call I shouldn’t miss. “Just a second, guys. I’d better see
who it is.”

“Probably your father,” Sergei said as I
picked up the phone. “He called earlier and left a message saying
he wanted to see you immediately.”

“Karma? I forbid you to go out to that
house,” my father said even before I could say hello.

“Dad, I really don’t have time for this. I’m
late, and I have a killer headache.”

“It’s payback for what you’re about to do,”
he snapped.

“I’m sorry; I really have to go. Can we have
this argument another time?”

“No! This is important, Karma. I can’t let
you destroy any more spirits! It’s wrong—wrong on a cosmic scale. I
will not have a daughter of mine being the angel of death!”

I would have rolled my eyes at my father’s
dramatics but didn’t have the energy. “I’m hanging up now. I’ll
talk to you tomorrow.”

“I’m coming out to the house!”

“Like hell you are! Spider will have the
hissy fit to end all hissy fits if he sees you there. Not to
mention ghost hunters are going to be there. Just stay home, and
we’ll work it out tomorrow.”

“Don’t do anything until I get there and can
talk some reason into you!” he shouted into the phone as I hung up
the receiver and turned to face three inquisitive expressions.

“Honestly, there are times when I wish I
could divorce my father. Pixie, I need to get to the Walsh house as
fast as legally possible.”

“Obsidian Angel!”

“Sorry.” I took the passenger seat, buckling
myself in as I shied away from the thought of what Spider would
have to say about my father’s showing up.

“Let’s see… R for ‘forward’?” Pixie started
the car and immediately hit the accelerator. We shot backward into
a series of shelves that lined the back wall of the garage, boxes
of Christmas decorations perched on the beams overhead tumbling
down onto the car.

I glared at her. “R for forward?”

“Heh-heh. Little joke.” She smiled. I
continued to glare until she made a face and put the car into the
proper gear.

“I will clean it later,” Sergei reassured me
as I slowly turned to look out the back window at the spilled
garlands of gold and silver, the tinsel fluttering to the ground on
either side of the car, and the soft stuffed Santa that tangled
itself on the car’s antenna. The shelves looked a little worse for
wear, but not totally destroyed.