Seven Deadly Ghosts Read online

  “Sit down,” Deegie said, pointing to the reading nook at the front of the shop. “Get yourself under control, first of all.” She took a box of tissues from under the counter and thrust it at her. “And here. Wipe your nose.” She waited until Tamara had seated herself before joining her.

  Deegie waited patiently as the blonde girl’s sobs finally dwindled down to sniffles and the occasional whimper. She did not offer Tamara a cup of herbal tea, something she normally did for her customers. After all, the girl had stolen a valuable antique from her. Why should she offer her a refreshment? Deegie sat in stony silence, elbows on the table, impassive expression still in place. “What happened?” she finally asked.

  Tamara told her, punctuating her tale with an occasional wail and a few fresh tears. As Deegie listened intently, a flower of dread began to bloom in her chest. She’d heard tales of teenage slumber parties where some ditsy girl managed to call up evil spirits on a Ouija board, but she never expected to be sitting across from one.

  “So you thought it was just fun and games, huh?” Deegie sighed and drummed her fingers on the table between them.

  “Y–yes. I didn’t think anything would happen, I really didn’t. I tried to call you so many times, but … and I came over here … knocked on the door …” Tamara covered her face with her hands and whimpered.

  “Stop it,” Deegie said, a bit more harshly that she had intended. “You’re safe. Nothing’s going to happen to you here. I’ll help you, but it’s not usually in my nature to assist a thief.” She slid the box of tissues closer to the sniveling teen. “Tell me more about the thing you saw. I need to know what I’m dealing with. What did it look like?”

  “Like smoke, I guess. Like a … a tornado, something like that.”

  “Did it have a smell? Like something burning?” Deegie tensed, hoping this wasn’t the case. She was all too familiar with the loathsome, smoky stench of the Underworld. If this was another case of demonic mischief, she wanted nothing to do with it.

  “No, I didn’t smell anything, but …” Tamara dabbed at her eyes with the soggy ball of tissues. “It … separated. It split apart. There are seven of them.”

  “What?” Deegie was beyond skeptical now. “What do you mean, it separated? Level with me, girl. Are you sure you haven’t just been smoking the wacky tobaccy or something?”

  “No! I swear I’m not! I know what I saw, and—oh my God! There’s one in here! It followed me! It followed me!”

  CHAPTER 2

  Deegie followed the direction of Tamara’s trembling finger. Something dirty-white and diaphanous had just floated in through the open window and was now slipping under the black velvet curtain that separated the back room from the rest of the shop. Bast arched his back and gave a sinister hiss.

  “Stay right there!” Deegie sprang from the table, nearly upsetting it in her haste to see what was invading her shop. She sped toward the back room and flung the curtain aside.

  At first glance it appeared as if a large, tattered trash bag had somehow been blown into the cluttered storage area, perhaps by the cool spring breeze that whispered through The Silent Cat. But when the trash bag sprouted an arm with a long-fingered hand attached, Deegie knew this was more than just an errant, wind-blown piece of litter. Another arm appeared, then two ragged legs. The head manifested next, melon-sized and puffy. Two nearly colorless eyes peered out at her from under a shelf of bushy eyebrows.

  Deegie raised her hands, ready to blast the ghostly thing into oblivion. “You’re not welcome here. What are you and what do you want?” Her voice was low and edged with danger. Her unique condition only allowed her a small amount of energy expenditure at a time, but she knew how to make it count. The apparition lacked the signature odor of the Underworld, much to her relief; she didn’t think she could handle another demon.

  The ghost—for that was what it appeared to be—cocked its transparent head and leered at Deegie. Its lower jaw dropped to its chest and a rush of frigid breath rushed out. “Avarice!” It whispered without moving its thick lips, stretching the sibilant into a prolonged, snake-like hiss. “All is mine! All! All! ALL is mine!” It stretched its tattered arms, encompassing the entirety of the shop. Stubby, dust-colored fingers snatched at the neat rows of merchandise on the shelves. It attempted to cram whatever it could into the pockets of its clothing, but the items passed right thorough its body. Candles and bottles of colorful spell powders tumbled to the floor and shattered at Deegie’s feet.

