Around lunchtime, I joined Dylan in the backyard for more pawpaws. The sugary fruit was wonderful, though I couldn’t see myself living off the stuff. Not unless I wanted diabetes. A fruit bat, I was not. Dylan, on the other hand, put away a dozen pawpaws in no time at all. I tried not to be obvious as I gawked at him, wondering if he had as much enthusiasm for any other activities.
After the break, we headed off to town square to track down the growing list of items we needed. I ordered Broomzilla to stay behind and finish the gutters. Trying to carry both Dylan and me, plus all the stuff we intended to buy, would have snapped her in two. Having her stroll down the sidewalk with us like a third wheel would have been awkward to say the least. Besides, my fawning over a death-hexed Shifter was shameful enough without being heckled by a broom.
“The hardware store should have most of what we need,” Dylan said, then scratched the back of his neck and frowned at me. “Though I’m not sure about the wicker chairs or curtains.”
“Let me take care of those.” I patted his shoulder, enjoying the feel of his muscular shoulder long enough to draw a peculiar look from him. I retracted my hand and cleared my throat. “I’ll tweak the ad copy tonight and snap some pictures in the morning, then we should be ready for an open house on Sunday.”
“That soon, huh? Zelda said you were good, but wow.” Dylan’s smile plucked at my heartstrings, but I tried to stay on topic.
“Now might be a good time to discuss your asking price,” I said. “I know your savings will knock down the pay-off a bit, but we should still ask for five grand over that so you at least have a little wiggle room.”
“What about your commission?” he asked. “Shouldn’t we figure that into the price, too?”
I pressed my lips together and stared down at the sidewalk, ignoring the way my pulse throbbed in my throat. “I’m not taking a commission.”
Now that I’d said it out load, I could hear it for the confession that it was. Dylan seemed to hear something entirely different. He stopped dead in his tracks. I made it two steps ahead before twisting around to face him.
“I’m not a charity case,” he said sternly, placing both hands on his hips. “I didn’t tell you about my family curse to get a handout. I just don’t want anything to happen to the spirits trapped in the house or the bats who live in the belfry.”
“I know that.” Heat crawled up my neck, but I scoffed anyway. “Look, the place isn’t going to sell if it’s overpriced. And I want to save it just as badly as you do. Honest. The shady developer who wants to bulldoze the house has been harassing me for weeks—”
“Harassing you?” Dylan repeated, his face suddenly coloring, too.
“Not like that—well, okay, maybe a little bit like that.” I waved my hands dismissively. “But it’s nothing I can’t handle, and it would be immensely gratifying if he didn’t acquire your family home because of me.”
“So...not a handout?” Dylan lifted an eyebrow skeptically. “You’re not doing this pro bono because you feel sorry for me?”
I was doing this pro bono because I wanted his pro bono. Not that that confession would probably go any better than the first had.
“Not a handout,” I confirmed. “In fact, just to prove it, I’ll let you buy me a real lunch after the open house.”
“Deal.” He smirked and fell into step beside me again. “I suppose if you sell the worst house in town, it’ll be good for business, too.”
“I’m counting on it,” I said, tucking my hands into the pockets of my romper and giving him a tight smile.
I was really counting on it now. As it stood, the month’s bills would be coming out of my savings. I had more than enough to cover everything, but dipping into those funds wouldn’t get me out of Randal’s newly acquired apartment any time soon.
Still, if it meant getting Dylan’s house sold and giving him a little peace of mind before he took his corporeal leave of this world, it was worth it. Maybe all the work we’d been doing had given Papa Nando some peace of mind, too.
“I didn’t see any ghosts this morning,” I said as we stepped off the curb and crossed the next street over. “Does this mean your great-great-grandfather is okay with me now?”
“Ummm...” Dylan winced. “He was probably sleeping. Most traditional bats do during the day.”
“Oh.” I frowned, but then an optimistic thought occurred to me. “Does this mean if we do the open house in the morning, we’re safe?”
