She went back to work, but she couldn’t get Gunn out of her head. Of all the hunters, why’d Chase have to send him? Levi or Saxon would’ve been fine. At least they spoke to her and treated her like she was their younger sister, making jokes. They’d work with her as a team, not provoke her.
The feathery buzz of energy bubbled across her flesh again. A constant reminder she wasn’t alone. Nearby stood Gunn’s bike propped against a tree, and a different kind of tingling dove deep into her gut. Something about him made her soft and excited at the same time. And she hated herself for it. She approached his motorbike and blessed it, just in case. No harm in keeping him safe too.
Before going indoors, she grabbed her phone and sent Chase a quick text.
Thanks for not trusting me!! And why Gunn of all people?
Two seconds later, her phone chimed with a response.
Only want the best for my sis. Gunn insisted on checking on you. He was close by. Love ya.
Close by! Bull. He’d told her it had taken forty-five minutes to get to the house. So why had Gunn been so determined to come and check on her? That earlier tingle in her gut surged again with the possibility that he’d wanted to see her no? Yeah, right. The real scenario was that none of Chase’s other friends had said yes to playing babysitter, and Chase had probably begged and pleaded for Gunn to keep an eye on her. That thought pissed her off because that was how everyone saw her. A child. A nineteen-year-old needing protection.
In the house, she stormed past the living room, where Gunn sat across from Henry, who said, “Last thing we bought was a new fridge, but that was six months ago.”
She squared her shoulders and moved to the rear of the house, starting with the kitchen and moving counter-clockwise to every room. With her smudge stick in hand, a feather, and a lighter, she was ready.
By the time she reached the laundry room, she’d completed all other rooms on the ground level, including the living room, where everyone remained and where the magic circle had started.
Atop the washing machine lay a dead goose. These folks had to be old school if they bought a fancy goose for their Christmas meal, intending to pluck the feathers and roast it. Though, they had a week until the festivities, unless this was a trial goose. She’d practiced her meals if it was a new recipe. Though, the most elaborate thing Cyra did in the kitchen was leave the potato skins on before throwing them into boiling water. Though she’d been experimenting recently, adding paprika and sour cream to her mashed potatoes. Delicious.
She made a quick wave of the smoke across the room and over the dead goose, whispering, “Cleanse this space of negative vibes, thoughts, and intentions. All energies not of the light are not welcome. Be gone and never return. Surround this home with positive energy.”
Next, she climbed the stairs, figuring she’d continue there and then loop back down to where she’d started to seal her banishment and protection spell. In the first room, she found a grand king-sized bed drenched in sunlight from outside that beamed through Tudor-style windows draped in lace curtains. She lit the smudge for more smoke, and a thick plume whisked upward. With her feather, she flicked the fumes outward as she moved from corner to corner.
That was four rooms completed, and while no strangeness had occurred, ease settled on her shoulders. Yep, the amplifying spell did the trick all right. She could feel the calmness in her bones. Or it could mean she hadn’t discovered the nest where the culprit hid. All spirits had a safe zone, a location with significance to them, so she just had to find its location.
At the end of the hall, she reached a closed door. She turned the metal handle to find a set of steps leading up to the attic. Where else would the supernatural reside? She smiled to herself, though the hairs on her nape lifted.
At her grandma’s farmhouse, she’d once encountered a ghost in the barn when she was fifteen, and it had been a bastard who’d wanted nothing more than to scare her. But she’d defeated it with a purification ritual, and she would do the same here.
With a deep breath, she climbed the stairs and entered a dim room. Streaks of light poured in from broken slats on the windows. Stacked boxes littered the area, along with a cabinet and even an old writing desk. Up close, she wiped her hand across the dusty surface. Mahogany. These people had a lot of money to put something this gorgeous in storage.
The floorboard creaked behind her, and she spun, saying, “You can’t scare me, Gunn. Stop messing around.” Except the place stood empty. Probably the house making sounds, as they always do with the shift of weather. She headed to the farthest corner and began her blessing.
Something tapped her foot. She flinched and glanced down, to find a marble rolling away. Okay, she worked for Argos, which meant she couldn’t run screaming when strange things happened. Besides, she could have dislodged the ball from under a cabinet when she stepped on a loose floorboard.
But when a low growl emanated from the back of the room, every inch of her grew icy. She could have sworn a dog had closed in on her. Did Henry have a dog and forget to tell her?
She twisted around, her fingers gripping the smudge stick.
No one was at the open door. “I’m not afraid of you. It’s time for you to leave and stop frightening Henry and Nora. This isn’t your home anymore.”
Scared ghosts often resorted to growls or scaring people when they didn’t understand where they were or what was happening to their home. And she might have hit the jackpot on nailing the nest.
She broke into
