Olympus Drive Book 3: According to Plan

Chapter 27

Delia

The doorbell rings. I jump. Everything makes me jump these days. I know it's all my fault. But Neil was right. We can't go on like this. I go to the door. I don't think this is going to work. But it's all I have.

"Exorcisms R-Us, is this the Leane residence?" at the door stand two individuals, neither of whom look like they are exorcists or safe to be out in general. The speaker is a very androgynous looking individual, with long brown hair pulled back in a black band, wearing a black oversized sweatshirt, sweat pants, and black Vans. They look a bit more male than female with a strong jaw, but their hands and gestures are light and feminine. But most striking is their eyes. Nobody's eyes have any business being that blue. A deep, crystal clear, Henry Fonda blue. I didn't know people's eyes actually came that way.

The other person at the door is a little girl. A Wednesday Addams looking child in a black dress, with braided pig tails, dark haired and dark eyed with a seeming permanent scow. She's wearing white tights and black combat boots, for no apparent reason, and is holding a dagger tightly like her companion has been trying to take it away.

The third person there is not a person, it is a big, very happy, tri colored dog. The adult (he? She? The voice is deep, but I'm not sure), is holding it on a long rope lead.

"This the right place?" the adult reiterates, in a surprisingly crisp British accent.

"Yeah sorry—I'm Delia, Leane," I say.

"Elektra Stamos," the apparently woman, shakes my hand.

"Why don't I get to pick code names?" the little girl asks, annoyed.

"Because people who get suspended from school for the eightieth time this semester don't get to pick code names, Jessica," the adult says, very sassily, hands on hips. Now is a good time to point out that their accents do not match and they look absolutely nothing alike. As in there is no way they could possibly be related. They have entirely different skin tones, eye shapes, and colors, as well accents.

"Are you admitting you're giving me fake names?" I ask, not letting them.

"Did you advertise on Craigslist because you were desperate or not?" sassily to me now, hands still on hips. Fingernails are painted magenta. I guess this is a female? Trans woman maybe?

"Yeah all right," I say, letting them in with a sigh, "What experience do you have?"

"I've been to hell," the woman says, completely seriously, while the girl tromps in.

"Do you mind the  dog?---sit, there's good dog---okay don't sit stand---just stand there, nice dog," the woman says to the dog, who stands by the door wagging its tail.

"Grandpa, I want to help."

"Fine, go spread this places also I'm not your grandfather," says the person, handing the kid a ziplock bag of what is probably cocaine. Also I should note the adult isn't far past the good side of thirty, the child is at least ten. I do the math twice but there's no way one could be the grandparent of the other.

"I keep seeing a ghost—I guess. Of my husband. He disappeared a few months ago—presumed dead," I say, folding my arms while they walk around like they've never been in a house before.

"Who died here?" the woman asks, staring at the ground curiously.

"No one."

"Was it a murder?" the little girl who apparently isn't named Jessica, unusually excited.

"No, no one was murdered."

"Cool so you murdered your husband here good to know—why's the veil shot to hell?" the woman asks, spinning around a little and nearly tripping.