It was a little after 2:30 when my 2 O'clock appointment showed up. Woman by the name of Weyland – Ms. Sarah Weyland. It wasn't really any skin off my nose since she was my only appointment for the day. Hell, she was my only appointment in three days. Not unless you counted my very important engagement, trying to beat the world record for biggest tower of cards. Hey, I'm a very busy guy, I swear.
Anyway, I intended to give her the benefit of the doubt and hang around the office 'til three before calling it a day and heading home to beat the traffic. But just as I was about to place the crowning glory on top of a twelve level miracle feat of engineering, there was a meek little knock on the door which caused me, in a very professional and manly way, to jump and yelp, leaving nothing but a mess of cards strewn across my desk to show for half an hour's hard work.
Knowing the importance of setting the right impression with a potential new client, I muttered a phrase, conjuring a small breeze to help sweep the cards down into my top drawer.
"Umm, hello? Mr. Dresden," said a voice even meeker than the knock had been, "sorry I'm late, but I'm your 2 O'clock? Sarah Weyland? Umm, we spoke on the phone yesterday?"
I quickly closed the drawer, smoothed out the front of my shirt and adjusted my position to try and look calm, cool, collected, but also professional, pensive and just all round wizardly. Truth be told, I probably just looked like a jackass.
I cleared my throat and said, "Come in." Nailed it.
The door opened a crack and a head of wavy blonde hair, deep crimson lips and two big, blue eyes peered round the corner. She took a step into the room, but kept a hand on the door, revealing a tall, attractive woman in her thirties with an hourglass figure, wearing a white business blouse, a tight black skirt and heels so tall that King Kong would probably look up at them and say, "Nope!"
"Ms. Weyland, please come in and take a seat," I said, gesturing at the chair opposite me, "and close the door behind you if you don't mind."
She gave a timid nod and gently shut the door, before tapping her way across the room to the desk. The fact that she managed to stay upright displayed grace and balance that would make most cats jealous.
"Harry Dresden," I said politely as she took her seat and placed her handbag in her lap. It wasn't one of the high end ones, but certainly still the kind that cost far more than it was worth. "Would you like something to drink? Tea? Coffee?"
"Umm no, no thank you."
I nodded politely. "So please, what is it I can do for you? On the phone you said something about a haunted house?"
"Yes, yes, that's right," she said, nodding nervously. "God, you must think I sound mad."
I shrugged and opened out my hands. "I have 'Wizard' written on my door. I don't really get to judge."
She laughed. I liked that. The poor woman seemed tense; nervous even. I got the feeling that coming to me had been a last resort. She was probably desperate. I got that a lot with my clients. Most sane people don't go looking up wizards in the phone book until they've exhausted all other options. As such, a lot of people come to me at their wits' end, usually embarrassed and not entirely sure what they're in for. So if I can ease the tension a little and make a nervous woman laugh, I will. Sue me.
She dug around her bag for a moment, before producing a file and placing it on my desk, opening it to a black and white photo of an old post-war house.
"It's my, or at least, it was, my uncle's house. I, umm, just inherited it from him recently," she said.
"Well, condolences," I said as I took the folder and began scrutinising the photo, "but also congratulations on the house, you could probably make a mint off it."
"Yeah," she scoffed, "if I could find anyone game enough to live there."
"And I suppose that's where I come in? Why don't you start at the beginning, tell me exactly what's happened."
"Well, uh, the house has a history. There are stories, you know – ghosts or whatever. Doors slamming, lights flickering, all that stuff. It used to scare me as a kid, but I never put much stock in it once I grew up.
But then my uncle died and…the police report says he fell down the stairs, but I don't know." She rubbed her arm nervously. "But anyway, since he died, things have only gotten worse. Like, deadly worse." She paused, closed her eyes and took a breath.
"It's OK," I said, "take your time."
She nodded, then after a moment, opened her eyes and resumed. "A realtor fell down the stairs and dislocated his arm, but he swears he felt something push him. My friend Beth was slammed against a wall and nearly choked by her own necklace. I," she paused again, taking a breath, "I stayed the night there and when, umm, I took a bath, some…something held me down under the water." She squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. "I-I couldn't breathe, I was just thrashing around, but I couldn't lift my head up. Then, right as I thought I was going to die…I finally came up for air."
"I'm sorry, that must have been horrible. But it sounds to me like you were just being warned – something trying to scare you off. You did say something about things getting deadly though."
She nodded. "After that I couldn't deny it anymore, I knew there was something wrong with that place. So, I got a priest out to bless the house – Father Ignatius from Our Lady of Perpetual Help, out in Glenview." She lowered her head and stifled a sob with her hand.
"It's OK," I said.
"No, it's not," she said, "I saw him thrashed about like a ragdoll… that thing shot him down the hall like a pinball and hurled him out the window."
Jesus, a spirit capable of that sort of physical assault wasn't something to be trifled with. This wasn't Casper trying to scare away Goldilocks from sleeping in his bed. This thing was a heavy hitter.