  The apparition’s shrill proclamations of greed turned into a long howl of dismay as a pungent cloud of asafetida and cumin arose from a broken bottle of protection powder. Just as Deegie was about to blast it into shreds of ectoplasm, it dematerialized with a shriek of indignation.

  Standing in the wreck of her storage room, Deegie took a moment to calm and center herself before returning to Tamara. It was just a ghost, she reassured herself. Just a weird, wandering ghost that Tamara called up on that stupid talking board. It wasn’t a demon. Thank all the gods it wasn’t a demon.

  She could hear the renewed sobs of the distraught teen; obviously, she’d heard what had just transpired. It was a fair bet that the patrons of the doughnut shop down the street heard it too. The shrill voice of the—whatever it was—had been deafening. Bast poked his head around the curtain and took a cautious look around.

  “It’s gone,” Deegie told her feline companion, as if he could understand. “At least we know the protection powder works.” She picked up the black cat and went back into the shop.

  “Is it gone? Are you okay?” Tamara had backed herself into a corner by the window, her bathrobe wrapped tightly around her trembling body. “Did you … did you kill it?”

  Deegie regarded her calmly and seated herself at the table with Bast on her lap. “It’s gone,” she said. “It knocked over a bottle of protection powder and disappeared.”

  “But … but what about the rest of them? There were seven of them! I saw seven of those things, I know I did!” Tamara didn’t seem to be convinced. She stared back at Deegie with a worried frown.

  “It’s called ectoplasmic mitosis. Sometimes ghosts will split themselves into pieces in order to make them look even more threatening. It’s rare, but it happens.” Deegie picked up the black patchouli candle and handed it to Tamara. “Here, take this. Burn it in your room if you’re still worried. It’s for protection against baleful entities.”

  Tamara took the candle between her thumb and forefinger, as if she were picking up a dog turd rather than one of Deegie’s best-selling wax creations. “What’s a baleful entity?” she sniffed doubtfully at the candle and wrinkled her nose at the scent.

  “Mean ghosts,” Deegie replied. “Although I really shouldn’t be giving you anything since you stole from me.”

  Tamara tucked the candle into the pocket of her robe and sniffled. “Okay,” she said meekly.

  A couple of cars pulled into the parking lot; business at The Silent Cat was about to commence. The back room was a wreck—thankfully, the customers couldn’t see it—and a pajama-clad teenage girl was curled into a whimpering ball in the corner. Definitely not good for business. “You can go now,” Deegie said. “It’s over. Hopefully you’ve learned your lesson.” She gave Tamara the tiniest hint of a smile as she watched her get up from the floor and head for the door. “And I want that talking board back,” she added, “sooner rather than later.”

  Tamara nodded and offered Deegie a whispered thanks before shuffling back out to her crookedly-parked car. Deegie watched, frowning, as the blonde teen drove away, then had just enough time to affect a friendly “may-I-help-you” smile before tending to her first real customers of the day.

  It was a slow work day at The Silent Cat, which provided Deegie ample time to reflect on what had taken place that morning. What a weird ghost that was, she thought as she flicked a feather duster over her rows of jarred herbs. It was a greedy thing, too. Avarice. Was that its name, or was it just telling me how greedy it was? D
eegie shook her head and chuckled to herself. I can only imagine what kind of half-assed séance that girl must have done.

  She swept up the mess in the back room before closing the shop for the day. A good deal of merchandise had been lost to the greedy entity’s plundering, but Deegie knew it could have been much worse. She tidied up the register area while she waited for a last-minute customer to make his purchases. As he moved from shelf to shelf, perusing the colorful array of magical items, Deegie noticed something trailing after him, something that looked very much like a clear plastic trash bag. The ghost was back.

  Bast jumped up from his spot on the counter and arched his back, his tail puffed out to twice its normal size. He retreated into his carrier with an emphatic hiss.

  “Oh, shit!” The expletive came out louder than she had intended, and the lone customer glanced up at her sharply.

