Bran stood in front of the bathroom sink, shaving. He wore a black jock strap and nothing else. The wide elastic bands framed his firm buttocks in the most aesthetically pleasing way—a view Denton could never get bored with. The lazy back and forth swing of Bran's tail signaled his good mood.
"You shouldn't wear anything else in the house," Denton said from his spot at the doorway.
"I can't run around practically naked. It wouldn't be proper," Bran replied to the mirror.
"Proper-schmopper. I hate those baggy jeans. So fugly. And isn't it uncomfortable shoving your tail into them?"
"I'm used to it."
"You could wear assless chaps, as I suggested before."
"No way."
Denton had more ideas. "How about a kilt? It would be comfortable yet respectable."
Before Bran could object again, Denton's phone intruded into the conversation.
Denton spied Joy's number on the screen. He lifted the phone to his ear, but Joy cut him off before he opened his mouth.
"Hey, ferret-face, are you awake? Is the computer on? I've got a job for us, but I need you to look at this website first." Her words gushed from the phone in a breathless torrent.
"Good morning to you too, Pumpkin. I can't look at the computer right now—I'm not at home."
Joy's shocked silence hung between them for a couple of seconds till she found her voice again. "Where on earth are you at eight thirty in the morning?"
"Next door."
"Oooh, spent the night with Mr. Dark and Mysterious? Nice. I hope he treats you right," she cooed.
Denton raised his voice to make sure Bran wouldn't miss a word. "Mr. Dark and Mysterious ravaged me last night. Three times."
KLUNK! Fortunately, the electric razor fell into the sink and not on the floor. It could've broken.
Denton returned Bran's vexed glare, making a kissy-face.
Joy's giggle tickled his ear. "More info than I needed to have, but I'm happy for you. Will there be an encore? Should I call back in an hour or two?"
"Nah, just give me a few minutes and I'll call you. Okay?"
After hanging up, Denton made his way to the bedroom to find his socks—his favorite lime-green pair. He located one right away, but the other one was hiding. He crouched and looked under the bed—spotting it right away. But that wasn't the only thing he noticed. He looked at Bran, who'd just walked into the room. "There's something under your bed."
"What do you mean, something?" Bran asked, pulling on his jeans.
"I dunno. Some stuff hanging from the underside of the frame."
Bran squatted down next to Denton and took a long look. "Whatta…" He stood. "Come, help me flip the mattress."
Denton did, although he clearly wasn't the muscle in the operation. Fortunately, Bran made up for Denton's lack of brawn. The procedure still took some heaving and grunting, which woke Murry's curiosity. The cat sat in the doorway and watched them with pie-eyed interest.
They stood the mattress on its side, propped against the wall. Its underside held a surprise—a large drawing of what looked like a plus sign, with straight and curvy lines crossing all four of its legs in an asymmetric pattern.
Bran furrowed his brow but said nothing. He turned his attention to the bed frame and untied the string holding the thing Denton had spotted earlier. It turned out to be two crude human figures, six or so inches long and made out of twigs and torn cloth. Denton couldn't fail to notice the strategically placed sticks that made them both male. Oh, and they both had the same symbol drawn on them: an upside-down triangle with straight lines attached to it.
Bran rubbed the pieces of cloth between his fingers. "So that's where that dirty sheet went. This is just fucking devious."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"A few months back, I thought one of my sheets disappeared from the hamper. It sounded crazy, so I convinced myself I was wrong."
"Why would anyone steal your dirty sheet and dress dolls in it?"
Bran cleared his throat. "It had my, umm, semen on it. Stuff like that comes in handy in magic."
Bran's embarrassment amused Denton no end. "Wow, if I knew witchcraft was so filthy, I would've gotten involved sooner. You'll have to tell me more." He gave Bran his cheesiest leer and topped it off with a wink.
"Stop goofing around. I'm serious."
Denton sighed. "Fine, fine. I don't get it, though. Did someone put a curse on you?" He looked at the dolls. "On us?" Denton couldn't imagine who or why anyone would wish them harm—aside from the usual assortment of assholes who loved to hate. But breaking and entering with voodoo dolls didn't sound like their style. Too subtle.
"Yep. My mother. But not a curse exactly."
"What? Why?"
"This is a love spell. She must have done it months ago."
Denton's mood brightened. "Really? I guess it worked." Not that he believed in love spells, but it was good to know nobody had tried to put bad juju on them.
"It's not the point. People shouldn't meddle in the lives of others. Especially their own children." Strangely, he glared at Murry while talking. The cat yawned and then scratched his ear with his hind paw.
Denton leaned closer and placed a kiss on Bran's spine. "I need to go. Should we put the mattress back first?"
"I'll need to buy a new one, but we might as well for now."
