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The little Witch is enjoying pissing me off.

“I'm. Not. Selling.”

This is a problem.

“Surely you don't mean to live here.”

Her expression hardens.

Shit.

I know immediately I've stepped in something.

“I do, in fact, intend to live here.”

Movement catches my eye in an upstairs window. A ghost. It sees me. I point two fingers at my eyes and then at it.

I'm watching you.

It disappears.

“And,” Belinda continues, “I intend to reopen the bed-and-breakfast.”

Every thought in my head screeches to a halt.

“No.”

She blinks.

“No?”

“Absolutely not.”

She laughs.

At me.

What the? No one laughs at Damian Leeds. Not if they know what's good for them.

No one except Belinda Ramos, apparently.

“Oh, you're serious.”

“It isn't zoned for commercial lodging.”

“Yes, it is.”

“It isn't.”

“It is.”

“I've lived next door for three years.”

“And I've owned this house for almost three weeks.”

She waves a piece of paper.

“Would you like to see the paperwork?”