  “Pardon?”

  “Oh, sorry. I, uh … smashed my finger …” Deegie’s apology sounded contrived and she chuckled a little to cover it up.

  The customer went back to studying the shelf of goddess figurines, apparently satisfied with her explanation. The ghost’s transparent fingers hovered over the wallet in the man’s back pocket. Its jaw dropped to its chest again, and its voice, barely audible, whispered, “Miiiiiine! I waaaant it!”

  “What?” The customer looked up again, frowning now. “Did you say something?”

  “No, no …” Deegie replied. She smiled as sweetly as she could. “I’m just, you know, singing …?” A jar of dried sweet grass, known to attract spirits, sat next to the register, and she spun the lid off and shook it to release the strong scent.

  Much to Deegie’s relief, the ghost noticed it immediately. It formed itself into an undulating, dust-colored ribbon that swept across the floor, twirled itself once around the open jar, and then dove in. Deegie slammed the lid into place and screwed it down tightly.

  Her customer, now looking thoroughly confused, stepped briskly toward the door. “I think I’ll be going now,” he said. “Have a pleasant evening, Ms. Tibbs.”

  “You too!” she called out, still wearing her affected smile. “Come back soon!”

  As soon as the man left the shop, Deegie ran to the door and locked it. She still held the jar with the imprisoned ghost inside; it vibrated and hummed in her hand, as if she were holding a jar of angry bees. She held it up and peered through the glass and bits of agitated sweet grass. She couldn’t see her captive, but she heard its insistent whisper: “Give it to me! All! All! All of it!”

  Bast poked his head out of his carrier and gave a tentative mew.

  “Don’t worry, kitty. It won’t get out. Gilbert and Nix are coming over for pizza and beer tonight. Zach, too. Maybe they can help us figure out what this thing is.”

  ***

  Later that evening, Deegie, Zach, Gilbert, and Gilbert’s girlfriend Nix sat at the table in Deegie’s kitchen, digesting an extra-large combination pizza and pondering the jar and its restless contents. The voice of the captured ghost had been reduced to an occasional mutter and hiss, but it continued to spin and flail in its glass prison full of dried sweet grass.

  “Not bad for an impromptu ghost trap,” Gilbert said in his usual condescending manner. “I would have added some broken glass or pieces of a mirror for added security.”

  Deegie was used to Gilbert’s know-it-all attitude; his subtle insults to her capability hardly fazed her anymore. Still, though, she had to chuckle when Nix kicked him under the table.

  “I’m sure Deegie would have done something more elaborate and ceremonial if she’d had the time,” Nix said. “Besides, it can’t get out.” She ran a hand over her close-cropped blonde hair and winked at Deegie.

  “Of course,” Gilbert muttered, his cheeks turning pink.

  Zach tapped on the jar, eliciting a high-pitched growl from the entity inside. “Damn!” he said. “That thing’s pissed, isn’t it?”

  “It’s a pain in the ass,” Deegie said as she picked at the remains of the pizza. “I don’t know what to do with it now. I don’t like the idea of keeping it around, but I’m certainly not going to set it free.”

  “You could put it in your basement,” Zach suggested with an impish grin. “I seem to recall something else that was trapped in a jar down there.”

  “Not funny, Altman.” Deegie shivered despite the warmth of the kitchen. Even the mere mention of the demon she’d discovered when she’d first moved in was enough to make her cringe. However, it was a good idea: the demon was gone, the basement had been cleared, and the annoying little thing in the jar of sweet grass was nowhere near as dangerous as Chul had been.

  “I have to admit it’s probably the best place to put it until we can think of something else,” she said, squeezing Zach’s hand affectionately. “Tell you what—I’ll even let you put it down there for me.”

  After Zach had stashed the jarred ghost in the well-scrubbed and completely empty basement, the gathering broke up for the evening. Gilbert left to take Nix home, and Zach and Deegie stood at the front door, looking out at the black satin night. Deegie readied herself for what seemed to be Zach’s new favorite subject to talk about whenever they were alone: their possible cohabitation.