"What did the police have to say about that? I've got to be honest, I'm kind of surprised you're not fighting murder charges after something like that."
"They questioned me, but," She scoffed and waved a hand, indicating her slender, delicate and rather attractive frame, "nobody would believe that someone like me could beat up a grown man and hurl him out a window. I didn't want to end up in a psych ward, so I told them he fell out the window and for convenience's sake, they actually believed me."
Typical. Most vanilla mortals have a habit of ignoring anything that can't be placed in a nice, neat little well-defined box. They squint and squirm until they can find some semblance of logic that fits their worldview. If that priest had been hurled out of a window in the city, his case would have probably ended up with CPD's Special Investigations division, landing square on the desk of one Lt. Karrin Murphy. Out in the suburbs though? There was no way anyone would be willing to risk their career trying to explain death by ghost.
"So what exactly is it that you want from me, Ms. Weyland?"
"I-I don't know exactly. Are you really a wizard? Can you, I don't know, exorcise the house or something?"
"I can certainly try," I said, leaning back in my chair. "But all cards on the table, from what you've described it sounds like this spook means business. I can't make guarantees."
"Oh," she said, looking dejected. "That's fine, I knew it was all too good to be true. It's just I don't know where I'll go if things don't work out with this place. Inheriting it was kind of a lifeline for me…"
Aww, Hell. Call me a chauvinist, but I've got a weak spot for a damsel in distress. So sue me, I believe in chivalry.
"Hey, I didn't say I can't do it, I said this thing means business."
She looked up, a glimmer of hope in her eye.
"But do you want me to let you in on a secret?" I said in a hushed tone as I leaned in across the table. "So do I," I said with a smile. "I've got little cards and everything," I said as I slid one of my business cards across the desk.
She gave a little giggle, which I considered a small victory.
"Now," I said, leaning back, "unfortunately, since this is a business, I do have to discuss terms. My standard fee is $50 per hour, plus expenses, with a two day minimum. I'll also need half up front. Sorry for being so blunt, but I find it best to get the nasty business out of the way so we can focus on more pleasant things, like ghost hunting."
"Oh," she said, looking down and rubbing the back of her neck, "yes, of course." She began rummaging through her purse, pulling out receipts and various other odds and ends for a moment before stopping and making an expression of pained embarrassment. "It's just, umm," she muttered, biting her lip, "my card's maxed out and what with all the expenses with the house, I've kind of been living pay check to pay check. I swear though, I'm good for the money – I can get you a cheque next week, I swear."
Ah.
"Or, I don't know," she said shyly. She was gripping her arm and averting her gaze. "I guess maybe I could pay you…some…other way?"
She made a point at turning in a way that her, ahem, décolletage, was presented front and centre.
Double ah.
In a situation like that, you'll find that all manner of inner voices will come out of the woodworks, chiming in and vying to be heard. My primal, selfish 'every man for himself' mentality reminded me that she wasn't the only one living pay check to pay check. My stomach supported that by reminding me that for the last week I'd been living off instant noodles and day-old sandwiches from the 7Eleven. Then of course, there was the voice coming from down below my stomach who was very vocal in reminding me that there were fossils buried under layers of lime and sandstone that had been given more attention than he had recently. Though, I usually found it best to ignore that voice. He was a bit of a dick and tended to get me in trouble. Yeah, that's right, pun fully intended.
Then of course, there was that irritating little voice at the back of my head who had an annoying penchant for reminding me of what's right and wrong. Especially when an aforementioned damsel is involved. It tended to get me in just as much trouble as that other guy.
I sighed.
"How about I go and check the place out, get a lay of the land, free of charge? Consider it a consultation. If I think further action is needed, you can hand over the cash as soon as you can. Deal?"
Her face positively beamed. "Oh, really? Thank you, Mr. Dresden, thank you!"
She leaned across the table and threw her arms around me, unintentionally (I assume) burying my face in her, umm… refer to previous chapter on décolletage and its hazards.
Three hours later I was on the road, heading out to Glenview in my rusted out clunker of a VW Bug that I'd dubbed the Blue Beetle. She wasn't much to look at with her mismatched panelling and numerous battle scars and signs of all the heavy reconstructive work she'd had done on her over the years, but no matter what got thrown at the Beetle, she always bounced back and that kind of spirit mattered a Hell of a lot more than a pretty paintjob.
As I puttered along the highway in the last vestige of the afternoon rush hour, I couldn't help but wonder whether I'd been a massive sucker. Pretty girl walks into my office with a sob story and here I am heading out to the suburbs to poke around a house haunted by a particularly nasty and deadly spirit, for free!
It was like something out of an old film noir detective movie.
"I shouldda known she was trouble the minute she walked into my office, that dame was Hell in heels," I quipped in my best '40s detective voice.
Oh well, I thought, no matter how cranky it was, a restless spirit would be a lot easier to deal with than some of the other things I'd gone up against over the last few years.
What could possibly go wrong?
Yeah, I said it. I have a habit of walking under ladders and smashing mirrors for kicks too.
5
