Carrie Vaughn - Kitty Raises Hell

I rolled my eyes. “Details. So what is it? What have you got?”

Tina and Jules had been writing and making sketches on a pad of paper. Jules said, “Your caller was right. Some symbols, some basic principles, are the same in nearly every culture. The circle, for example, as a symbol of eternity and protection. She seemed to be suggesting that any sort of banishment spell ought to work on this thing.”

“So we’re back to exorcisms,” I said.

“Sure,” Tina said. “But we’ve seen this thing before, we’ve seen what it can do. Jules and I have a spell that ought to work.”

“Custom banishment,” I said. I almost said it wouldn’t hurt to try, but it could. If we didn’t succeed in trapping it this time, what would it do next when it lashed out? Why did I get the feeling the djinn —the ifrit —listened to the radio and knew we were up to something?

“We’ll need some of your hair,” Jules said with a perfectly straight face.

I stared.

“Just a strand or two,” he said quickly. “Nothing terrible.”

Using something personal like someone’s hair was a common bit of spell lore from all over the world. I found the end of my ponytail and pulled out a few hairs, wincing. “Should I even ask?”

“The thing’s after you—we’re just going to make sure it knows you’re around.” He smiled as he stuffed the strands into a plastic bag.

Tina tapped a pencil against the table. “The thing I can’t figure out is what kind of bottle we need to use. I mean, it seems kind of gauche to use just a plastic soda bottle or something. Like maybe we ought to use something all glass and fancy.”

“Don’t use plastic,” Jules said. “It’s not sturdy enough. Those oil lamps, like you see in the Aladdin story, are made of brass, right?”

“So what do we do?” I said. “You have a plan, right?”

Jules took a deep breath. A “here goes nothing” breath. “We’ll go someplace we know the thing’s been before—Flint House. We use components we know affect it—your potion. Something of yours because it has a connection to you—your hair. Build a trap, set the bait, and there you are.”

“So it’s a plan,” I said hopefully.

“It’s something, ” Tina said.

“Then let’s get going.” The sooner we got started, the sooner we’d find out if it worked. Or not. I didn’t want to think about that.

“I swear, this job gets more surreal every week,” Matt said, wandering back to the safety of his booth.

Tina and Jules rode in the Paradox PI van with Gary to pick up a few supplies. They were still debating about what kind of bottle to use: clear, opaque, plain, decorated, screw top, corked. Something without cracks, I told them jokingly before we parted ways. They didn’t think that bit was funny. Ben and I drove together to Flint House.

Hardin called, not five minutes after the show ended.

“You’ve got a plan. I want in on it,” she said.

I sighed and started to argue with her, because the last thing I wanted was another person in the line of fire. Trouble was, she’d keep pestering me until I told her, or she’d sic a patrol car on me. She’d probably already dug up the trail of accident reports from all our adventures this week and could check those locations as places we’d likely turn up again. The thought of arguing with Hardin made me tired.

Then again, another ally in the fight was always a good thing.

“Any chance you could get a fire truck on the scene?” I asked. “Just in case?”

She paused. “I do not like the sound of this.”

“When do you ever?”

I told her where we were headed without going into too much detail about what we’d be doing there. Hardin promised me a fire truck.

“Hardin, right?” Ben said after I’d hung up. “Don’t tell me the cops are going to be there.”

“It looks like the cops are going to be there.”

“I’m glad we’re married so I don’t have to be your official lawyer anymore. I don’t envy whoever has to deal with it when you get charged with something.”

Oh, God forbid, I didn’t even want to think of it. “We’re not breaking any laws. If anything, having the cops there makes it better, right?”

“If you say so.”

Soon after talking to Hardin, I called Peter’s phone. And got no answer, which meant he was probably in trouble along with Grant. I couldn’t help them right now, though. Get through the next hour, then worry about them.

We all arrived at Flint House within a half an hour of each other. We each had a job and we set to work, anxious to get this over with. Gary and the PI production crew were at it again, setting up their cameras and monitors in a quest for elusive documentation. The hour was god-awful late at night, par for the course when doing battle with the supernatural. Typical creature-of-the-night bullshit. Didn’t a standoff at high noon mean anything to these beings?

“I don’t like this,” Ben said, following me, not willing to let me out of his sight. I tried not to snap at him over it. He had a right to be worried, after everything that had happened. “I don’t like going into this with a half-baked plan.”

“It’s not half-baked,” I said. “It’s mostly baked. Just a little soft in the middle.” Actually, that was bravado.

“This’ll work,” Tina said, helping Gary with some of the remote cameras. Her nervous fidgeting belied her chipper demeanor.

I retrieved the latest batch of Grant’s protection potion from the trunk of the car. I hoped this wasn’t like antibiotics, that overusing it wouldn’t encourage some sort of spell-resistant superdemon. I’d have to ask Grant about it. I felt a pang at that—I hoped Grant was okay, so that I could ask him about it. I dripped the potion in a circle around the house, like I’d done with every other building in my life. This time, though, I left an opening, a six-foot gap in the circle in front of the door, giving the djinn a way in. Our way.

Inside, Jules had more of the potion, which he used to mark out a path: from the front door, into the parlor, where more marks funneled the path to a circle in the middle of the floor.

“Are we sure we want to be doing this inside?” I said. Inside this very old house made of dry and flammable wood, I didn’t need to add.

“We want it in a confined area,” Jules said.

At least no one lived here.

Jules paused in his work. “Here’s my problem. I’m a scientist. We’re in the business of studying these phenomena. Investigating, collecting data, analyzing. We’re not in the business of doing battle with them. We’re not exorcists or crusaders.”

“Maybe we should be,” Tina said, leaning on the rickety banister near the foyer, regarding our handiwork rather than addressing anyone in particular. “You remember that house in Savannah? The two-hundred-year-old cottage that was supposed to be haunted by a murdered little girl? We recorded some sounds but didn’t find anything definitive, like what usually happens. But I felt something. The place was old, and more than just one little girl had died there. The old woman who lived in the house was scared, really scared. She lived by herself on a tiny income, didn’t have any family, and couldn’t afford to move. She lived every day in fear that this spirit wanted to harm her. Maybe she was just paranoid, but if I could have done anything to convince her that the house wasn’t haunted, or that we’d found a way to drive the spirit out, I would have. Who knows? If this works, maybe we’ll discover there’s a market for this sort of thing. We’ll go from Paradox PI to Paranormal Exterminators. ”