Page 9 of With All My Haunted Heart

“Look, there are safer ways to provide a haunted house experience. I can enchant different objects in each room to give the same effect. Mundanes won’t know the difference.”

“Who says witches won’t want to stay here?” Elle asks, hands braced on her hips again as she scowls.

“Witches are five percent of the population, at most. I doubt they’ll make up that much of your business.” I press my palms tight against my outer thighs in an attempt to stay calm. It…doesn’t help. “If witches want to see ghosts, we can do that without wasting money to stay at some B&B.”

“Hey now!” Xander protests, but before I can apologize, Elle cuts in.

“Forget the demographics.” Stubbornness rolls off Elle in waves. That single line in her brow deepens, and the corners of her lips tip down. “The whole point is that the haunting is authentic. I refuse to sell a cheap gimmick.”

“Oh, my enchantments aren’t cheap.”

“If you can’t do this, Ms. Ainsley, we’ll find someone else.” Elle flicks her wrist toward my bag, where it sits on the floor by the stairs. “Don’t forget your…knickknacks.”

God, the nerve of this woman. “There’s not a single witch on the East Coast reckless enough to do something like this. But go ahead. Waste your time looking.” I grab my bag, swing it over my shoulder, and storm toward the door. I turn back at the last second to address Xander. “Call me when you talk some sense into her. I can work up a proposal for assorted enchantments that will more than do the job.” I reach for the door handle. “Don’t be a stranger, Xan.”

He cracks a smile. “I’ll call you later.”

I spare one final glance for Eloise Thompson, who’s staring at me like she wants to commit murder and trap my ghost on the property, before yanking open the heavy door and leaving them both behind.

By Monday morning, Xander still hasn’t called.

He texted Saturday to make sure I got home okay and apologized for ambushing me with the request.

Lou really wanted to be the one to pitch it.

It was her idea. The investors love it.

Spirits were people once. I love you, but I won’t force them to work with you.

♥

I tried to let it go. Tried not to think too much about any of it. I hate knowing that Xander is disappointed. Hate how attractive I thought his best friend was before I knew their connection. Hate that she’s still—technically—hot as hell, even though her personality is grating and her business ideas are borderline unethical.

I spent Sunday alternating between reading the latest Jennifer Dugan romance novel and tinkering with the creativity spell that I’ve been trying to crack for ages. If I can get it right, it would help clients tap into their most creative selves, help them design their next architectural masterpiece, come up with a perfect-for-them novel idea, or whip up a new recipe that feels like home.

It would open a whole new line of potential clients for the business. I’m not sure it’ll replace the connections we’ve lost within the real estate market, but it’s certainly a start.

Monday morning, Deanna beats me to the office. The bells above the door chime when I come in, the musical notes humming in the air around me. Every inch of this office is spelled in one way or another. The bells are designed to help clients feel safe and comfortable in the space. The enchantment doesn’t interfere with their free will—nothing I do violates a person’s autonomy. Instead, the sound’s frequency simply eases any nerves and helps them feel grounded.

It’s the exact kind of nontraditional magic my parents hate.

When witches first came out of the broom closet in the middle of the nineteenth century, taking advantage of the growing acceptance of the Spiritualism movement among mundanes, those old-timey witches wanted to ensure the general public wouldn’t fear—and therefore wouldn’t persecute—them. So they focused exclusively on the benefits healing magic could have for mundanes.

As a result, traditionalists like my parents uphold healing magic as the only honorable use of our power. Anything else is frivolous at best and a potential threat to our continued acceptance at worst.

Unfortunately, healing is the only magic I’m completely inept at performing. My parents—and the constant ache in my back—are both disappointed by that.

“Morning, boss.” Deanna’s voice cuts into my thoughts as she steps into the reception area holding a coffee mug covered in Pride-flag-themed gaming dice. “How was the trip out to Oak Spires?” When I groan, she raises a single eyebrow. “What happened? Was there an active portal there or something?”

“No, it’s not that. The work itself was easy.” I drop my bag in my office and return to Deanna, who’s taken a seat at her desk. “There were only a few leftover energy trails. Nothing major.”

“Then why the face?”

“Xander’s best friend is his business partner.”

Deanna studies me over a sip of her coffee. “We already knew that.”

“Yeah, well, Louie, turns out, is actually a woman named Elle.”