Drive safe. Love you.
As the cab pulled up along a curb, another response came from Chase.
Fine. See you later. Love ya.
“Twenty-five bucks.” The cab driver’s voice snapped her back to the present.
“Thanks.” She handed over the cash from her pocket. Once outside, a chilly breeze caught in her hair, coating her in cold shivers. The taxi drove off, and she turned her attention to the bare trees swallowed in white. Nearby stood a three-story blue house with Tudor windows and arched doors. No fancy gates, just a yard with a fountain peeking out from underneath the snow. Nearby stood a mailbox with the number 296 on its side. Yep, this was the right location. Shrubs covered in a thick blanket of white dotted the yard, divided by a pebbled footpath.
“Okay, let’s do this,” she whispered to herself as she swung her backpack over her shoulder. She tightened the collar of her leather jacket around her throat to keep the frigid winter air at bay and hurried toward the marble veranda, with two columns that supported the balcony on the first floor. She glanced down at her pinstriped pants. They were her most professional pair, and coupled with her buttoned-up shirt, she wasn’t going to upset anyone in this neighborhood.
Greeted by a fresh wreath made of pinecones and vines on the door, she raised a hand to the bronze knocker. But the door swung open, and a coldness brushed past Cyra. The hairs on her nape lifted.
An older man with peppered hair and dressed in a padded vest over a green shirt and pleated pants greeted her. He didn’t bat an eye at her silver-dyed hair, but extended his arm and took her hand in a shake, his touch ice cold.
“You must be Cyra? I’m Henry.” He released her hand and held his head high, with a mask of defiance and surety.
“Yep, that’s me. I’m here to help.”
“Thank you for coming on such short notice. My local priest said you’d be able to assist.”
Argos had secret connections to churches all over the country. Letting Henry believe she’d come on behalf of the church avoided lengthy explanations. Your average Joe had no clue the Argos organization that cleaned up the demons from the streets existed, or that supernatural activity was more prevalent than anyone would admit.
“So, tell me what’s been going on?” she asked.
“Yes, yes.” He gestured to follow him inside into a marble hallway, toward a curved staircase, and closed the door behind them. A hint of lavender floated in the air. A dining room was to her right, a grand place with a mahogany table that took up most of the vast space. There was no tablecloth, just a crystal vase of fresh flowers and two candelabras with creamy white candles. Paintings of landscapes lined the pale-yellow walls, and a chandelier dangled overhead. In the far corner stood a Christmas tree crowded with red and green ornaments, each perfectly aligned across the branches. All that was missing were the guests and food. To her, the festivities were about decorations in every color, baked cookies, and wrapping paper everywhere. Christmas chaos. Well, at least that was how she’d celebrated growing up.
“My wife, Nora is in the TV room, watching a cooking show. It’s the only thing that keeps her calm. She’s too shaken to come to the door.”
“It’s understandable,” Cyra replied, not surprised the poor couple were scared. Anything supernatural unnerved most people.
Henry guided her up the staircase to the second floor, where the morning sun trickled through the windows in a few open rooms. “It’s here.” He remained near the banister made of dark wood. It lacked the ornate type of carvings she might have expected in such a house, but the railing was smooth and glossy.
“What’s here?” She pushed the sliding strap of her backpack back onto her shoulder and stared down the hallway, past the paintings and the floral rug running the length of the passage. She pulled away from Henry and stepped toward a closed door.
“This is where all the noises come from. Nora and I were downstairs watching television, but an elephant might as well have been stomping up here. Last time I came to check, I saw something.” His voice shook, and he clicked his tongue, which she guessed was nerves. “A dark silhouette with no face.”
Cyra nodded. Some spirits appeared like shadow people with no facial features, which was normal. She’d seen her fair share of spirits since she was young, and well, it still freaked her out sometimes.
She wandered farther down the hall, footfalls cushioned by the rug. She peeked into a bedroom with a single bed beside a chest of drawers. Toys decorated every piece of furniture, including the windowsill. The kid’s room reminded her of being four years old and seeing her first ghost. Since then, she’d always sensed their presence. Spirits hovered near her bed most mornings, then vanished seconds later. Never a word or indication of what they wanted, so she’d come to the conclusion they kept her safe as she slept. Plus, considering her brother, Chase doesn’t see anything supernatural, she made the decision to keep her trait to herself.
Her flesh pinpricked again, as if being watched, and she turned her attention to the door at the end of the hall. Could there be more there than just spirits in the house? “Anything else I should know about? Voices, things being moved around?”
“No. Just the thumping every night. Though the last few nights, it’s started happening downstairs in Nora’s reading room.”
“And it’s been going on for weeks now?” she asked, making mental notes.
“Yes.” He rubbed his arms.
The couple’s description fit with the claims Argos had given her. Ghosts sometimes left behind an imprint of themselves. “Have you started any new renovations in the house?”
He shook his head.
“Okay, I’ll start a cleansing and that should definitely help send anything in your house away.” She’d know for sure at once upon completion if
