Dead Man and the Army of Frogs Read online

  "If I close my eyes I can see the jiggling, furry…" Bran shook his head. "That's when I decided to boycott all holidays."

  Denton smothered a laugh. "Yeah, sorry about the Thanksgiving Day calamity with Joy. She means well, but she can't cook to save her life. I mean, even I know you have to defrost the turkey overnight." Joy had forgotten, and tried to make up for it by upping the oven temperature. As a result the bird ended up charcoal on the outside and still raw and frozen inside. "It wouldn't be so bad if she followed the recipes, but she never does."

  "So why does she insist on cooking?"

  "Stubborn, I guess. It comes and goes with her, and she takes a break after every major disaster. We should've been safe for at least six months. I don't know what happened to get her back into the culinary frenzy so soon." Denton patted the pie box in his lap. "At least we'll have something to eat." Last time, they'd ended up going out for Chinese food. It had been an awkward affair. Joy had tried to be friendly toward Bran but she came on too strong, and Bran had retreated completely into his shell. Denton had a talk with her later and she promised to rein herself in next time. Denton wanted his two favorite people in Chicago to like each other, but the prospects weren't good. The two of them were like oil and water.

  Chapter Two

  Joy lived on the second floor of a stocky brownstone building. Denton and Bran found her door ajar and a charred odor was wafting out.

  "Uh-oh. We're doomed," Denton said under his breath. "Joy! We're here!" he shouted pushing the door all the way open and stepping inside.

  "Hi there! You brought pie!" Joy whirled toward them with the momentum of a five-foot tornado. Her short, platinum hair glowed in the hallway light and a smudge of white decorated her button nose—either flour or powdered sugar. "What kind?" Without waiting for a reply she flung her arms around Bran and clung to him like a barnacle. She was big on physical contact—Denton had warned Bran about it. Still, from his expression one would've thought he was attacked by a bear. It was rather amusing. Fortunately, Joy missed it completely—the top of her head barely reached his chin.

  "Sweet potato," Denton said to distract her.

  It worked. She let Bran go. "Oh, goodie!" she said and snatched the box from him. "Come in already," she said and dashed off.

  They closed the door, kicked their shoes off, and ventured further into the apartment. By the time they made it to the living room, Joy returned from the kitchen, empty handed and chattering. "I was making a pecan pie but realized too late my pecans had gone stale. I had a big box of candied macadamias, so figured nuts were nuts. Apparently not—they burned. You're looking good, Ferret Face." She pulled Denton into a bone-cracking hug. For someone who looked like a pixie, she had strong arms. Denton took a deep breath when she finally released him. "Gimme your coats." When they did she took off with them in the direction of the bedroom. "Make yourselves comfortable," she yelled over her shoulder before disappearing.

  The living room was fairly big, L-shaped space, with one corner serving as a workspace. Shelves hung from the walls, next to a desk laden with computer stuff. Design books, reams of paper, ink cartridges, sketch books, and other miscellany lined the shelves. They were paraphernalia of the freelance web design business Denton and Joy had together. Denton did the coding part, Joy was the creative and the frontman. Frontwoman.

  In the rest of the room furniture had been pushed aside to make space for the dining table set for three—it normally stood shoved against the wall, and stacked with books and things. Denton had been here many times before but it was only for the second time for Bran, and his last visit was a brief stop before leaving for the restaurant. Taking in his surroundings Bran instantly gravitated to the window. Or rather to the spiny plant sitting on the sill. Denton watched as Bran stroked the smooth, waxy skin with his fingertips, avoiding the spines on the edges. It was faintly erotic—the same caressing touch Denton had felt on his own skin many times before. Denton tried not to be jealous of the plant.

  "I see you're making friends," Joy quipped.

  Bran wheeled around with a guilty expression. "I was just looking at your aloe."

  She grinned. "Look all you want. And you can touch too. Denton said you were the herb whisperer."

  "Well, by botanical standards aloe isn't an herbaceous plant, but it is generally listed under herbs because of its medicinal properties." Bran couldn't help but be informative.

  "What about witchcraft?" Joy asked tilting her head. Ever since Denton had told her about Bran being a bona-fide witch she wanted to know more.

