doesn’t change the fact that I believe you. Hell, I didn’t at first. I’ll cop to that. And I’d love to study the Grange more—if I could make sure that none of my equipment was disrupting the energy of the place.”
“Do you think that’s what happened? To my ghosts?” Tristan chewed on his upper lip. “Your equipment? Your mom’s botched séance?”
“Truthfully? Everything spectral operates on frequencies. So does my stuff. That séance slash exorcism my mom hacked her way through? That could be only the tip of the iceberg. I’ve had some time to think about a few things, and I am wondering if something I did disrupted things somehow as well. I don’t know.”
“Do you think it’ll come back? Hoxne Grange had a purpose, and I liked how it was.”
“It still does have a purpose. Yeah, it got kicked in the teeth—hard, but I think it’ll be okay.” Wolf turned the SUV down a treelined drive, and the street began to wind around back toward the highway. “It’s a bit of a drive still. I wanted to show you the town since Sey lives out in boonfuck Egypt. It’s kind of isolated.”
“Worse than the Grange?”
“Oh, hell yes,” Wolf snorted. “I think that’s part of the problem. Sey’s out there without any day-to-day contact with anyone but a couple of farm guys who come by for a few hours. Sometimes a couple of my aunts drop by. They all move around too much to keep track of. Oh, and if my Aunt Bertha is there, whatever you do, don’t drink anything she gives you. She’s where my mom got the honey from.”
“Great,” Tristan sighed. “I’m going to Underhill. Next you’ll be telling me she’s married to Oberon.”
Wolf laughed once, then sobered up. “Well, actually—”
I T TOOK them another forty minutes to get to the canyon road Sey lived on. A sign announced they were heading onto a private road, something clearly evident by the cracks in the blacktop and a thick overhang of tree branches above the SUV, but Wolf drove on. Tristan was tiring, coming down from a sugar high, and overwrought with worry about his home. Ophelia Sunday assured him she could keep the Grange in its odd business while they were gone, but Wolf had his doubts. Sure his sister was sensitive. She’d always been a dowsing rod for spirits back when he’d considered a career as a Hellsinger, but dragging his kid sister around on hunts wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind for a life.
Instead, he’d taken advantage of his paternal grandparents’ generosity and gone to school—to become someone his mother’s side of the family viewed as a traitor to his own kin—a paranormal investigator. Explaining he wanted to prove there were ghosts fell on deaf ears, and he’d been met with more skepticism by his blood relatives than he brought with him on a job.
Tristan’s home, Hoxne Grange, was the most intensely active site he’d ever worked, and now it seemed to be faltering—its spectral activity fading quickly into the mundane before he could capture actual documentation of its paranormal essence.
And there wasn’t a damned thing Wolf could do about it.
He could, however, take care of the man who owned the place, especially since Tristan seemed to have not slept the entire time Wolf’d been gone.
The tree line hugged the road, and white stiles separated the woods from the shoulder. In some spots, the brush thinned, and they could see older farm homes, complete with rust-painted barns and the occasional livestock. Most were cows, but when they turned a corner, a mottled alpaca peered out from behind a willow tree, keenly interested in the SUV’s passing.
Sey’s place emerged slowly, creeping out of a thick copse when he turned up into a gravel road. A large, sprawling old two-story house, it wore its past as an inn on its grounds. A large circular driveway led off to a cement pad marked with cracked, worn lines for parking spaces.
The house itself was a clapboard colonial with a few
“Do you think that’s what happened? To my ghosts?” Tristan chewed on his upper lip. “Your equipment? Your mom’s botched séance?”
“Truthfully? Everything spectral operates on frequencies. So does my stuff. That séance slash exorcism my mom hacked her way through? That could be only the tip of the iceberg. I’ve had some time to think about a few things, and I am wondering if something I did disrupted things somehow as well. I don’t know.”
“Do you think it’ll come back? Hoxne Grange had a purpose, and I liked how it was.”
“It still does have a purpose. Yeah, it got kicked in the teeth—hard, but I think it’ll be okay.” Wolf turned the SUV down a treelined drive, and the street began to wind around back toward the highway. “It’s a bit of a drive still. I wanted to show you the town since Sey lives out in boonfuck Egypt. It’s kind of isolated.”
“Worse than the Grange?”
“Oh, hell yes,” Wolf snorted. “I think that’s part of the problem. Sey’s out there without any day-to-day contact with anyone but a couple of farm guys who come by for a few hours. Sometimes a couple of my aunts drop by. They all move around too much to keep track of. Oh, and if my Aunt Bertha is there, whatever you do, don’t drink anything she gives you. She’s where my mom got the honey from.”
“Great,” Tristan sighed. “I’m going to Underhill. Next you’ll be telling me she’s married to Oberon.”
Wolf laughed once, then sobered up. “Well, actually—”
I T TOOK them another forty minutes to get to the canyon road Sey lived on. A sign announced they were heading onto a private road, something clearly evident by the cracks in the blacktop and a thick overhang of tree branches above the SUV, but Wolf drove on. Tristan was tiring, coming down from a sugar high, and overwrought with worry about his home. Ophelia Sunday assured him she could keep the Grange in its odd business while they were gone, but Wolf had his doubts. Sure his sister was sensitive. She’d always been a dowsing rod for spirits back when he’d considered a career as a Hellsinger, but dragging his kid sister around on hunts wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind for a life.
Instead, he’d taken advantage of his paternal grandparents’ generosity and gone to school—to become someone his mother’s side of the family viewed as a traitor to his own kin—a paranormal investigator. Explaining he wanted to prove there were ghosts fell on deaf ears, and he’d been met with more skepticism by his blood relatives than he brought with him on a job.
Tristan’s home, Hoxne Grange, was the most intensely active site he’d ever worked, and now it seemed to be faltering—its spectral activity fading quickly into the mundane before he could capture actual documentation of its paranormal essence.
And there wasn’t a damned thing Wolf could do about it.
He could, however, take care of the man who owned the place, especially since Tristan seemed to have not slept the entire time Wolf’d been gone.
The tree line hugged the road, and white stiles separated the woods from the shoulder. In some spots, the brush thinned, and they could see older farm homes, complete with rust-painted barns and the occasional livestock. Most were cows, but when they turned a corner, a mottled alpaca peered out from behind a willow tree, keenly interested in the SUV’s passing.
Sey’s place emerged slowly, creeping out of a thick copse when he turned up into a gravel road. A large, sprawling old two-story house, it wore its past as an inn on its grounds. A large circular driveway led off to a cement pad marked with cracked, worn lines for parking spaces.
The house itself was a clapboard colonial with a few
Similar Books
