Poor Halliday. No wonder you’re haunting this place.
Heiress Grace Halliday had an avid interest in the occult and had collected one of the more impressive collections of artifacts until her death in 1960. Her family had sold off everything, not believing that any of her so-called magical items had any real power. Even if most of them were garbage, the fact that Smite-Williams had sent the tomb raider proved that the woman had owned at least some magical artifacts.
Shay snickered, wondering if any of those people were still alive to regret their decision. Her target that afternoon was a small golden Celtic torc. The Professor had been cagey on the details, other than it had some dampening ability he’d need to make the best use of the jade from the Green Dragon Crescent Blade.
Between the vimana key and ancient weapon of legend, Shay wouldn’t have been surprised if she woke up one day to find out that Smite-Williams had taken over the world.
I guess it’ll be a very drunken New World Order.
The tomb raider stepped out of the vehicle, started toward the house, and froze. A translucent woman stared at her from the window and vanished a second later.
“Oh, fuck. So there’s that. Guess that confirms why they could never sell this place.”
Shay took a few deep breaths and headed toward the door. The torc hadn’t been left behind. It’d been sold twice and mysteriously ended up back in the house twice, even if that wasn’t a matter of public record.
After a few encounters with the spirits of the home, people—including a few wizards and witches—had decided to leave well enough alone. From what Shay had read, the confluence of magical energy in the area was unstable.
Previously, the haunting had involved only sounds or moving objects, but the flood of magic into Earth turned the haunted house into a genuine physical danger. If it hadn’t been in the middle of nowhere, someone would probably have handled it already.
No one could agree if actual ghosts inhabited the house, or if they were the product of some artifact and the confluence of magical energies. Shay didn’t really see that the details made much of a difference. She was going in, one way or another.
She kicked open the door. No ghost confronted her, just rotted wood and scurrying rats.
“The ghosts don’t scare off the animals? Lazy assholes.” She took a few careful steps inside. “Look, I don’t want any trouble. Just need the torc, and I’ll be out of your ghostly hair. Hell, if you want to steal it back from Smite-Williams, be my guest.”
She assumed the Professor had some master plan to stop whatever curse or magic kept reclaiming the object. If not, maybe retrieving it would be a steady source of income.
The wind whispered in her ear, “Get…out.”
Shay sucked in a breath and shook her head. “I can’t do that. Maybe some other day I might consider it, but I’m coming off a recent loss, so it’s kind of important that I complete this job.” She walked toward the stairs. The last two reports had indicated that the torc always returned to the master bedroom.
A spectral form of a glaring man winked into existence at the bottom of the stairs.
“Come on, pal, you’re already dead. Why the fuck do you even ca—”
A force smashed into Shay, knocking her clean across the room. She slammed into a wall with a grunt and fell to her knees.
“That fucking hurt, you dead asshole.”
The ghost floated toward her. “Get…out.”
Shay reached into her pocket. “Guess the recipe calls for a pinch of salt.” She flung the enchanted salt at the ghost.
The form writhed and contorted its face, a howl of unearthly pain echoing throughout the house. It blinked out of existence.
The tomb raider let out a sigh of relief. “Okay, so that shit works. Good to know. Too bad I have to give it back to the Professor.”
Shay stood and dusted her hands on her pants.
“You…will…die…Shay…Carson.”
“Oh, you know my name? Nice trick, assholes, but not worried about loser ghosts who can’t even leave their house spreading the word.”
She bounded up the steps, not wanting the ghosts to have any chance to throw her down the stairs. Two spectral forms, a man and a woman, guarded the hallway. She flung the salt at them and they vanished.
Dead or sent to the World in Between—who knew? Didn’t matter. She was killing some ghosts. Maybe that was redundant.
The hallway contained six closed doors. Shay kicked in the first couple and found empty rooms. The third contained a scowling ghost of a woman in a dress that looked more Little House on the Prairie than 1960s. The tomb raider managed to toss some of her salt right before an invisible force smacked her into the hallway wall.
Shay took a deep breath and rubbed the back of her head. This was getting annoying.
The third room was also empty, and so were the next two.
Fortune mocked Shay, forcing her into the sixth room. At least she didn’t have to look far. The torc sat in the middle of the room and shone brightly, as if it’d just been polished.
“There we go.”
She snatched it up and spun on her heel. Three ghosts confronted her this time, frowning. Her free hand dropped to her pocket to grab some salt.
The tomb raider stopped just before throwing it. The ghosts should have thrown her around by now, but they were only glaring at her.
Shay lifted the torc and grinned. “Something about this is stopping you, huh?” She laughed and sauntered toward the spirits. They disappeared. “Yeah, thought so. Not so tough now, are you, you dead assholes?”
The tomb raider continued toward the stairs. A half-dozen spectral forms floated in the air, all wearing masks of hatred.
“Hey, don’t hate me. I’m just doing a job.” She gave a little wave. “Keep it fun. Keep it dead.” She winked.
Shay snickered as she made her way to the car. A dozen