Denton took one last look at the strange symbol, which seemed to have been finger-painted in reddish-brown ink or something. A suspicious thought hit him. "Is this blood?"
"Probably. You don't wanna touch it," he added when Denton stretched his fingers toward the drawing.
"Why?"
"Some blood is more potent than others, and my mother isn't shy about these things."
"I don't understand."
"There's a reason only women can perform certain witchcraft."
At last, Denton added two and two together. "Oh. Oh!" He snatched his hand back. "You're a strange family."
"What gave you a clue?"
They put the bed back as it had been before, minus the dolls, which Bran shoved into a drawer. Denton leaned in for a kiss, putting his arms around Bran's waist. As they pulled apart, he gave Bran's buttocks a friendly squeeze. "Kilts—think about it."
***
A couple of minutes later, Denton sat in his own apartment, staring at the computer screen in sheer horror while talking to Joy on the phone. "This is hideous. Why did you make me look at this? What have I done to you?"
"It's work. We've been hired to redesign the site."
"Somebody has to, that's for sure. The whole thing is in Flash! With Mystery Meat navigation. And what the hell's up with the annoying music? How did this abomination even happen on the first place? Is this a legit business site or a joke?"
Joy let out an unladylike snort. "From what I gathered, the former head of marketing wanted the site to pop, and it just so happened that his second cousin was a hotshot Flash designer."
"It pops, all right. Where's this former marketing genius now?"
"Quit and went to the competition."
"Ouch. Talk about scorched earth."
"No kidding. The director, Mr. Barnaby, is keen on getting their website back to sane. Customers have been complaining. I need you to look it over, come up with a proposal for site structure, function, et cetera, that I can present tomorrow. I'm e-mailing you their list of requirements. I need the stuff from you by tomorrow morning."
"Not last minute at all," Denton grumbled.
"I'm buying you breakfast," Joy said in a honey-dipped voice.
"I want chocolate croissants. Plural."
"You got it."
***
Denton approached Alice's Tea Room from a different direction this time to avoid the unpleasant death trace of the guy who'd died there recently. According to Bran, he should be better at shielding them out now that he'd been practicing, but he didn't feel up to testing the theory right then. From this new direction, only a lone spirit stood in his path, but she didn't bother him. Steering around the hazy shape, Denton could tell it was a woman and even make out the paisley pattern of her dress. A blast of sweet perfume basted his senses as he walked past. These things were new. The more he trained, the more clearly he could see the spirits, and for the first time he experienced the occasional olfactory impressions too.
He spotted Joy coming from the opposite direction, bundled in a big coat, her nose almost as red as the scarf around her neck. They met at the door, then stepped out of the chilly November air and into the warm café together. They found a table under a painting of the March Hare.
Once Denton had his coffee and promised pastries in front of him, they got down to business. Joy showed him her design concepts for approval, although she didn't have to. Denton had no artistic talent of his own and trusted hers completely. Next he explained what he thought would be the most user-friendly site navigation and what new features they should add and explained their benefits. Joy nodded, asked a few questions, and took notes.
"I think this site will be our best one yet," she said.
"When do we start working?"
"Mr. Barnaby will have to get budget approval and stuff, but I don't think it'll take more than a week. Enjoy your freedom till then.
"You sure we'll get the job?"
"Positive. Mr. Barnaby loves our portfolio and is eager to erase all traces of his former marketing guy. I got the impression that, in his eyes, redesigning the site is the next best thing to hiring a hit man."
"All right. I'll start working on the wireframes."
"Good thinking." Joy gave him a squinty look and changed the direction of the conversation. "So you and Mr. Darcy are all hot and sticky now? I have a hard time imagining him in the throes of passion."
Denton managed to swallow his coffee and not laugh. "Hey, keep your filthy fantasies off my boyfriend!"
Joy smiled with deceptive sweetness. "Boyfriend, eh?"
"Yup." Denton didn't blush. It would've been unmanly.
She shook her head. "I still don't see it. The guy's just so…I dunno…stick-up-the-butt."
Denton rushed to Bran's defense. "He's really not once you get to know him. Bran's simply introverted and uneasy around strangers, that's all."
"If you say so, dog-breath." Joy didn't appear quite convinced. "Tell me about him. What does he do for a living?"
Denton raised the cup to his lips to buy himself time. The secrets he'd been keeping from Joy had been gnawing at him, so he was wary of piling on more. However, he couldn't betray Bran's confidence either. In the end, he decided to be frank about the obvious things. "He calls himself an herbalist and writes books about herbs, but he's also a witch."
Joy raised her left eyebrow a whole inch. "A witch?"
"Yes. A witch." Denton gave her a stubborn glare.
