Page 9 of Heart, Haunt, Havoc
They set the cactus down and rounded the table, standing across from Colin. A green vine rested in the crook of their thumb.
The side of Bishop’s mouth lifted. “So, what makes a house lonely?”
Colin peeled his eyes away from Bishop’s slender hand and focused on their face, flushed from the warm climate brewing in the greenhouse. He considered his answer. Abandonment. Unfinished business. There was always something or someonethat caused a house to want, to ache, to make itself known. There was always a reason for anger and lust and becoming lonesome.
“It depends on the circumstances. If the entity imprints on its death marker or on a memory from inside the house, then usually the home is fairly easy to clean. If the entity is attached to a person, it becomes more difficult. Almost like an exorcism of the heart, so to speak.”
“The heart but not the body?” Bishop braved, striding slowly along the table. Flowers bent beneath their palm. Greenery shifted under their wrists and forearms as they reached for baby monsteras and unfurled roses.
“Depends. If the entity imprinted on the heart, then I focus on the heart. If something imprinted on the body…” He tipped his head, considering. “Then I exorcise the body.”
“And if it’s both?”
“It usually isn’t.”
“But if it is?” Bishop lifted their eyes.
Heat coiled beneath Colin’s navel, striking in his groin. His throat flexed around a swallow. “Then I exorcise the bodyandthe heart. Separately, sometimes. At once, if necessary.”
“And what’s that like?”
“Why?” Colin asked, turning his attention to a lanky philodendron. “Are you afraid I’ll have to exorcise you, Bishop? Is that what we’re getting at?”
“I’m not afraid of anything,” Bishop said. They grabbed the plant Colin had been studying. Vines tapped their waist as they hauled an armful of ferns and foliage toward the register, pausing to jut their chin at a row of clay pots. “Can you grab three of those? Two medium, one large.”
Colin collected the pots and set them on the cash-wrap inside Moon Strike’s metaphysical shop. Hand-carved spirit boards were propped on velvet stands behind the counter, and crystal windchimes caught the muted sunlight, spinning slowly from the ceiling. The woman behind the register regarded Bishop with practiced familiarity, darting her eyes at Colin while she wrapped their terracotta and placed their plants in a cardboard carrier.
The woman adjusted her nametag—Tehlor—and cleared her throat. “How’re those prayer beads treatin’ you, Bishop? Still keepin’ bad spirits at bay?”
“The prayer beads are for meditation, but the cleansing bundle did wonders. Thank you,” Bishop said, handing over their debit card.
“Is that why you hired a cleaner?”
Colin stilled. Every muscle went rigid beneath his skin. He glanced at the rosy ink clustered on her throat, tracked the chlorine-blonde braid flopped over her shoulder, and met her clever, upturned eyes. “And what would a witch know about a cleaner?”
“Enough,” Tehlor said, and slid Bishop’s card across the cash-wrap.
“Colin comes highly recommended. And… I don’t know. Sometimes a mess is too dirty to handle yourself,” Bishop said.
Colin hummed. “Or too personal.”
Tehlor’s lips hinted at a smile. “Or too personal,” she echoed, and tucked a folded receipt into the box with Bishop’s plants. “If you need another cleansing bundle, you know where I am.”
Bishop glanced between Colin and Tehlor. They furrowed their brow playfully. “Okay, misswitch. I’ll be sure to find you.”
The shopkeeper propped her elbow on the counter, cradling her chin. “Don’t know if you have the Keys in your collection, but I’ve got copies on standby. Might help.”
“Keys?” Colin asked.
“Of Solomon,” Bishop interjected. They tipped their head politely. “I’ll leave the cleaning to Colin. See you around.”
She offered a two-finger wave. “See you.”
Colin noticed the sharply carved crystal strung around her neck on a glinting silver chain. Black tourmaline, maybe. Shaped like a hammer. He watched her index finger guide the stone back and forth then turned and followed Bishop into the gravel parking lot.
Puffy dark clouds splotched the sky, shadowing Gideon, masking the white peaks on the horizon.Keys. He wasn’t necessarily surprised, but the comfortability in Bishop’s mouth when they utteredof Solomonand the familiarity between them and the local witch’s den gave him pause. He hoisted into the passenger’s seat of Bishop’s truck, scanning their stoic face.
“So, do you know the Greater Key of Solomon or the Lesser—”
