Reach | The House of Voices #1.5

TWO

TWO

It took a lot of arguing and one very sincere threat, but I eventually managed to convince Spade to spend the night in the shop.

When he'd finally finished explaining to me what Seabean was and why we needed a suitcase full of it in the shop (a toxic plant used to make an extremely strong dispelling potion for ghouls, it turned out) he was so tired, he could barely keep his eyes open on the sofa. He trudged upstairs to his room grumpily, while I shoved the keys to his motorbike into my back pocket. Just in case.

Not counting Gomez, there were six of us who worked here at The Black Tarot: Magic Emporium. And even though five out of us six had homes of their own, Gomez made sure each one of us had our own room in the mansion in case we needed to pull all-nighters or couldn't go home 'cause we were stone drunk and/or too tired to function. Each room was kept locked while their owners were away, and only the owners had a key to their rooms.

Except that, because I actually lived in the mansion - No independent home for this girl, no sir — I had copies to be used in case of emergency. Like, say, I had to clean or let out a raccoon that had mysterious snuck inside the house through one of the bedroom windows and was making a giant nest on one of my coworkers beds.

The mansion was like this incense-scented little inn that way. And I was its queen.

After Spade grumbled his way to bed, I finished all my paperwork and inventory, filed the damned things and then left them all on Gomez's desk. That done, I cleared away the mugs in the den and fixed myself a bowl of ramen noodles for dinner. Spade had been too tired to stay up for dinner, so I didn't see the sense in actually cooking something just for me.

Besides, it was a ramen noodles kind of night.

Tubman kept me company through dinner, sitting in a little ball by my side on the sofa. I om nom'd the noodles with a passion that would have had my friend Quinn staring in horror. She always said I was to food what a vacuum cleaner was to dust bunnies. Personally, I thought she was just being a little over dramatic.

When I finally decided to call it a night, after watching several episodes of Adventure Time, it was eleven. I usually woke up two hours before I had to open the shop to head down to the little gym I'd built in the basement and then fix myself a decent breakfast. Which meant that, once I'd showered, I had seven and a half hours of snooze time.

When Gomez was younger, the mansion had been his family home. Gomez's dad used to run The Black Tarot out of his garage back then, only doing business with a select few while he trained his apprentice (Gomez) to take over from him one day. After Gomez's dad passed away, Gomez decided to expand the shop and basically just renovated the entire mansion so that the entire ground floor, except the den, kitchen and dining room, could be used as the shop.

The bedrooms were on the second floor. The third floor was the attic. Aka the storeroom.

While the renovations were going on, Gomez built himself a new family mansion in a nicer part of town, and moved out. But for some reason, he insisted that one of us needed to live in the shop, you know, because of reasons. And because I was one of the youngest and therefore one of the last ones to actually be able to go out and live on their own, guess who stuck with being the eternal mansion-sitter? Yup.

At least he was decent enough to give me the master bedroom. That was pretty cool of him, all things considered.

I climbed up the stairs, Tubman at my heels, and into my room. Shutting the door with my butt, I promptly began undressing. Tubman sprinted towards the couch by my window just in time to miss being buried under my discarded jeans and Sylvester the cat t-shirt.

Tubman, Sylvester. I tawt I taw a putty tat.

I dragged my sleepy, underwear wearing self into the bathroom and locked the door behind me. When I came back out Tubman was fast asleep on the sofa. I slipped into a fresh pair of underwear and an oversized t-shirt with a tribal pattern elephant on it.

I was asleep the instant I snuggled under my comforter.

Four hours later, I woke up. Thunder rumbled in the distance, raindrop tap-tapped on my window, and Tubman purred in her sleep on the spot between my shoulder blades. She did that a lot. Climb onto my back while I slept. Sometimes I really worried about what would happen if I ever rolled over in my sleep.

I blinked, wondering why I'd woken up for no reason. I was a light sleeper, sure, but I usually slept through the night unless something actually stirred me awake. I shrugged — or I would have, if Tubman hadn't been on my back — and dropped my head back down on the pillow, gearing up to head back to dreamland.

And then I heard someone pound hard on the front door. Strange.

I reached behind me and picked Tubman off my shoulder blades. The knocking continued — hard and loud, as if the person assaulting the door was facing a life or death situation and our little shop of magical horrors was the only thing that could save them.

When you considered how things worked in the business, it wasn't too far-fetched a theory.

Tubman didn't even bat an eye when I put her down on the bed beside me and slipped out of it. I'd left a pair of shorts on the couch before I went to bed and pulled those on. When you're constantly dragged out of bed in the middle of the night, having pants on hand is a habit you kinda get into, you know.

By the time my feet hit the ground floor the knocking had grown louder and was in a loudness competition with the thunder and rain. Whoever was on the other side of the door was being loud enough to wake the entire household. That said, I wasn't too surprised that Spade wasn't sleepily bumbling down the stairs. He could sleep through anything. Anything.

It took me less than a minute to unlock the door and yank it open. There was a woman standing in front of me, drenched from head to toe from the top of her blonde hair to the bottoms of her work boots.  She looked a little crazed, like she was about a breath away from ripping out her hair and wailing in my arms. Two things I did not want.

"I need help," she panted.

Clearly, I thought.

"Lady, you also might need a clock. Our hours are from nine to five, not five to ungodly."

She blinked. "Please," she said, shoving her hands through her wet hair and tugging. Hard. Uh-oh. "I need help and I don't know where else to go. They say you people are the real deal."

I huffed, and a lock of hair went flying off my face. "We are. Can't this wait till morning?"

"I might not live to see the light of day," she answered.

Sheesh. Dramatic much?

Groaning, I stepped back and waved a hand for her to come inside. She did, tracking mud and water all over the hardwood floors. And I'd just cleaned the place yesterday. Ugh. I needed to ask Gomez for a raise.

"Fine," I told the woman. "I'll hear your case. But it's three in the morning, so we're going to need a lot of coffee first."

I started walking towards the kitchen, beckoning over my shoulder for her to follow me. "You can tell me about it while we wait for the coffee to brew. What exactly is this about, anyway?"

From somewhere behind me she said, "I think I'm being haunted."

I jerked to a stop and turned around to face her.

"Um... maybe just tea for you."