Dylan’s smile was too strained to be reassuring. “Maybe? But not too early. We don’t want the bats to spook anyone on their return.”
“Right.” I chewed my bottom lip, considering the timeframe that left us with. “How about ten to one?”
Dylan glanced down at his watch and sighed. “Papa Diego’s ghost cuts through the living room and kitchen at noon every day.”
“What?” We stopped on the next corner, and I turned to gape at him. “I thought you said only Papa Nando would be an issue.”
“I said he was the only one you had to watch out for,” Dylan stated matter-of-factly. “The rest of them are harmless.”
“Then why would having the open house during Papa Diego’s mid-day stroll be problematic?” I asked.
“Because he does it in the nude.” Dylan blushed and tugged at the collar of his shirt. “Mama Lois said he was a terrible sleepwalker when he was alive.”
“Great.” I gave him a level glare. “What about eight to eleven? Will that work?”
Dylan began to nod but then stopped. “Well... Papa Mateo flushes one of the upstairs toilets around eight-thirty. He had a vice for fermented fruits, and they didn’t often agree with him.”
I pressed the palm of one hand to my forehead. “Goddess help me.”
“At least he doesn’t make an appearance on the main level,” Dylan offered. “You’d have to be in the upstairs bathroom at the exact right moment to even see him.”
“Okay, okay.” I huffed and tried to organize my thoughts. “Bats around sunrise, flusher at eight-thirty, streaker at noon, angry, witch-hating poltergeist by early evening. Any other supernatural activity I should know about?”
“Nope.” Dylan didn’t look entirely confident. I stared daggers at him until he spilled the last of his beans. “I haven’t been around the house much since I was a kid, so there’s a slight possibility that my father, uncle, cousin, and brother have a spectral regimen that I haven’t yet discovered.”
“Swell.”
We crossed the street and ducked under a willow tree sagging over the sidewalk. I pushed a limb out of my way.
“You know,” Dylan said, “we were there all morning, and nothing too strange happened. Right?” He shrugged casually, and I released the willow branch, letting it smack him in the chest.
“Have you even been to an open house?” I snapped. “People are going to be in every room the entire time.”
“Yeah, but my family wouldn’t harm a fly,” Dylan insisted.
I snorted. “Just a witch?”
“Only Papa Nando—and he didn’t exactly hurt you.”
“He scared me half to death!”
“He just gave you a little spritz.”
“A little spritz?” I harrumphed.
We stopped in front of the hardware store, and I cringed at my mangled scowl in the reflection of the front window. This was going to be tougher than I realized. Harmless or not, buyers would run screaming if they saw a ghost. Just the rumor of being haunted was enough to keep many from giving a place a fighting chance.
“White and yellow flowers only,” I said, nodding at the discounted selection lined up along the sidewalk. “And we’re going to need lots of them.”
DYLAN AND I SPENT THE rest of the early afternoon working in silence. I was frustrated that he hadn’t disclosed all the ghostly activity to me from the get-go, but I couldn’t stay mad at him for long. Maybe he didn’t want a handout, but he certainly knew how to work that broody brow of his to get out of hot water.
<
br /> I gathered up Broomzilla and my supplies before five o’clock. That seemed like a safe cut-off to avoid another spritz. Dylan was still working in the front yard when I left, planting a row of bright yellow mums down either side of the walk leading up to the porch. He waved goodbye sullenly as I flew off.
I spared him a small smile and then admired my handiwork behind him. The stucco was pristine, and the front door and shutters were now a soft green that matched the color in the master suite. With the yellow and white flowers, the place looked right out of a magazine. I couldn’t wait to add the final touches in the morning.
ASSJACKET CATERED TO Shifters, but they weren’t the only habitants of the town. Zelda and a few of her witchy friends seemed to enjoy the strange community, too. But it was Zelda’s father, Fabio, who I went to when I needed something special to spruce up my clients’ houses.
Fabio’s specialty was designer fashion. He has exquisite taste when it came to shopping for his daughter, but his own style was...well... Let’s just say that he had yet to find a quality brand of yoga pants for men.