  “So what’s it gonna take to convince you to let me move in with you?” Zach said against the side of her neck. “I know I asked you that yesterday, but I just thought I’d run it past you again.”

  Yep, just like clockwork, she thought. Aloud, she said, “Zach, please. I told you already. I’m just not ready for that, okay? I’m not saying no, I’m just saying not now. Okay?” She softened her negative response with a smile. “Besides, you’ve been living with your brother for years. What’s a few more months?”

  “His feet stink,” said Zach. “He’s obsessed with Masterpiece Theater, and he has more hair care products than three women put together. He keeps krill oil in the fridge, Deeg. Krill oil, for cryin’ out loud! I don’t even know what that is!”

  Deegie snickered at this. “Oh no!” she gasped with feigned dismay. “Not krill oil!” She kissed his cheek and gave his beard a playful tug. “Don’t worry; I think you’ll live.”

  “Not without you, I won’t. You’re all alone in this weird old house. You need someone here to protect you.”

  This time Deegie laughed out loud. “Zach, do you realize what you just said? Protect me? I’m a witch, babe! I cast spells and throw fire balls! And I’m not alone! I have Bast, and Tiger, and Lisbet and her cats!”

  He pulled his lower lip into an exaggerated pout, but his eyes still twinkled mischievously. “I know, I know, you’re a bad-ass, and I’m just the moron who fell in love with you. But think about it some more, okay? I promise I’ll put the toilet seat back down after I pee, and I’ll always put the cap back on the toothpaste.”

  “Yes,” Deegie said. “I will think about it some more.” Her mirthful expression softened. An early-summer moth, enchanted by the porch light, cast its restless shadow across Zach’s earnest face, and she traced its path with a fingertip. “I promise.”

  CHAPTER 3

  A wrinkled paper bag was propped against the door of The Silent Cat when Deegie arrived for work the next morning. She gave it an experimental nudge with her foot as she selected the shop key from her key ring, and something rattled woodenly. She picked up the bag and looked inside: the talking board. Tamara had returned it after all. Deegie tucked the bag under her arm, unlocked the door, and then picked up Bast in his carrier and went inside.

  As Bast prepared himself for duty as the shop’s mascot (by giving his backside a careful grooming and settling down for a nap on a stack of altar cloths), Deegie examined the talking board. Despite a smudge of what looked like purple glitter nail polish, it was none the worse for wear. It was little more than a tool; it was the user’s intent that opened a supernatural can of worms. Still, though, she shoved it back into its bag and stowed it all the way to the back of the shelf under the register. It just didn’t hold the same att
raction as it had when she’d first bought it.

  Around noon, Deegie made herself a cup of herbal tea and seated herself at the table by the window where she normally took her breaks. As she sipped, she observed the progress of Mountain Village, the new shopping center that was opening, shop by shop, across the street. A used book store called The Squirrel’s Nest was already open for business, along with a doughnut shop and the ubiquitous nail salon. Workmen had just finished hanging a sign that read Mattress World, and they were currently unloading a smaller one, wooden, with fancy script letters that spelled out Belinda’s Wonders, which Deegie decided sounded vaguely pornographic.

  The phone rang then and, after answering it with her standard shop greeting, Deegie heard only a muffled whimper. She tightened her grip on the phone. Apprehension tightened her throat. “Hello? Is someone there?”

  “Deegie? Ms. Tibbs? Is … is that you?”

  “Yes. Who is this?”

  “It’s T—it’s Tamara. It happened again. You were wrong. There’s another one ….”

  ***

  It was almost closing time when Tamara returned to The Silent Cat. Deegie had begrudgingly agreed to help once again, but she wasn’t about to talk to the blonde teen during business hours no matter how much she whined and begged. Tamara took the seat she had occupied the previous day, not quite as distraught as she’d been then, but still far from calm.

  Deegie felt Tamara’s eyes tracking her every move as she put the money bag in the safe, drew the window shades, and locked the door. As she seated herself at last, she noticed the teen gazing longingly at the selection of herbal teas on the counter.