Free Home by Stacia Kane Page B

dust.
    “When they had their parties, people parked all over the lawn. Our lawn, too. Sometimes they’d leave tire marks. And—”
    “Parties? They do that a lot?”
    “Almost every weekend until a month or so ago, I think. Sometimes they have their parties in the dark, too. If you know what I mean.” Mrs. Brent’s mouth twisted in disapproval.
    “They were having…adult parties?”
    “I suppose you can call them that. All sorts of people, about a dozen, and they’d play music for an hour and then the lights would go off, and all we could see was maybe a little bit of light. And then everyone would leave a few hours later. I’m not complaining, but you tell me what normal kind of party only lasts until ten or eleven at night.”
    How the fuck would Chess know? She’d never been invited to a party in her life, at least not as a guest. As a child—before the Church found her and made her a witch, made her one of them, gave her a real life—she’d been the entertainment at a few, sure, but she’d stopped looking at the clock early on, when she realized the hands only moved slower when she paid attention to them. And in Downside, where she lived, eleven at night was practically dawn. Things were just getting started.
    “Is there anything else you can tell me, Mrs. Brent? Have you noticed any strange sounds coming from the house? Have you experienced anything—chills, things moving without you having moved them, feelings of being watched, that sort of thing?”
    Mrs. Brent shook her head. “How can I keep that from happening? I have two children, Miss Pitman. I don’t want them in danger just because the Solomons live like hedonists.”
    “Putnam. And I’m afraid there really isn’t, no. They don’t tend to drift much, though, not when they’re on their own. If there’s a ghost—”
    “If? I’ve seen it. I know it’s there.”
    “If there’s a ghost, it’s probably there for a reason. Some sort of connection to that house or that piece of land. That’s what we usually find, anyway. So chances are it won’t drift over here.”
    Mrs. Brent followed Chess back down the stairs. “So when will you get rid of it? How long will that take?”
    “I have to prove its existence first.”
    “But I know it’s there. I saw it. You know, my husband went to school with Javier Ramos, the Elder, and I’m sure when he tells Javier about your refusal to—”
    That was it. Chess stopped short on the stairs and fixed the woman’s plastic face with a dead-eye glare. “Mrs. Brent. I am following Church procedure, and Church procedure in these situations is very clear. Elder Ramos will tell you that himself. I assure you I’m going to do everything I can to keep you and your family—and the Solomons, and everyone else—safe. But it can’t be done in a day. Okay?”
    Mrs. Brent sniffed. “Well, that’s fine, but I hope you have a resolution to this soon. I have a very important dinner party the week after next and I can’t risk something happening that night.”
    Right. Never mind the possible deaths or anything. Never mind that ghosts were basically just killing machines and if the Solomons had one it was only a matter of time before the thing built up the strength to attack them, Mrs. Brent’s social standing was on the line. Another typical thing about this typical woman, and Chess was starting to choke on the thick fog of snobbish conformity polluting the air.
    “I’ll keep that in mind.”

2.
    Her mood didn’t improve until she got three Cepts into her stomach and her body into a warm shower to wash off the smell of suburban self-righteousness. Ugh. What a pain in the ass.
    But, then, it was better than alternative pains in the ass. Certainly she was glad no one was trying to kill her and that she wasn’t having run-ins with powerful lunatics performing ritual sacrifices, like on her last case. That was something to be grateful for.
    The other thing to be grateful for was sitting on her couch