  "It's used in certain protection spells," Bran admitted.

  Denton could see her inquisitive questions bubbling up, so he shot her a warning look. She bit her lip and let Bran out of the focus of her scrutiny. "Oh, come sit down already," she said.

  ***

  Dinner started on a harmless enough note. The salad of lettuce, apples, and cucumbers splashed with a honey-mustard dressing would've been perfect if not for the addition of black olives. They clashed badly with everything else on the plate. Fortunately, Joy hadn't bothered to chop them up, so they were easy to avoid. Denton noticed Bran nudging them to the edge of his plate to hide under a piece of lettuce.

  Joy opened a bottle of red and poured herself and Denton a generous glass each, while Bran stuck to mineral water. She and Denton made shop talk, mostly about their last job and people they knew. There was no expectation for Bran to join the exchange, and from the corner of his eyes Denton saw the rigid lines of Bran's shoulders slowly relax.

  After a lengthy anecdote regarding the most user-unfriendly retail site she'd ever seen, Joy refilled their glasses. "So since you guys were cheated out of your Thanksgiving feast because of me, I decided to give turkey another go. Just the breast this time, and I didn't forget to defrost it." Oblivious of their looks of resignation, she cleared away the salad plates and brought forth a very traditional Thanksgiving main course.

  Denton carefully put a forkful of turkey and stuffing into his mouth, preparing for the worst. What he tasted shocked him to the core—they were both moist and delicious with just the right amount and kind of seasoning. As he chewed and swallowed he wondered if he'd stepped into an alternate universe where everything was the opposite, but then the world righted itself as he sampled the cranberry sauce. It was sweeter than a baby food commercial. He quickly washed it down with wine.

  Joy forked some of the red stuff into her mouth too and grimaced. "I added too much sugar, didn't I?"

  "A little," Denton agreed.

  "Maybe if I mixed in some lemon juice—"

  "No, don't bother," Denton cut in. Joy's haphazard food-fixing experiments never led anywhere good.

  "The turkey and the stuffing are excellent," Bran added helpfully. He seemed reasonably at ease at last.

  "Thank you!" Joy said beaming. "You wouldn't believe that I cooked them both in a Dutch oven."

  Bran's brows edged up. "Really? Interesting. I wouldn't have guessed."

  "I saw a beautiful vintage one at an antique store and couldn't resist it. So I started searching for recipes, and turns out you can make almost anything in a Dutch oven. And you know what? Everything I cook in that thing comes out perfectly. I think I finally found my culinary specialty."

  Denton, who remembered Joy's less than stellar Crockpot phase, had his misgivings, but it was hard to argue with the evidence. "I thought you were going Jamie Oliver," he said instead.

  Joy shrugged. "Oh, he has Dutch oven recipes too. There's one with chicken cooked in milk. I want to try that next." Her eyes sparkled with the excitement of impromptu plans. "We'll make another dinner of it. What do you say?" She turned her gaze from one of them to the other.

  "Definitely," Denton said with as much enthusiasm he could fake. He loved Joy and spending time with her, but her cooking scared him, present case notwithstanding. As the proverb went, even a blind chicken found a kernel of corn now and then. Tonight's turkey had to be a fluke.

  Bran step
ped in. "It would be lovely, but etiquette dictates that you be our guest next." It was an expert save—Bran could be a smooth operator when he made the effort. "Is this sage I detect in the stuffing?" he asked.

  They went on discussing the many uses of herbs from culinary to medicinal and the occult, and the subject of another dinner hosted by Joy didn't come up again. Herbs were Bran's favorite topic and he would talk about them far more freely than about himself.

  Under the table Bran's knee knocked into Denton's and it stayed there. Seeing Bran loosen up made the knot in Denton's stomach disappear. He hadn't even realized it was there till it was gone.

  Joy clearly did her best not to come on too strong this time. By the time they polished off the main course she and Bran were in a relatively easy rapport. Bran didn't even bat an eye when Joy put her hand on his.

  Joy cleared off the plates and brought out the sweet potato pie, but they all needed more time for the turkey to settle first and make room for dessert.