He met me on the sidewalk in front of the Hernández house late Friday morning with several homes good department store bags in tow. A pair of white wicker chairs appeared on the porch at the same time, and I gave them an approving nod. A low whistle passed Fabio’s lips as he took in the home’s transformation, and I beamed at the compliment.
“Good call on the chairs. Elanor would have loved what you’ve done with the place,” he said, handing over the bags.
“Thanks. Wait, Elanor?” I gave him a quizzical look. “You mean Mama Ellie? You knew her?”
“Oh, sure.” He nodded. “Her family was almost as vicious as yours—no offense.”
“None taken.” I shrugged and headed up the walk toward the porch.
Fabio followed, though even with the fresh paint and copious flowers, he seemed hesitant. His gaze slid suspiciously across the front of the house, pausing on the sparkling windows. The old curtains still hung inside, lest someone catch a peek of Papa Diego’s ghostly naughty bits over their lunch break, but I suspected one of the heavier bags contained the new sets I’d requested.
“Elanor was the last of her line’s pureblood witches,” Fabio said softly as though someone could be listening to us gossip. “The rest were eventually drowned or hung in New Orleans, a fate she barely escaped herself.”
“What else can you tell me about her clan?” I asked, digging around in the bags until I found the one with the fall wreath I’d picked out of a Martha Stewart catalog. The sunflower blooms and white daisies contrasted beautifully against the green of the door.
Fabio tapped a finger to his chin and propped his opposite hand on his hip over the waistband of a pair of yoga pants. His leg hair poked through several sheer panels that crisscrossed over his thighs. Definitely ladieswear. I tried not to stare as I hung the wreath and waited for his reply.
“Well, they dabbled in a little of this and a little of that. Much of their magic was rooted in sex rituals.” He leaned in closer and dropped his voice. “They threw the best orgies of the twentieth century—I attended a few myself back in the day. So did a few of your more free-spirited aunts.”
“Ewww. TMI, Fabs.” I cringed at the unwelcome picture that entered my mind.
“But they were mostly known for their vengeance curses against scorned lovers,” he said, quickly changing the subject.
“Sounds like they had no shortage of those, hosting Skankapalooza and all.” I turned back to the pretty wreath, still trying to erase the image of Zelda’s dad doing the nasty with one of my own vile relatives.
“Those vengeance curses are the worst.” Fabio stroked his mop of auburn hair in a comforting, petting gesture. It made me recall something Zelda had said about a feline predicament he’d been in when she’d first met him—her mother’s handiwork, if I remembered correctly.
“Dylan told me he thought Ellie was sentenced to hang over a love spell gone wrong,” I said, fishing for more details, anything at all that might help reverse whatever she’d done to jinx her Shifter family.
“I imagine so.” Fabio sniffed. “What else could be expected of a witch who was raised to do more harm than good?” He gave me another apologetic, fatherly smile. “You’re lucky your dear grandmother was such a lovely person.”
“You knew her too, huh?” My eyes watered at the mention of my gran.
Fabio sighed with fond nostalgia. “She was the only daughter of the legendary Almira West who wasn’t wicked as Kansas twister. I suppose that’s why she never married. Too good for the bad witches, but from a family too wicked for the good witches.”
I huffed. “Guess I came by that honestly.”
“Though it didn’t stop her from taking a lover or two and having your father and his siblings. Even the whitest witch wouldn’t kick her out of bed for eating crackers. She was a looker.” Fabio sucked in a shuddering breath and whistled, cutting it off short when I scowled at him.
I didn’t like to think of my gran as being loose or having lovers. She was my gran, for Goddess’ sake. And I certainly didn’t want to think about resigning myself to a similar fate. Gran always waxed poetic about how I’d find a nice warlock one day, settle down, and have a bunch of pointy-hatted babies.
I wondered what she’d think of pointy-winged babies instead. Then I wondered what she’d think of my current occupation and the manual labor I was using her beloved broomstick for. I had to hope she’d understand.
