Maybe it wasn’t the dog. “Yarn?Hmmm, okay. Yarn can be troublesome. And hey, I believe you experienced something, and I’m here to help. I can’t do that if you don’t tell me whathappened. I believe you.” Yarn was a tough thing for spirits to mess with because unwoven fibers are harder for them to latch on to. It happened, but removing a spirit link would be a bigger job than working with an ornamental dog.
“I was knitting my granddaughter a shawl for an Easter surprise.” She waved at the basket. Her vacant expression conveyed shock. So maybe not hard of hearing.
I crouched over the basket, examining but not touching it. “Any more voices?” The proximity of the basket was close enough that the voice could have come from the dog.
“Not in here, no.”
“But somewhere else?”
She motioned to the double-sliding doors of a dining room.
“In the kitchen. I was making some cheese toast, and I heard the voice again.” She crossed her arms.
“What did it say?” I asked, visually calculating the distance. The kitchen would be too far away from both the dog and the yarn; a tethered spirit couldn’t project that far. I scratched the back of my neck. Something was off.
“‘Brenda.’ Then it asked me to pour it a glass of milk. I don’t drink milk, so I knew then it was odd. I mean the whole thing was strange. I called Verona right away, and she gave me your number.” Her fingers were leaving imprints on her upper arm.
Milk was a bad sign. A hungry spirit could mean it had been trapped a long time or experienced a strong death release—like a murder. I hadn’t sensed that when I’d walked in because it wasn’t tied to the house. The good news was, if the spirit was hungry, I could feed it to release the trapped energy.
“Mrs. Meest, may I call you Brenda?”
She nodded.
“Brenda, were those the only two times?”
“Well, there was one other time, but I was half asleep, so it might have been a dream.”
“What happened then?” I tamped down on my rising panic. Mrs. Meest needed me to be calm. Spirits with the energy to cross into dreams were way trickier than basic object-tied possession.
“A golden light hovered above me. It asked me to read to it.”
I had to work to keep my voice at a non-shriek. “Read? Read what?” A spirit with worldly desires bordered on demonic possession territory. But Brenda looked totally normal–albeit a little freaked out.
“I had been looking at a book of unusual yarn patterns, which I purchased at the market.”
A chill went up my spine. “Did you buy anything else there?”
“This anklet.” She tugged her hem up and stuck out a foot. A thin, golden chain rested above the white ankle sock stuffed into her Birkenstock.
The thing glowed with a purple light—the bad purple with the icky black edges, which reeked of curses.
Flipping foxgloves.
I swallowed and glanced over her shoulder to avoid looking at her. There was no reason to alarm the poor woman. I’d do what I could.
I’d spent my childhood exploring the plane above our world. My mom called it world-stepping. I was still learning real-world uses, but my otherworldly knowledge and unschooling gave me an edge in dealing with tough situations—like this one. I had this.
“May I see the yarn book?” I asked. This wasn’t a straight exorcism. Whatever was bothering her was attached to the chain around her ankle—and now her.
CHAPTER THREE
Ifollowed Brenda back into the living room, keeping an eye on the chain as if it was a rattlesnake. The anklet was likely stuck on her. If I cut it off, it would release the demon or spirit trapped in it. Getting a spirit out of a house was a much bigger job than a simple exorcism from a small object. Demons are natural apex predators, feeding off human spirit energy. Only an amateur would be stupid enough to make a bigger mess.
Brenda plopped down in the velvet chair, glancing at the basket of yarn. She grabbed the plastic folder sticking out of one side.
“Could you tell if it was a male or female voice?” I asked.
“It was a nice young man with a bit of an accent. Startled me as I worried about an intruder.” Brenda turned her face away and fussed with her hair. Was she blushing?