  "So how did you become a witch?" Joy asked Bran.

  Bran was at ease enough to not even blink at a personal question. "I was born into it. My mother's one, and so were her parents."

  "Oh, so it's a family tradition. So cool. You must've had an awesome childhood. I so envy you. Mine was totally boring—band practice, soccer practice, ballet classes. I sucked at all of them, by the way," she added with puckish smile from behind her wine glass.

  "I would've killed for a boring childhood," Bran said in a wishful tone.

  "Grass is always greener on the other side," Denton explained to an incredulous Joy. "Layla, Bran's mom, is very interesting—you'd like her. Too bad she moved to California."

  Joy slowly shook her head. "Just my luck. So tell me, Bran, what does a witch do?"

  Bran didn't answer right away—it probably wasn't a subject he often discussed with others. When he spoke he sounded a shade stiff. "Mother does a lot of spells, charms, various rituals for a variety of purposes, depending what the client needs, within limits. She won't do anything outright malicious. So if a client believes someone's wishing him ill, Mom will make him a protecting charm, or she'll do a spell to reflect the negative energies, but she won't do an offensive spell. Of course, her definition of what's inoffensive can be unorthodox. She also does fortune telling. I don't," he added quickly. Maybe he caught the hopeful glint in Joy's eyes. Denton did.

  "But you could do all those things if you wanted to?"

  "Ehrm, yes, but I mostly just cleanse houses."

  "From ghosts?"

  "Not necessarily. Old buildings gather negative energies from unhappy events and people passing through. A good cleansing allows the new tenants to have a fresh start."

  Joy pressed on. "But you do ghosts too, right?"

  "Sometimes," Bran admitted.

  She glowed with delight. "Denton told me you banished one from that restaurant, Sparks. Some old gangster, right? How did you know it was him?"

  "I did a research on the building's history before accepting the job. Obviously, I have no definitive proof we were dealing with his spirit but all the signs pointed in that direction."

  None of his methodical reservations dampened Joy's pleasure. "So you see the ghost and then what?"

  "No, I can't actually see them," Bran explained. "I can sense their presence." He went on about Four Thieves Vinegar and burning sage, describing the whole methodical and not all too exciting process of a house cleansing.

  Joy's eyes glazed over a little. "You guys are still ghost busters to me. Even if you don't have those thingamajigs, proton packs or whatnot. I'll drink to it." She did. By then she and Denton had polished off most of the bottle. Denton had the warm-and-fuzzies and Joy seemed to be in the same state.

  "You should cleanse my kitchen," she said putting her glass down. "I think it's haunted."

  Denton arched an eyebrow. "I doubt it."

  "No, no, listen. My cabinet doors are always closed. Every damn time."

  "She keeps leaving them open," Denton explained to Bran. "It would drive you nuts." Her open cabinets didn't bother Denton but he wasn't half as persnickety as Bran.

  Joy went on. "That's not all. Things move around. I swear, the other morning I went to get a cup of coffee and my whole spice rack was reorganized."

  "Maybe you sleepwalk," Denton suggested helpfully. At least he thought he was being helpful.

  Joy didn't. "Ha-ha, very funny. I'm telling you, there's a poltergeist in my kitchen."

  Denton thought it highly unlikely. "Has anyone died here since November?"

  "No, of course not," she sputtered.

  "Then there can be no ghost in your kitchen."

  "How do you know?"

  "Because I've been in your kitchen last time we were here, and didn't see a single ghost there or anywhere in your apartment. Not even a tiny one. Not even a ghostly rat."

  Joy's gaze instantly became sharp and clear. "So you can see them?"

  Oops. Denton's secret had slipped out. He blamed the wine. "Uhm, sort of?"

  Joy punched him in the shoulder. "You can actually see ghosts with your own eyes and you've never told me? I'm seriously pissed at you, Denton Mills." The use of his surname told Denton she was indeed miffed.

  "I'm sorry. It's not something I tell anyone." He said feebly.

  Her lips curved downward. "I thought we were best friends."

  "We are!" Denton could see more than just ghosts, but he'd discussed the full extent of his talents with very few people. "I haven't told my mom either."

