“It’s a nasty night to be out and about,” Erik observed. “I’m Erik Mitchell, and I own the shop. This is my partner, Ben. How can I help you?”
“I’m Peter Randolph,” the man said. “Do you believe in ghosts?” His question held a note of desperation.
“What did you have in mind?” Erik sidestepped.
Randolph rested the package on the counter. “I bought this segment of a stained-glass window at an auction, and I think it’s haunted. Creeps me out. The images in the glass…move.”
“Do you have the paperwork?” Erik’s past job made him wary of people trying to fence stolen art.
“Right here.” Randolph reached into the inside pocket of his coat and withdrew a slightly damp envelope. Inside was the bill of sale from the auction house, along with a detailed description and a photocopied picture of the window itself.
Erik brought Randolph into the break room and spread out the silver-threaded containment mat. He also took a small blanket made from the same blessed and spelled material and set it nearby, as well as grabbing his gloves.
“Can you show me the window?” Erik couldn’t help being intrigued. Experience taught him that anything could harbor a ghost or at least soak up negative energy enough to send off uncomfortable vibes. It wasn’t uncommon for paintings and old photographs to have a ghostly hitchhiker, but this was the first time he had heard of a haunted window.
Randolph set the box on its side atop the containment mat, and Erik handed him scissors to cut the packing tape that held it shut. He carefully withdrew a two-foot-by-two-foot section of leaded glass. Ben brought a lamp and they plugged it in. Randolph held the window up against the light, and Erik caught his breath.
“Is that a Tiffany piece?” Erik asked, although he was almost positive it was.
“That’s what the seller told me,” Randolph said. “I thought I was getting a bargain. I’ve heard about those windows. Had some in the church where I grew up. I was excited about finally having one of my own. I was going to figure out how to replace one of my regular house windows with it. But then, things went weird.”
While Randolph told his story, Erik never took his eyes off the window. Ben moved behind him, where he could also see.
The panel looked like it might have been taken from a larger window. The scene showed two men and a thick old book. It might have been a Bible, but to Erik’s eye, it looked more like a grimoire. Tiffany often dealt with religious subjects, but also did windows with flowers, trees, and nature scenes. If this piece had been a custom order, perhaps a book of magic wasn’t too strange a request.
Erik would need to run a couple of tests to confirm that the window was indeed a Tiffany. The fame of the creator made copycats and knock-offs brazen and widespread. Even so, previously unknown authentic windows were discovered surprisingly often, hidden away in private homes or small churches.
Still, a first look with a practiced eye suggested that the window was authentic. The dark resonance made him shiver even without touching it to activate his psychometry.
“There!” Ben pointed.
Erik squinted, unsure whether he had really seen motion. Then he saw another shift, slight but unmistakable.
“Did the seller tell you anything else about where the window came from, or who commissioned it?” Erik asked.
Randolph shook his head. “No. He said he bought a numbered lot sight-unseen at an estate sale, and this was in it. I asked why he was selling it, and he said that’s what he does—pick through the best stuff in odd lots like that and resells them. Although now I think maybe he knew it was haunted and wanted rid of it.”
“What do you want to do with it?” Erik asked.
“I was hoping you’d buy it,” Randolph said. “I’ve heard you’re good with spooky stuff.”
“I can’t resell it if it’s haunted, but I can send it to some specialists who can contain it, given its historical value as a Tiffany,” Erik told him. “That means I can’t pay market value forwhat a comparable non-haunted Tiffany would be worth. I can give you a couple of hundred dollars, and my thanks for getting a potentially dangerous object out of circulation.”
Randolph looked disappointed, but the way he eyed the window like it might bite told Erik that the ghostly phenomenon bothered the man more than he let on. Erik was sorry to let him down if he had hoped for a windfall, and knew that Randolph could still take the window and find another buyer if his ethics didn’t stop him from selling it elsewhere without disclosing the problem.
“Take it,” Randolph said, shaking his head. “I’ve had nothing but bad luck since the day I brought it home. I was too afraid to destroy it, but maybe you can before it causes any more problems.”
Erik paid cash and wished Randolph well. Ben walked the man to the door and locked up behind him as Erik wrapped the window and its box in the spelled blanket.
“Are you going to read it?” Ben asked.
Erik debated the question, curious to know more about the window. “Not tonight. I’m sure there’s a story to go with it, but I’m betting it doesn’t have a happy ending. We can tackle that tomorrow, since Alessia and Haley are coming. Maybe one of them will get something from it that I don’t.”
Erik opened the spelled safe in the back room, where he had placed theMohawkitems and the cursed ring. The safe was warded, carved with runes, and made of cast iron with silver medallions inside. It was a protected place to keep potentially dangerous objects until Erik’s contact could pick them up and take them to be destroyed or permanently stored in a more secure location.
Once that was done, Erik placed the gloves back under the counter, put the mat away, and dispelled the wards around the table.
“Well, I didn’t expect that tonight,” he said to Ben.
