“What did your grandfather do for a living?” I asked.
“That’s an odd thing. I don’t know…”
“You don’t know?”
“He always seemed like he was retired. He didn’t talk about his job. I always got the feeling he was in the military, but he never said anything about it.”
“Why would you think that?”
“Well…I wondered if he had PTSD. He had this air about him like…he’d seen things. Some paranoia. Stockpiled food, and the off-grid living. I’m sure that was why he lived out here. I hope he was in the military. Occasionally I wondered if he was ex-mob or something, but maybe I’ve also watched Goodfellas a few too many times. Then I found all the occult shit in his house. I don’t know anymore. It’s fine if I never know.” It wasn’t fine. That was obvious. It was eating at him.
I had a strong hunch that his grandfather had been up to something. Once I got into the house I could dig into it and dispel all traces of dark magic. That was my favorite part of the job. Detective work, followed by a good cleanse. Graham would never know, poor guy. I definitely wasn’t going to tell him anything if he was a member of the government.
“Yeah, just…remember the good times you had with him, that’s all that matters,” I said.
He gave me a charming smile that had a little more mischief in it than the situation deserved. “You’re making quick work of that hunk of beef.”
“I need energy to make quick work of fixing that house,” I said. “And I’m a talented lady.”
“No doubt.” He picked up his coffee mug as if to make a toast. “Well, look, maybe this wasn’t the best date but I do feel better that the house is in good hands. Take care of the old girl.”
“I will,” I said. “Good luck with your House, too.”
“To houses,” he said. We clinked mugs and then he took his napkin and wiped something off my cheek. “Sesame seed.”
“I can take care of myself,” I said.
We shook hands outside the diner and I was sure I would never see Graham Capello again.
CHAPTER FOUR
HELENA
THE NEXT DAY, I got up early and went to take a good long look at what a hundred Gs had bought me. The house still had its original skeleton keys, but as long as the original owner was alive, it would have been guarded by magical wards, so the keys didn’t really matter.
However, there was definitely a strong sense of foreboding that would be enough to keep out most people. As soon as I crossed the threshold, every single hair on my entire body stood on end. Well, except the hair on my head. That would have been a sight.
I took out my wand and whispered some counter spells to calm the house down. Once my body stopped tingling all over, I could take stock.
The house had no lights and very few outlets, but some permanent candle mounts were set in the walls. As I opened the curtains, the rooms flooded with natural lights through tall windows and transoms over the doors. This had once been a grand house.
The wallpaper was peeling and yellowing from smoke, but still beautiful, with hand painted deer, game birds, and berries against pale pink wallpaper in the dining room.
“Ooh…” I called my familiar. “Look at these amazing examples of visual magic! You never see these anymore…”
“Very nice,” he said. “Have you also noticed the ceiling is on the floor?”
A huge chunk of plaster had caved in and been swept into a corner. With the plaster had come dust and dirt. “Don’t rain on my parade yet,” I said. “The walls are still amazing.” Wizards in early settlements used to always paint their walls with pictures of local game and plants to forage, along with the plants in their gardens. They could focus spells of abundance on the pictures before they settled down to dinner, while sewing in the parlor, or before bed. The practice died out as wizards started shopping at markets and grocery stores like everyone else and raising more livestock instead of hunting and fishing.
The dining room had a table large enough to seat twelve. The surface had once been polished but was now scratched and dull. The kitchen had the large, grand old wood-fired stove I expected. The kitchen window looked out to the water pump for the cistern. The parlor was clearly the room the old man spent the most time in. A chair by the fire still had a blanket slumped into it like someone had plucked his body out from under it. I smelled sage. A few books were scattered on the floor. The house still had plenty of worthless junk left behind. I would have to get a Dumpster out here. The fireplace—one of four, all with impressive dark wooden mantels with mirrors above and green tiles around the hearths—had a strong sense of dark magic.
“I can’t believe Graham got rid of the magic stuff,” I said grumpily. I picked up a few books scattered around the chair: Steinbeck and James Bond novels. “Damn.”
“It’s probably for the best if you don’t know what went on here,” Bevan said. “This wizard was dabbling in something.”
“Yeah, I feel it,” I said. “But it doesn’t feel evil.”
“It feels Sinistral,” he said.
“According to the record he was an Sinistral warlock,” I said. “But he kept to himself. And not all Sinistrals are evil. That’s why I don’t want anything to do with it anymore.”
Ethereal wizards had long insisted that they were the moral police of the magical world and that it was their job to protect the world from the dark Sinistral forces. But when I was growing up, I felt like my soul was getting crushed under the boot of the rules we all followed. My parents expected us to act like we lived in the 19th century. My future was marriage, babies, and maintaining the all important symbol
