I pulled my phone out of my purse and brought up the calendar. “A week from Sunday…what time?”
“Seven-thirty.” He glanced at my cart. “Stocking up?”
“My father’s coming in tonight for a visit,” I said, tapping in the information. “I’ll be there. I’m pretty sure Kipa can make it, too.”
“Bring your father if you like,” Trefoil said.
I shook my head, glancing up at him. “My father’s one of the Black Dogs. Trust me, you do not want to meet him. He would refuse, anyway. He’s very cautious about meeting people because…” I wasn’t sure how much Trefoil knew about the Black Dogs, but he merely gave me a nod.
“I understand. Humans, magic-born, and Fae alike have to be cautious around them. Where’s he from? Is he from overseas?”
“Originally from Scotland, but he moved to Connecticut when he was young. He’s the Black Dog of Hanging Hills. Anyway,” I said, glancing at the time on my phone, “I’d better get moving. Here’s an idea—start with chips, dips, veggie trays, deli meats, crackers, fruit platters, cookies, pastries or maybe a cake, wine, sparkling water, and go from there. You can’t go wrong with finger foods.”
“Thanks,” he said, looking grateful. “I promised Meadow I’d take care of the buffet and then I just blanked. We don’t entertain much.”
I waved and pushed my cart around his, heading toward the checkout line so the cashier could ring me up.
As I waited in line, I wondered who would be at their party. LOCK members, probably. The magic-born made me a little nervous, and most of the LOCK members were skilled in their arts. But this seemed like a good chance to network and make connections. And given what was happening with Typhon, we would all need connections in the days to come.
As I opened the door, warily—I was always wary when I came home after being gone for more than an hour any more—a shimmer of light flickered over me. The wards were scanning me to see if they recognized me. I quickly punched in the security code on the actual alarm system, and then placed my hand on the selenite tablet near the Mother-Quartz that sat on the foyer table. With both magical and technical systems appeased, I carried the groceries into the kitchen.
Raj bounced off the couch and into the kitchen, his head bobbing as he watched me. “Raven’s home!”
“Yes, Raj, Raven is home. What did Raj do while Raven was—” I stopped, my nose twitching. Raj had a natural scent that was a little musky, but now he smelled like the inside of a perfume bottle. “Raj?”
He froze, then sat down, eyeing me with that sad puppy-dog look that told me he had gotten himself into something he shouldn’t have.
“Raj might have taken a bath.” He looked away, trying to act casual.
“Raj! My lilac rain-shower gel? Did you…”
Then his words hit me. Raj had taken a bath. I groaned, setting the bags of food on the counter and hurrying to the hall bathroom. Raj loved baths and I was happy to draw them for him, but he wasn’t all that attentive when it came time to shut the water off.
I opened the door and groaned.
The bathroom was a mess. There was an inch of water on the floor and bubbles everywhere. The bottle of bath gel was on the floor, empty. The tub had been drained, but it was still full of dissipating bubbles. There were at least six towels on the floor sopping up soap and water. The toilet paper had been pulled off the roll and it, too, was piled in a sodden mess on the floor.
“Raj…Raj, get in here now!” I turned and marched back into the hall, hands on my hips while I waited for him. He reluctantly obeyed, slowly creeping down the hall. “Look at the mess Raj made! Does Raj remember Raven telling him that he can’t take a bath by himself? That he needs to wait for Raven to fill the tub?”
“Raj remembers. Raj is sorry.” Head down, he lumbered along, sitting down in front of me.
“Raj may be sorry, but Raj still made a big mess. And who do you think has to clean up that mess?” Part of me wanted to laugh but I didn’t want to set a precedent. Raj was a massive gargoyle who was only going to get bigger as the decades went on. He needed to learn self-control and he had to learn to obey the rules.
“Raj tried to clean it up.” He tried the poor-pitiful-me look on me, but it didn’t wash and he knew it.
“Raj knows that Raven has to clean it up. What does Raj think his punishment should be for breaking the rules?” I never made the punishments too hard, because just the idea that he was being punished seemed to encourage him to behave.
“Raj no take a bath for the rest of today?” he asked hopefully.
I shook my head. “No. Raj won’t get his chocolate chip bars tonight. Raven wants Raj to think about what he did and why it was wrong.”
Heaving a melodramatic sigh that would have put any old glamour girl to shame, Raj nodded. “Raj will be good. Raj is sorry. Raven very angry at Raj?”
“Raven’s angry, yes, but she’s more upset that Raj didn’t listen to her. Raven wants Raj to follow the rules for good reasons. Someday, Raj’s life may depend on obeying Raven. Someday, Raven’s life may depend on Raj obeying Raven. She doesn’t make up the rules just for fun. What if Raj broke a rule that put Raj in danger? Or put Raven or Kipa in danger?” I wanted him to understand the potential damage that could happen.
Raj was looking thoroughly defeated by now. “Raven is right. Raj could hurt somebody if he breaks the wrong rule. Raj is really sorry. Raj will be good.”
I relented then, and knelt to give him a hug. “Raven knows Raj is sorry. Now, why doesn’t Raj go watch TV while Raven cleans all this up?”
A hint of a smile broke through his gloom and he ambled off back toward the living room. I turned back to the sodden mess and, with a sigh, began to clean the floors and mop up the water and bubbles.
I had put the food away and started the sauce for the eggplant parmesan when my phone rang. Glancing at it, I frowned. It was Tyra Smith, one of my regular clients.
“Hello?”
“Hey. I wanted to know…I know you do house cleansings and other things like that. I was wondering if you could do something for me?” She sounded worried.
I frowned. I hadn’t heard from Tyra in about three months, but some clients only needed me every few months—I never encouraged anyone to rely on me more than necessary.
“What’s up?” I asked as I stirred the sauce and added another pinch of salt. “Did you move? You need a house blessing or a preliminary cleansing?”
There was a pause and then she said, “No, I didn’t move. It’s just…there’s something going on in my attic. Some sort of ghost or haunt. It’s becoming a pest, and I tried to tell it to leave but that just made things worse. Now, the activity has become dangerous. I was hit in the head by an old book when I went up there last night to confront it and tell it to leave.”
She sounded spooked and I didn’t blame her. Most likely, she had a poltergeist, and to actually be able to throw objects meant it was a powerful sucker.
“I’m busy tonight, but I can drop by tomorrow. How about two-thirty?” I pulled out my calendar again.