“What kind of accent?”
“I’m not sure. English, but maybe with something else? African or Middle Eastern? I’m not an expert in languages. Here’s the yarn book.” She held out three or four magazines housed in the plastic folder.
I nodded at it, mumbling,mmhmm. “Brenda, do you remember anything about the person who sold you the anklet?”
“Oh, yes. The girl said it had been her aunt’s. She had a sweet smile and long brown hair. Reminded me of myself at that age. I always wore an anklet. I had such slender ankles back then. The poor thing looked a little hungry, so I thought I’d help her out. She put it on so I could try it. I was pleased it fit me because she had trouble undoing the clasp.”
It had been on long enough that time was now a factor. The spirit trapped in it would slowly suck her life away until she died. Brenda wasn’t showing the telltale dark circles under her eyes or the frailness associated with the drain, but it would happen soon. Mom had told me about a case she’d dealt with, but I’d never seen one in real life. I had to get this anklet off Brenda before it killed her.
I paused, choosing words to feel out how Brenda would respond to the idea of a spirit. “I believe your gentleman caller is connecting with you through your anklet.”
Her eyes widened. “What do you mean, dear?”
“I think this chain has a ghost or spirit attached to it, and because you’re wearing it, he can talk to you.”
“Well, I guess I should take it off then.” She looked down at her foot as if it had turned to gold, but I wasn’t sure what I was telling her was sinking in. It was good she wasn’t freaking out. To be honest, it’s great that normal people can’t see the demons andspirits, which are around all the time, because it takes a lot of training to face things we’re taught don’t exist. There’d be mass hysteria if the world could see what I’ve seen.
I concentrated on finding my inner core of positivity and projecting it. “Let’s get it off, and then I can send him away.” Alarming her would only make this tougher on both of us. Besides, I should have everything I needed to send Mr. Spirit packing.
“The clasp is apparently tricky, and my arthritis has been terribly bad these last few days. Would you mind helping me?” She raised her leg.
I wasn’t touching her ankle with bare skin, and there was no way I could get the clasp open with the gloves on—even if it would help, which I was pretty sure it wouldn’t. I would bet a bunch of cornflowers that the chain wasn’t coming off without a removal spell. I’d taken off a hex curse once, and the person had recovered from the sickness associated with it. This should work out the same way, but Brenda’s advanced years called for a gentler approach to a full-blown banishing ritual.
“I can try.” My lavender glasses blocked some of the blinding purple glare, but it was beginning to give me a headache. I knelt and slid the chain back and forth, as if I were trying to undo it. As I’d expected, the clasp had disappeared.
“It’s really stuck. Maybe some soap and water?” I suggested, standing up. The best thing for a possessed item was to submerge it in running water. The bathtub would work.
“Good idea.” She waved toward the kitchen.
“I was thinking maybe a bathtub. Then you can stick your whole foot in it.”
She pushed herself out of the chair and directed me to the stairs. The bathroom was at the top, facing the back of the house, off a wide hall. It had been partially modernized with mossy green tile and gold taps. The white toilet and bathtub were soclose you could sit on the toilet and soak your feet, which, for us, was perfect.
“What do we do now?” she asked, wringing her hands.
Apparently, I hadn’t been as chill about getting the anklet off as I’d thought. Great, now I was going to have to calm her down because the negative energy could mess with my work. “Why don’t you sit on the toilet, and I’ll run the water.”
The pipes groaned as water came chugging out of the faucet, but in a minute, it was lukewarm. I fitted the plug, and the bath filled as Brenda kicked off her sandals.
“Wait for me to set up before putting your feet in the bath, okay?”
She was already hiking up her skirt to pull her socks off. I averted my gaze, organizing the essentials on the dresser in the hall beside the door: a rose quartz orb, a container of powdered sea salt, St. John’s wort to calm the room, black pepper with bindweed to bind the spirit, and a vial of my exorcism powder—a blend passed down from my grandmother. I also laid out two N95 masks. In an interior closed space, inhaling the spirit was possible, and there was no way I was taking the chance. That kind of possession was a whole other nightmare to deal with.
Sliding off my denim jacket, I took a moment to find peace and positivity, rubbing my silver moon pendant between my fingers. Filtered sun streamed through the bay window, caressing my arms exposed by my lilac tank top. I inhaled the light and found the edges of the astral plane.
Satisfied I was ready, I fitted one of the masks over my ears but didn’t pull it up yet. I knocked on the doorframe first and then handed the other mask to Brenda.
“This really seems awfully weird. I’m not usually involved with things like this. Is there anything I should be worried about?” She turned the N95 over in her hand suspiciously, but it trembled in her fingers.
I nodded. “Not really. The mask is so the spirit doesn’t feel our breath. It’s going to be fine. Really. We’re going to dunk your feet in, and I’m sure it will slide right off.”
I was holding on to that hope. I set the rose quartz on the side of the tub in a salt collar, so the earth energy of the stone wouldn’t interfere with the spell until I was ready for it.
The room wasn’t big enough for a full salt circle, so I poured salt around the rim of the bathtub, making sure the line was closed. The salt would keep the spirit contained until I could get it to go into the orb. Spritzing the air with St. John’s hydrosol, I laid the herb piles on the far rim of the bath, within easy reach.
“It’s really important not to knock the rose quartz orb over,” I said, helping Brenda get her feet into the water. The synthetic scent of her honeysuckle perfume cloyed the back of my throat as she settled into place. Brenda leaned her back against the toilet tank. “Ooo, that’s nice,” she said, submerging her feet and wiggling her toes. Her toenails were painted all-American blue.
To do the spell, the water had to be free-running and deep enough to submerge the anklet—it still needed another inch or two.