"Like Harry Potter and stuff?"
"No he doesn't use a wand, but he can make potions or spells. I think."
"Ah, Snape! But of course," Joy said, grinning.
Denton rolled his eyes and drank more coffee. Maybe this had been a mistake.
"Oh, don't get huffy. So Bran's a witch, fine. Wouldn't it be a wizard or warlock, by the way?"
"No, definitely not. I've been lectured on the subject. Males of their kind are called witches too. End of story."
"Good to know. I wouldn't want to be politically incorrect and offend the wrong coven. So, what, he spends his days brewing potions?"
"Actually, I haven't seen him do that, but his apartment smells like an herb garden, which it is, for the most part. Occasionally he does house cleansing for paid clients. I helped him a couple of times. It turns out I've got a knack for it. We banished a ghost from Sparks—you know, that restaurant you told me about?" He carefully didn't mention his own ghost-related talents.
Joy reached across the table and punched Denton in the shoulder. She had a sharp, bony fist. "No way!"
"Way," Denton replied, rubbing the sore spot.
"I heard rumors the place was cursed or haunted or something. What was it?"
"The ghost of an old gangster who got himself killed there back in the sixties."
"For real? That's so cool. You guys are like ghostbusters."
Joy seemed genuinely thrilled, and it made Denton happy, even if it meant merciless teasing for weeks or even months. He'd get that anyway. "So you don't think it's weird?"
"Oh, it totally is. But so are you. You can't even walk down the street in a straight line. But I love you anyway. Have to admit, you two whackadoodles make perfect sense together. But I still want to check Bran out for myself." The sudden grooves on her forehead spelled trouble. "I know what, Thanksgiving! Unless you're visiting your family."
Denton considered lying, but he just couldn't. "No, not this year."
"Excellent! We'll have dinner. I'll cook."
Trouble, indeed.
"Ugh. Do you have to?"
Denton had been a victim of Joy's cooking before and didn't wish to repeat the experience. Her bouts of culinary fervor were unpredictable and always disastrous. After admitting defeat, she'd put away the recipes, and a period of peace would follow. Till the next time. The enthusiastic gleam in her eyes was a bad sign.
She beamed at Denton with the smile of eternal optimists. "Nah, don't worry. It'll be good. I got new cookbooks."
"You said the same thing last time."
Joy dismissed his protest with a flick of her wrists. "Martha Stewart was a mistake. Too fussy. I bought three of Jamie Oliver's books. His recipes are simple, healthy, and he's totally cute."
Denton had no idea who that was, but it didn't matter. He admitted defeat. Nothing short of a natural disaster would stop Joy once she had her mind set. He could only hope Bran wouldn't say anything too blunt. Assuming he agreed to the dinner in the first place.
Joy gathered up the sheets of paper and shoved them into her bag. "Listen, I'd love to gab, but if I don't skedaddle, I'll be late for this meeting. I'll call you later and we'll talk, 'kay?"
They hugged, kissed, and parted ways, but Denton had barely taken three steps down the street before he heard Joy yelling his name. He spun around.
"Remember, don't cross the beams!" she shouted loud enough for the whole block to hear. Random strangers snapped their heads toward her and Denton. She ignored her unintended audience and dashed away.
An older guy and his terrier gave Denton strange looks.
"And she calls me a weirdo," he told them. He turned and moved on before either the man or the dog could reply.
***
Later that day, Denton let himself into Bran's apartment with his own key and found Bran at the kitchen table, surrounded by piles of cut herbs and Ziploc bags, stuffing the former into the latter.
Bran looked up, nodded, and kept talking into the phone stuck between his shoulder and ear. "Payable in advance. You get a full refund if the haunting doesn't stop. … Yes, you'd have to take my word for it. If you find the terms unacceptable—" His free shoulder slumped in resignation. "I see. … You will? … I don't know. I'll call you when it's done. Good-bye." Bran hung up.
"Another smudging?" Denton asked, pulling a chair out for himself. He made a mental note to get Bran a Bluetooth headset for Christmas.
"Yup. Real estate agent, having trouble selling a property—supposedly it's haunted. She'll messenger a check and the keys over."
"Wow. She must be in a hurry."
Bran shook his head. "I don't understand. The more outrageous the fees I charge, the more people want to hire me. It makes no sense."
"It's psychology. If you're expensive, people will think of your services as a rare treat they can have because they have money. It makes them feel special. Like caviar."
"Caviar?"
"Yeah, it's just fish eggs. Kinda gross, if you ask me. So how did she hear of you?"
Bran grimaced. "Sparks."
"Damn the man for driving business your way!"
"It's not funny," Bran said, but a smile played hide-and-seek on his lips.
"What's up with the baggies? Are you dealing?"
