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“Fine. I’ll be in touch,” I said.
She practically left skid marks on the blacktop in her haste to leave.
I strode up the walkway to the front door and felt the change in pressure before I even made it to the step. Whatever was inside was more than a ghost; the air was heavy with magic.
I tried the door handle, knowing perfectly well it wouldn’t work. I peered in the window. The interior was too dark to see anything aside from the silhouette of furniture. I decided not to bother testing every window. Fatima said they’d already tried that, and with magic present, I figured it was a waste of time anyway.
I rounded the house to the backyard. It was possible the magic was weaker here. My gaze swept the area, which was in no better shape than the front. Not that I was throwing stones. I’d left most of the outside of the Castle on standby while I tackled the inside. Maybe Bruce got hung up on a never-ending project inside the house that finally killed him. The thought was unsettling.
I eyed a rusty metal bucket near the back door with ants crawling all over it. Nothing said neglect like rust and an infestation. Bruce was now one tireless car on bricks away from bringing down the whole neighborhood. I was beginning to come around to Fatima’s point of view.
Then I saw it—a flicker of movement inside the house. So much for the theory the owner was dead inside.
Unless that wasn’t the owner.
Only one way to find out. I hurried to the back door and banged loudly, calling Bruce’s name. No doubt the Fairhaven residents had been too polite with their inquiries. I, on the other hand, knew what it was like to duck behind furniture when the doorbell rang. I excelled in the art of hiding when being sought.
“Bruce, I know you’re in there,” I yelled. “Open up! I only want to talk to you.”
No response.
“You’re making this harder than it needs to be,” I continued. “They think you’re dead and want to sell this house out from under you. Is that what you want? To lose your house to the government?”
I waited, listening.
My exasperation grew. Patience was not one of my virtues. “Bruce, if you don’t open up, I’m going to blow through your heavy-duty ward and then you’re going to have to pay for a new one.” Which would be difficult to manage when Phaedra Bridger was the only witch left in her coven. Then again, there were likely other witches in town I hadn’t met yet. Still, a new ward would be an expensive investment. The smart move would be to open the door.
The door opened.
Phew. I wouldn’t have to huff and puff and blow the house down.
He was a slight, slender man, no taller than five-five. He wore a red T-shirt trimmed in gold. Chinese letters decorated the front. I had no idea what they said. I was better acquainted with Latin than Chinese, which said a lot about me that I understood a dead language better than a living one.
He looked at me with mild interest. “Who are you?”
“Lorelei Clay. Are you Bruce Huang?”
“I am. Why are you at the back door?”
“Because you didn’t answer the front door. Can I come in?”
“No.”
A man after my own heart. “People are worried about you, Mr. Huang. They think you’re dead. You should answer the door or the phone when they try to get in touch.”
“Well, as you can see, I’m not dead. Spread the news. Take my photo as proof of life if you want.”
I did.
He started to close the door. I kicked out my foot and wedged it between the door and the jamb. “What’s with the ward, Bruce?”
His eyes sharpened. “Are you a witch? Is that how you sensed the ward?”
He couldn’t smell witches. That ruled out several supernatural species. “Why are you neglecting your property? They’re ready to sell it out from under you.”
“They’re welcome to try. As you can see, I’m still alive. No cause for alarm.”
Bruce. The house. The heavy magic. Something felt wrong here, and I couldn’t let it go. “Tell me what’s going on, and I’ll see if I can run interference for you.”