“Speaking of Fae,” Fabio said, touching my shoulder. “A friend of a friend mentioned that you haven’t claimed your inheritance.”
“What? Of course I did.” I wiped a finger under my lashes to keep a rogue tear from streaking my mascara. “She left me her broomstick. That’s how I ended up in Assjacket.”
“Yes, but that’s not all she left you.” His brows scrunched together. “Did you really think that sweet woman would will her favorite granddaughter nothing more than a moody huskcycle?”
I blinked at him, wondering what else my gran could have possibly had to give. Her house had been signed over to one of my uncles a year ago, and my father had laid claim to her cauldron months before she finally passed. Between my greedy cousins, most of the magical trinkets had already been pilfered out of the house.
“I do my banking in the Caymans,” Fabio said, casually fingering his ruddy locks. I wondered if that was where he stashed the fortune he was blowing on Zelda’s impressive wardrobe.
“Oookay?” I said, wondering what that had to do with my inheritance.
“I was there the day your grandmother set up your trust fund. In fact, the rest of your family may not even be aware it exists.”
“Really? I...I have a trust fund?”
“You do,” Fabio said, nodding. “And I’m more than happy to take you with me the next time I hop over to make a withdrawal.”
Well. How about that? The West wenches weren’t able to rob Gran completely blind before she died. Of course, I did have to wonder why she hadn’t told me about it herself. Then I thought of Broomzilla’s insistence that we stay in Assjacket.
The broom—or huskcycle, as Fabio had called her—was ill-equipped for a trip across the ocean. The humidity would have been hell on her bristles, and emergency landings were a no-go. The trip to West Virginia had been taxing enough.
Then there was the matter of Broomzilla’s lacking communication skills. But had she known there were witches here in Assjacket who could help me? Who would help me? Maybe the past six months had been all for this single revelation.
“Thank you.” I patted Fabio’s hand where it still rested on my shoulder. “For everything,” I added, nodding at the wreath and the remaining bags on the porch.
Chapter 7
SUNDAY MORNING, BROOMZILLA dropped me off at the Hernández house. Shifters could be a little skittish around her, but to keep her from sulking, I’d given her free reign to go on a solo flight. She wouldn’t stray far. As pissy as she
could be, my gran’s magical blessing bound the broom to me the same way a familiar was beholden to their witch.
I’d never had a familiar. Of course, who really needed a familiar for the parlor trick, homemaker magic I did? A bespelled broom, on the other hand, was perfectly suited for my line of work. I was even betting that I could get away with toting her around somewhere other than Assjacket, now that I’d discovered what I’d been brought here to do. I could finish out my apartment lease and go sell real estate anywhere I wanted.
The thought filled me with just as much dread as hope, so I pushed it aside, vowing to better assess the situation at a later time. Today was going to require every bit of my focus and charisma.
I’d gone with cropped dress pants and a lacey, yellow top for the open house. My dark curls flowed freely, and I skipped my usual bold red lipstick in favor of a peachy hue. It was a professional look, but also cute enough to wow Dylan for our lunch date.
We hadn’t parted on the best terms, but I guessed the saying was true. Absence made the heart grow fonder. Also, I’d spent the previous evening online, watching his graduation slideshow that included an adorable collage of elementary school pictures. Eight-year-old Dylan had freckles and an untamable cowlick. I supposed that was why he let the top grow out longer now.
The open house was set to begin at nine and run until eleven. It was a shorter time slot than I would have preferred, but with all the variables we were aware of and could control, it was our best option. We still had half an hour until showtime, but there were already a few curious critters watching from an adjacent lawn. Sneaky Shifters.
I waved at them and then pressed the toe of my high heel over the bar that ran between the metal stakes of the open house sign, securing it in the ground before making my way to the porch. The border of yellow mums along the sidewalk had been here Friday morning when I’d taken pictures for the brochure, but the bucket planters of white daisies were new.
How to Sell a Haunted House Page 5