Page 173 of Mayhem and Minnie

“T-that was before,” she mumbles. “I cannot have you in my home. I’m sorry.”

“What are you talking about? If this is about money, I’m willing to pay for the consultation. In fact, I’ll pay double.”

She shakes her head.

“I cannot welcome your kind in my home,” she repeats.

“My kind?” I frown.

“You’re too…tainted,” she whispers.

My eyes widen. Can she sense that I have blood on my hands? If that’s so, then she’s remarkably intuitive. That only strengthens my resolve to get her opinion on my dilemma.

“I will not hurt you,” I tell her in the most non-threatening voice I can muster. “I mean no harm. I’m just seeking information. I brought the strand of hair,” I say and remove the vial from my pocket.

She purses her lips.

“I’ll pay triple,” I continue.

She doesn’t budge.

“Four times. This is really important, Mrs. Jade. I wish to know if I’m under any spell.”

“Four times?” She bites her lip.

I nod.

“Wait here,” she mentions.

The wooden floors in her house creak under her heavy steps. I stay where she instructed me, not wanting to cause her any distress that might make her unwilling to help—more than she already is.

A few minutes pass, and she comes back.

She pulls the door wide open, and I note she’s carrying a small bowl in her hands.

Dipping her fingers inside, she wets them in a clear solution. She splashes me with the liquid from head to toe, going around me three times and chanting something in what appears to be Latin.

“You may come in. But you may not stay longer than ten minutes,” she eventually says.

I suppose ten minutes will do.

I follow her inside and she leads me to the back of the house. The entire atmosphere is eerie, if I do say so myself. The scent of incense is strong, almost clogging my nostrils. The hallway is full of antiques, a tall rusty clock, a table that has seen better days, and a bunch of Victorian photographs.

Eerie, as I said.

The deeper I head into the house, though, the more I feel a tightness in my chest—as if something seeks to drive me out.

I take a deep gulp of air and try to focus on my surroundings.

There are shelves of books everywhere. Cracked, leather spines with foreign titles. In the middle of the room there’s a case with a large vellum book inside. It’s half open, and curiosity gets the best of me as I step forward to take a look.

There are colorful illustrations around the edges depicting thorny roses and some odd symbols. The letters have the distinct flourish of the early medieval days. There are two drawings, one on each page, and they both depict an apocalyptic scene. The first one shows seven shadowy figures watching the world burn while skeleton-like beings dance on top of people’s graves. The second one depicts one man. His face is shadowy, but his eyes are a deep purple. He’s standing tall over everyone, his sword ready to cut them down.

“Over here, Mr. Spencer-Astor.” Mrs. Jade clears her throat.

I look over my shoulder to see her watching me intently.

“What’s this?”

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