“The heaviness is gone. Whatever entity it was, it left.” She takes a step toward me, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Not every cleanse will result in a show. Most ghosts aren’t trying to fight to stay.”
I narrow my eyes at the woman. “You seem to know an awful lot about this stuff, Matilda…”
She harrumphs. “I watch a lot of movies.”
It’s evident that’s a cover story for her knowledge of spiritual occurrences, but I don’t call her out on it. I’ve heard the rumors of the Red Hats dabbling in rituals.
“Let’s get that packaged up and you two on your way,” she says, moving us toward the back room.
Her office is a chaotic assortment of antiques waiting to be cataloged and shelved. The air is thick with the scent of age-old leather and the faint aroma of dried flowers. Layers of dust coat the surface of every space, apart from her desk.
Matilda moves among her prized possessions with the grace of a connoisseur, her eyes gleaming with appreciation for the historical significance of each piece in her collection as she searches for something out of view.
My eyes roam the space, landing on an old photograph pinnedto the wall above her desk. It’s a black-and-white picture of five men standing in a line, dressed in T-shirts and jeans. They look like greasers from the fifties.
I move a little closer, inspecting the image. I’ve always been obsessed with the past. It’s strange to think that mere decades ago, life was so different.
I’m about to turn away when I notice the triangle symbol tattooed on one man’s arm. My eyes move quickly from one guy to the next, finding that all of them have the same tattoo, located exactly where Harlan’s was placed.
The Order of Providence.
“Who are these men?” I ask, drawing the attention of Matilda.
“That’s my Joseph and his brothers,” she says, smiling sadly.
“Five boys? His mother had her hands full,” I say, continuing to inspect the photo.
“Not biological brothers,” she titters. “Only Carl was biological. The rest were his brothers by choice.”
Fraternal.
The Order of Providence.
“What is this tattoo they all have?” I ask, pretending that I’m seeing it for the first time.
“Something Carl drew up that they all decided to ink their arms with,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I never liked the thing.”
“Do you know what the meaning behind it is?” I press, hoping to get something from her about the Order.
“No clue. I never cared much about what those boys got up to. Their business.”
It’s clear I won’t get anything more from her on the subject, so I drop it.
She packages up my bowl and walks us to the door, thanking me once more for my help. I can’t get out of Marmalade and Rye fast enough.
Outside, I take a deep breath, soaking in the fresh air, the scent of sage clinging to me and Nick.
“Let’s hope that worked. Otherwise, I might wake up with a Billy Garet replacement at the end of my bed,” I say, half jokingly. “You’re safe. You reek of sage. No spirit is going to come within a mile of you.”
Nick chuckles, but there’s a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “Maybe we should bathe you in sage,” he says, his tone suddenly more serious. “I’m worried about what could attach itself to you.”
I bite my lip, a nervous laugh escaping me. “I can’t avoid spirits. And besides, I have one back at my house that you and I need to discuss soon.”
Nick’s demeanor shifts, his expression growing guarded. “Yeah, we probably should,” he agrees, his tone clipped.
“I’m sorry, Nick. I didn’t mean to—”
“No.” He shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. I didn’t mean to come off like an ass.” He rocks back on his feet, looking wholly uncomfortable. “It’s just awkward to discuss Isla like this. I haven’t come to terms with it all.”