"One of my mother's old friends runs a small deli, and she can sell my extra herbs. I have too much and hate to throw them away. I don't take money from her, but she always forces some goods on me. Maybe we'll get caviar."
Bran made a face. "Great. Can I help?"
"You can put the labels on." Bran demonstrated how to place the printed label at the lip of the baggie and fold it over so the herb's name showed on one side.
Denton copied him but immediately messed it up.
"No, that's the wrong label," Bran chided him. "Can't you tell the difference between basil and oregano?"
"No," Denton admitted.
Bran let out a heavy sigh and arranged some baggies into one pile, others into another. "This is oregano, and that's basil."
They all still looked the same to Denton, so he just took Bran at his word.
They bagged, labeled, had lunch; then the courier arrived with a padded envelope, which contained a check, a key, and a sticky note with an address.
***
Irina's Deli turned out to be a hole-in-the-wall shop with shelves crammed full of boxes, jars, cans, and bottles of imported goods. Irina Bosko herself turned out to be a white-haired old lady presiding behind the cash register. A younger woman, who could've been her granddaughter, busied herself behind the counter.
After patting them on the cheeks and asking Bran about his mother, Irina let them go on the condition that they'd take several pairs of smoked sausages and a candy bar with them.
"Oh, this is so good," Denton said, chewing on a piece of chocolate, once they were back in the car and on their way again. "Sure you don't want some?"
Bran shook his head and kept his eye on the traffic.
"She seemed like a nice old lady."
"I've been coming to the store since I was two. I suspect she's spying on me for Mother." Bran smiled as he said it, but Denton got the impression he wasn't entirely joking. He also wondered if Bran brought him along to send a message to Mrs. Maurell. Weird family.
They drove on in silence till the car came to a halt on a quiet, residential street in Old Town. Their destination was one of the twelve condos in a red brick building, which, by its appearance, had been there long enough to accumulate history and a ghost or two. The trees on the street were bare now, but from spring to fall they must have provided a pleasant view.
Bran and Denton let themselves in and wandered around. The living room showed signs of recent remodeling. As the agent had informed Bran, the unit was unoccupied and unfurnished.
"Do you see anything?" Bran asked.
Denton shook his head.
The kitchen sparkled with granite countertops and brushed aluminum appliances.
Bran took the top sheet from the stack of real estate flyers on the counter. "Two bedrooms, one bath, a thousand square feet," he read out loud. "They are asking two-hundred grand, down from two seventy-five. That's a big drop, even in this market."
"The agent said they had lots of viewers but not a single offer."
"Because of the ghost?"
"She thinks so. She also said the place has an eerie vibe."
"Very scientific."
They found nothing of interest in either of the bedrooms but hit pay dirt in the bathroom. Denton sensed the "eerie vibe" from down the hallway—it felt like pure misery. No wonder no one wanted to live here. Bran, who must've felt it too, brushed his hand against his in a reassuring gesture.
At first Denton saw nothing inside the bathroom, aside from more gleaming white tiles and granite, but he distinctly heard water splashing and a clink of glass against a hard surface. And sobbing.
"Definitely haunted." He kneeled down, reached out, and touched the edge of the empty tub. That was when things got wonky. A curtain of steam rose out of nothing in front of his eyes. Denton rocked back on his heels and bumped into Bran's legs.
Wisps of haze arranged themselves into a shape of a man. Denton could make out the figure sitting in the spot he'd touched a minute ago.
Bran lowered himself to his knees and whispered into Denton's ear, "You see it too?" His words came out as barely more than puff of air brushing Denton's skin.
Denton nodded, not taking his eyes off the apparition. He took a deep breath and let the light fill him. Recalling how he'd banished spirits before, he raised his right hand with palm open and turned outward. To his surprise, the spirit mirrored his movements and their fingers touched. Sort of. There was no tactile sensation, but an overwhelming sense of anguish flowed into Denton. His common sense told him to break contact, but the desire to learn more wouldn't let him. He concentrated on the emotion, immersed himself in it, and realized the ghost was waiting. Who knew how long he'd been doing that very thing, and most certainly for someone who'd never come.
Denton felt genuinely sorry for this stranded spirit and wished he could help. But of course, the best he could do was to send it packing. He focused on the light again, pulling it into him and directing it outward. However, because of pity he felt for the spirit, he let it out in a gentle stream rather than the usual quick blast. Unexpectedly, the ghost didn't disappear but instead became more distinct.
Bran's breath caught. "Stop!" He yanked Denton's hand back. "What are you doing?"
"I don't know. I thought I was banishing it."
A semitransparent blond man in his twenties stared at them. His lips parted, and a perfectly normal human voice emerged from them. "Who are you?"