Thorn Queen Page 0,1

away and made moves toward the living room door.

"Sorry I couldn't be of more help."

"No, I mean, I guess this helps. It's just so strange." She eyed her daughter with perplexity. "Are you sure it's not a ghost?"

"Positive. These are classic symp--"

An invisible force slammed into me, pushing me into the wall. I yelped, threw out a hand to keep my balance, and shot daggers at that little bitch Polly. Eyes wide, she looked just as astonished as I felt.

"Polly!" exclaimed Mrs. Hall. "You are grounded, young lady. No phone, no IM, no..." Her mouth dropped open as she stared at something across the room. "What's that?"

I followed her gaze to the large, pale blue shape materializing before us.

"Um, well," I said, "that's a ghost."

It swooped toward me, mouth open in a terrible screech. I yelled for the others to get down and jerked a silver-bladed athame out of my belt. A knife might seem useless against spirits, but they needed to take on a substantial form to inflict any real damage. Once solid, they were susceptible to silver.

This spirit bore a female shape - a very young female shape, actually. Long pale hair trailed in her wake like a cloak, and her eyes were large and empty. Whether it was a lack of experience or simply some inherent trait of hers, her attack proved floundering and uncoordinated. Even as she screamed at the first bites of the athame, I had my crystal studded wand out in my other hand.

Now that I'd regained my bearings, I could do a banishing like this in my sleep. Speaking the usual words, I drew from my internal strength and sent my own spirit beyond the boundaries of this world. Touching the gates of the Underworld, I ensnared the female spirit and sent her over. Monsters and gentry I tended to send back to the Otherworld, the limbo they lived in. A ghost like this needed to move on to the land of death. She disappeared.

Mrs. Hall and Polly stared at me. Suddenly, in her first show of emotion, the girl leapt up and glared at me.

"You just killed my best friend!"

I opened my mouth to respond and decided nothing I had to say would be adequate.

"Good heavens, what are you talking about?" exclaimed her mother.

Polly's face twisted with anger, her eyes bright with tears. "Trixie. She was my best friend. We told each other everything."

"Trixie?" Mrs. Hall and I asked in unison.

"I can't believe you did that. She was so cool." Polly's voice turned a little wistful. "I just wish we could have gone shopping together, but she couldn't leave the house. So I just had to bring her Vogue and Glamour."

I turned to Mrs. Hall. "My original advice still stands. Therapy. Lots of it."

I headed home after that, wondering for the hundredth time why I'd chosen this mercenary shaman profession. Surely there were other jobs that were a lot less trouble than interacting with evil supernatural beings. Accounting. Advertising. Law. Well, maybe not that last one.

About an hour later, I arrived back home and was immediately assaulted by two medium-sized dogs when I cleared the door. They were mutts, one solid black and one solid white. Their names were Yin and Yang, but I could never remember who was who.

"Back off," I warned as they sniffed me, tails wagging frantically. The white one tried to lick my hand. Pushing past them, I entered my kitchen and nearly tripped over a tabby cat sprawled on the floor in a patch of sun. Grumbling, I tossed my bag onto the kitchen table. "Tim? Are you here?"

My housemate, Tim Warkoski, stuck his head in. He wore a tee shirt with silhouettes of Native Americans that said Homeland Security: Fighting Terrorism since 1492. I appreciated the cleverness, but it lost something since Tim wasn't actually an American Indian. He merely played one on TV, or rather, he played one in local bars and tourist circles, using his tanned skin and black hair to elude his Polish heritage. It had gotten him into trouble with a lot of the local tribes.

With a garbage bag in one hand and a cat scoop in the other, he gave me a dark