Part 1 (2/2)
When spirits are exorcised from a house, they are sent to the Akasha.”
”The what?”
”Akasha. The Akas.h.i.+c Plain is the proper name, but around here we just call it Akasha. Basically, it's limbo. The beings there dwell in perpetual torment until they're released.”
”And you send them there?” the woman asked.
A lone rogue imp scampered toward me from the dining room, raised all four of its arms to me, then swooned in the best dramatic fas.h.i.+on.
”Er...not always. Sometimes I relocate them.”
”Busy, honey?” My father walked into the room, carefully stepping over the fallen imp. ”What's wrong with him?”
I covered the phone again. ”He's having a moment. I'm really going to have to limit their soap opera consumption. They're starting to get out of hand.”
”Ah, yes. Ooh, two lattes? Is one for me?”
I nodded. He took the cardboard latte cup in both hands, reaching for the cookie jar, where I kept his favorite ginger cookies.
”People like you ought to be ashamed of yourselves. I've heard all about your type-you prey on people who've lost someone, and give them false hope.
I do not want you cleaning my house.”
A beep on the phone gave me the perfect excuse to end the conversation.
”I'm sure it's better if I don't. I have another call, so thanks for venting your spleen on me. Bye-bye.”
”Not a client?” my dad asked as I pressed the call-waiting b.u.t.ton.
”No, thank G.o.d. h.e.l.lo?”
”Karma Marx, please.”
”Speaking.” I accepted the latte my father handed me.
”This is Carol Beckett, director at the Home for Innocents. I just wanted to let you know that Pixie O'Hara will be arriving this morning at ten. Please be sure to adhere to the schedule that Pixie will have with her; she's notoriously bad about keeping her counseling sessions, and Dr. Wellbottom feels strongly that Pixie needs a firm hand in her life.”
”Pixie O'Hara? I'm sorry, Ms. Beckett, but I don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about.” My father flitted over to the window and began rearranging my collection of ceramic parrots.
”You are Karma Marx?”
”Yes.” Dad moved on to the dining room, where I could see him moving around, straightening chairs.
The sound of papers shuffling could plainly be heard over the phone. ”It says here that you were contacted last week about your offer to help with wayward teens.”
”I'm sorry, but I wasn't. I don't know anything about it. And now isn't really a good time-”
”The notes say that the caseworker spoke with ...” More paper shuffling.
”Mr. Marx on Tuesday the seventeenth at ten twenty-three a.m. Arrangements for the custodial care of Pixie were agreed to then.”
”Tuesday?” I rubbed my forehead, trying to remember where Spider had been on Tuesday. It didn't make any sense. Spider would never consent to having someone live with us, especially a troubled teen. When he'd found out I had signed up as a foster volunteer with the children's home, we'd had a huge fight, which had ended with him storming out of the house. So for him to be changing his mind without talking to me ... A thought burst into my brain. I wrapped my hand around the bottom of the phone and leaned into the dining room. ”Why the h.e.l.l did you tell the local children's home that I would take one of their teens?”
”Hmm?” Dad was apparently engrossed in reshelving by height the books in the bookcase. ”I have no idea what you're talking about.”
”I'm not buying that at all. You're in serious trouble, buster,” I said before uncovering the phone and speaking to the woman at the other end. ”I'm sorry; there's been a slight mix-up. My ... er ... husband forgot that this is a particularly bad week for visitors, so regrettably, we-”
”The arrangements were made last week,” the woman said brusquely, shoving aside my excuse. ”Pixie will stay with you for a month. During that time you are to see to her general health and well-being, and make sure that she attends her counseling appointments.”
”But you don't understand-”
”No, you don't understand!” I held the phone a few inches away from my ear at the outburst. ”Arrangements were made! You cannot simply wait until the last minute and say it's not convenient! This organization is run on strict rules, and as a volunteer, you have sworn to uphold those rules.”
”But-”
”I need not remind you, I'm sure, of the importance of steady, reliable volunteers who fulfill the commitments they make. For them to do otherwise would have grave repercussions.”
My jaw dropped open a smidgen. ”Are you threatening me?”
”Of course not. I wouldn't dream of doing anything so reprehensible. I'm simply pointing out that someone who holds the position of responsibility and respect that you hold with the Akas.h.i.+c League should think long and hard before she endangers that position. Especially someone who is working off wergeld.”
”Son of a-” I bit off the oath, grinding my teeth. She had me by the short and curlies, and I suspect she knew that very well. My job with the League was not one I held by desire, but it was better than the alternative, something of which anyone who knew my history, as this woman did, would be aware. I was trapped, good and proper; I had absolutely no choice but to continue working for the League, but there was going to be h.e.l.l to pay if Spider discovered we'd taken in a needy teen for a month or more.
I sighed. When it came down to a choice between Spider and the League, there was only one answer. ”Fine. I'll take the girl.”
”I knew you'd see reason,” she said with smug amus.e.m.e.nt. ”Pixie will be there shortly. At the end of the month, your fitness as a foster parent will be reevaluated. Until then, good luck.”
”Problems?” Dad asked as I hung up the phone.
”Just an insurmountable one, thanks to you.” A little burble of frothed milk poked out the top of the latte lid. I licked it off, ignoring the patter of little feet as a flash of yellow eek-eeked across the kitchen floor.
”Imp,” Dad said helpfully.
”Don't you 'imp' me! How dare you pretend to be Spider on the phone!
What on earth were you thinking? Spider is going to have a cow when he finds out I've taken in a teenager for a month.”
”I wouldn't be so sure of that,” Dad said softly, avoiding my gaze.
I took a deep breath, ignored the headache that threatened to blossom, and chewed my father up one side and down the other. By the time I was done, he was positively dancing with the need to get out of the room.
”Well, the damage is done,” I said, slumping against the counter. ”The girl is on her way. I have no idea what I'm going to say to Spider, though.”
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