The Ghost Exterminator (15 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two: Afterglow

Wyatt watched Jo plop down sideways onto the couch, folding her legs up, facing him. She tucked her cell phone back into her pocket. “Karma says hi.”

Wyatt tossed her an arch look. “Is that what she says?”

“Yeah. That and if I ever try anything remotely like what I tried tonight, I’ll be fired so fast my head will spin. Other than that, it was all pleasantries and small talk.” She winked at him.

He’d noticed that her mood had improved steadily the farther they’d gotten away from the house. By the time they got back to his condo, she’d been downright chipper, which was a pleasant change from the arctic blast of her company after he’d pointed out their incompatibility. He wasn’t about to mention
that
again.

“It’s nice to know she doesn’t encourage you to walk into dangerous situations,” he said, matching Jo’s light mood.

“I don’t think it was the danger that bothered her so much as my resounding failure. Not only did I just get my ass handed to me by some funky ghost-spell, we are no closer to figuring out who set it or why. Although, I do have a theory.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

Jo bounced a little on the couch. “I think the old dead lady, the previous owner of the house, is trying to resurrect herself.”

Wyatt snorted with disbelief—the world of crazy just kept getting crazier—then carefully wiped his face of all expression. “Is that so? And what did Karma think of this?”

Jo slumped and made a face. “Pretty much the same thing you just thought. Although she wasn’t quite as tactful. The word harebrained was used a lot. I didn’t know people still said harebrained.”

Wyatt frowned. “Is that even possible? Resurrection?”

He was beginning to think that Jo’s Santa Claus belief in ghosts might be more accurate than he had ever imagined, but magic? Spells? Resurrection? There was only so much insanity a man could be expected to process in a forty-eight hour period.

“It’s sort of possible,” Jo replied, shrugging. “In theory. Of course, her body will have already decayed past the point of being useful, which is why I thought it was likely, given the breathing and everything, that the house itself was supposed to be the vessel for her soul to return.”

Wyatt snorted before he could stop himself. “She wants to come back to life as a house?”

“Yeah, I admit that’s a little far-fetched, but if she were trying to become a demon of some kind, capable of possessing the bodies of living creatures, then the house would be a logical stop-over between dead and demonic.”

“Logical.” Logic had stepped out the door as soon as Jo stepped into his life.

“Yeah. She could draw souls to her and feed on them until she had enough power to become a real demon.” Jo frowned and flopped back against the cushion. “Although, if she were feeding on the souls then they wouldn’t be stock-piling the way they are. And KC’s demon guy who Karma had look at the house would probably have sensed something. But other than that, I really like my theory.”

“And what does Karma think?”

“That I should leave the house alone.”

Wyatt liked that plan. Every time Jo walked in there, she ended up laid out on the floor. This time, when he’d seen her screaming and writhing, he’d decided he’d had more than enough of that damned house. “And you said?”

“I agreed. For now.” She launched herself off the couch and began pacing. “We need more answers. We’ve got a thousand maybes and nothing concrete.”

“We’ve tried going to the house. We’ve tried talking to the ghosts. What else do you want to try?”

Jo spun around and struck a superhero pose, planting her hands on her hips. “It’s time to go see the expert.”

“I thought Karma was the expert.”

“Karma’s the boss. My grandma is the expert. She’s in a home about ninety miles from here. We can go tomorrow.”

“This is the same grandmother you said was a little nuts?”

“Yeah, but she’s canny. She’ll know what’s going on.” Jo spun to face the window again and hugged herself. “She has to.”

Wyatt rose and moved to stand behind her, drawn to her side just as he had been earlier in the evening, but this time he didn’t touch her. The last thing he wanted to do was remind her of their argument. “It’s going to be okay, Jo,” he said. “We’re going to figure this out.”

But once they did, she’d be gone from his life. He could no longer delude himself that he was still eager for that day. He was going to miss her brand of insanity.

Jo turned to him and sighed, searching his face for answers she knew she wouldn’t find there. “Are we going to figure it out?” she asked, hating the doubt that had crept into her life.

He flashed her a cocky grin filled with bravado. “Of course we are. We’ve got contingency plans on top of our contingency plans.”

Jo made a face, hearing him repeat her words back to her. She dropped her forehead until it rested against his chest and sighed heavily. “You know, as pleased as I am that you finally trust me, I could do with a little less pressure.”

“Hey—” He caught her chin and tipped her face up so she was forced to meet his eyes. Eyes that seemed to be getting bluer every time she looked into them. “No pressure. We’re going to figure this out together. You may be the Ghost Goddess, but you could still learn a thing or two from me. Trust
me
. I don’t know how to fail.”