  "Why not?"

  "I don't want her to worry. Besides, I don't want people to think of me as some freak—I'd rather blend in."

  "Oh, so that's why you're wearing a hardware store in your face?" she riposted. She was exaggerating, of course; Denton didn't have that many piercings. She sighed. "You asshole. I'll make you pay for this. Let's have pie now." Luckily for Denton, she rarely held grudges.

  They had sweet potato pie with whipped cream and she opened up a bottle of fancy dessert wine—it was a gift from the last client for whom she and Denton built a web site. Even Bran took a taste. It had a deep, fruity aroma, and texture smooth as liquid velvet.

  Denton smacked his lips. "So this is what a hundred dollar port tastes like. It's definitely better than wine from a box."

  Joy giggled, Denton's transgression clearly forgiven. "You're such a connoisseur. So what do they look like? You know, the ghosts. Are they see-through or solid? Do they talk to you?"

  "It's nothing like the movies. They're simply shadows." At least most of them were. "They usually don't look anything like people, but more like fuzzy shapes. And they're not sentient either—not a real person, only some obsessive sliver of their former self stuck in this plane." He skipped her question about talking to ghosts. Trying to communicate with spirit shadows was frustrating at best.

  "Oh." She seemed disappointed. "Well, it's still interesting." She took his empty plate and stacked it on hers.

  Denton took them from her. "Come, let me help."

  They brought the dishes and the leftover pie into the kitchen. Denton placed the plates into the sink and turned around to face Joy, who petted a cast iron cooking pot sitting on the counter. "And this is my lovely Dutch oven. Ain't it a beauty?"

  It was a large, oval thing, red as the cranberry sauce, and a silver painted rooster stood on its lid, serving as a handle. Under any other circumstances Denton would've paid a compliment, but something else demanded his attention. "You have a ghost."

  Joy snapped her gaze from Denton to the corner of the room he was staring at, and back. "Really? You're not just fucking with me, are you?"

  "I'm dead serious."

  "I told you so!" she said triumphantly.

  Denton poked his head back into the living room. "Bran? We have a problem."

  ***

  "Fascinating," said Bran without a hint of irony after Denton told him about the shadowy shape hanging out in the corner of the kitchen.

&n
bsp; Joy suppressed a giggle at his unintentional Dr. Spock impersonation. At least Denton assumed it was unintentional.

  Bran inched past the fridge. "Here, right?" he asked.

  "A few inches to your right. You're almost on top of it," Denton replied. As soon as he said it, the hazy form disappeared from his sight.

  "What just happened?" Bran asked.

  "It's gone. Like a soap bubble."

  "Hm." Bran circled around, stopping at the counter. He touched his fingertips to the lid of the big red pot and nodded. "Joy, you brought the spirit shadow home with you when you bought this thing."

  "You mean my Dutch oven is haunted?" she asked with eyes big and round with astonishment.

  Bran wrapped a hand around the silver rooster. "I'm afraid so."

  "I had no idea they could haunt objects," Denton said. He'd learned a lot about spirit shadows in the past months, thanks to Bran, but clearly not everything.

  Bran let the lid go and turned away from the counter. "Unusual, but not unheard of. Spirit shadows tend to be bound to certain locations, but occasionally they attach to people or things."

  "So what are we gonna do now?" Joy asked. She stared up at Bran like an awe-struck schoolgirl.

  Bran appeared to tense under the intensity of her gaze but then he quickly became all business. "Normally I'd do a cleansing but I don't have my gear with me, and Denton can't banish the spirit if it keeps disappearing."

  The fact that Denton could banish them at all was another secret slipping out, but this time Joy didn't even blink.

  Bran looked around and his eyes settled on the spice rack. "However, I believe we have everything here to improvise a summoning." He turned to Denton. "Are you up for it?"

  "Oh-kay." Denton looked to Joy to see what she wanted and saw the twinkles of excitement in her eyes. "You got powdered sugar?" he asked.

  "Sure!" Joy hopped to a cabinet.

  "And something to put on the floor for easier cleanup."

  Things were about the get messy.

  Chapter Three