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“I need to talk to a friend, and this is the most direct way to reach her.”
“Those candles seem dangerous,” Nana Pratt advised. “There’s too much that’s flammable in this room.”
I gave an exasperated sigh. “Did I give you permission over a Weedwacker too?”
She folded her arms in a defiant gesture. “No, but I figured if Ray was allowed, then so was I.”
“That’s toddler logic. Anyway, the candles are a necessary part of the summoning ritual.”
“What are you summoning?” Ray asked, sounding mildly curious.
“A friend.”
“I didn’t think you had any,” Nana Pratt blurted, then immediately seemed to regret her outburst. “What I meant to say is…”
“It’s fine. You’re right. Friends aren’t high on my priority list. Matilda is more like a supernatural acquaintance with a maternal side.” For which I was grateful.
“Where did you meet her?” Nana Pratt asked.
“London. She’s also known as the Night Mallt in Welsh. She rode with the Wild Hunt.”
Nana Pratt stared at the empty circle with trepidation. “She sounds dangerous. Are you sure you want to invite her into your home?”
“She’s already been here.”
The elderly ghost tightened the belt of her robe. “I think I’ll go back outside. I don’t want to disrupt your reunion.”
Ray seemed torn between watching the spectacle and retreating to safety. In the end, he decided to accompany Nana Pratt outside.
Matilda appeared in the circle with a loud whoosh. “I thought that was you, annwyl. Why not use the crossroads?”
“This seemed more prudent.”
She took a dainty step over the chalk line. “Sounds like you have another situation.”
“I do.” I hated to admit it. At a certain point, I’d be forced to acknowledge that I was the common denominator. For now, I chose to live in willful oblivion.
“Shall I release the hounds?” She cackled. “Gods above, I love saying that.”
“I don’t need any hounds,” I told her. “Only you.”
Her expression softened. “I’m flattered, cariad. I know how difficult it is for you to ask for help.”
“It isn’t difficult. I just choose not to.”
“Is this another missing person case? Is that your new specialty?”
“No, this is about a house.”
“Another house? What’s wrong with this one?” She grimaced. “No need to answer that. I can see.”
“Hey! It’s a work in progress.” I shook off the insult and shared the story about Bruce and the djinn. Then I told her about The Corporation.
Matilda looked ready to keel over. She pressed a hand flat against the wall to steady herself. “The Corporation is here, in this very town you’ve chosen to inhabit?”
“Yes. Well, one of them anyway. The djinn. Bruce is dead.”
“The djinn needs to be dead as well. You need to find him and vanquish him quickly,” she advised. “It might already be too late.”