Her smile was wry. “I love it. Even when you’re comforting, you’re an arrogant prick.”

He laughed softly. “We all have our talents.”

He was still holding her chin, tipping her face up to him, when his mouth settled gently over hers. This kiss was an entirely different species from the hungry attack in her office, but she was no less affected by it. The only points where he touched her were his mouth and the tips of his fingers gently holding her jaw. His lips were soft and firm, the smooth, reassuring taste of him undiluted by the blind rush of passion.

He didn’t push for more than that simple press of lips, but pulled back and rested his forehead against hers. “I know,” he said softly. “Not in front of the kids.”

Jo said nothing, wanting that quiet moment to stretch for a few thousand years. At length, he drew back away from her, and for a second Jo considered pulling his mouth back down to hers. Whenever she thought she had built a wall between them with her anger and his prejudice, he managed to find a way to sneak through the cracks and get under her skin again.

She tossed her head, trying to banish the blend of lust and affection he stirred in her and was momentarily disoriented by her lack of hair flipping over her shoulders.
The ghosts
. Teddy and Angelica were yet another symptom of her failure.

She was fighting her attraction to Wyatt, fighting to save his cold, corporate soul, and fighting to get her own mojo back. It was exhausting to be fighting every second. As badly as she wanted Wyatt, she wanted sleep just as much, but sleep wasn’t an option. Unless…

“Mr. Haines, I believe I have an idea as to how you and I might be able to get a good night’s rest.”

Wyatt raised hopeful—and bloodshot—blue eyes to hers. “I would sell my grandmother for a good night’s rest.”

Jo laughed. “Fire your mother, sell your grandmother. You’re just a regular family man, aren’t you?” He’d probably eat his young.

“I would love to stand here and be witty with you, but someone mentioned something about sleep and my brain just shut off.”

Jo grinned. “So, Wyatt, have you ever been tied up?”

Jo slipped into Wyatt’s bedroom early the next morning and leaned a hip against the bed as she watched him sleep. He looked so peaceful. Much more peaceful than she felt.

She wasn’t particularly well-rested, a state that had little to do with the sunlight that started pouring through Wyatt’s living room windows at dawn, the too-short couch she had slept on, or even the racket that Teddy and Angelica had caused last night when they found they were not going to be allowed out to play. Her lack of sleep had much more to do with the fact that she had a gorgeous man who wanted her like crazy—
though only as his dirty little secret
, an acidic little voice in her head reminded her—tied to his bed less than twenty feet away.

No, it hadn’t been a restful night.

Jo fingered the silk ties she had used to tie Wyatt’s wrists to the headboard. The silk dug into his skin and was probably ruined from being stretched and knotted so tightly, but she hadn’t wanted the ghosts to be able to slip out of them and Wyatt didn’t have anything better to be tied with.

A little smile escaped her mouth as she remembered his teasing that they would have to find a sex shop open on Sundays and pick up a pair of padded handcuffs before tonight. The wicked light in his eyes had promised that, as soon as she got the ghosts out of him, she could test-drive the handcuffs herself. Jo hadn’t been as immune as she would have liked to that unspoken invitation.

He stirred in his sleep and Jo considered untying him, but as long as he was out, the ghosts could still seize the opportunity to take control.

Instead of loosening the bonds, Jo climbed up onto the bed beside him and cuddled up next to his warmth. The man was a living furnace. His heat burned through her tension and doubts, and she relaxed against him.

She should wake him up soon. They needed to get an early start if they were going to get to her grandma’s and back in time to do anything about the house tonight. She should have woken him, but she didn’t. Instead she let her eyes fall closed and nestled close.
Just a few minutes.

For just a few minutes, she wanted to lean into his warmth, to feel safe and sheltered and
normal
. No ghosts, no prejudices, and no dirty little secrets. Just her and Wyatt.

It was a foolish fantasy, but Jo couldn’t resist its allure. Sunday mornings curled up together like this, lazing through the day. Normal and happy and loved.

Jo closed her eyes and let herself dream, if only for a few minutes.

Chapter Twenty-Three: Over the River & Through the Woods

The Serenity Hills Senior Facility was not at all what Wyatt expected. It looked more like a high-end resort, not unlike some of his own more extravagant properties, than it did the sterile, clinically depressing old folks’ home he had anticipated. Cute, single-level bungalows backed up against golf courses and every carport featured large, low-slung American machinery. This was where yuppies and soccer moms went to retire. Next stop, heaven.

“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.”

Jo 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.”