Henrietta. I couldn't see a computer anywhere. No wonder she didn't know what Google was, they were living in a whole different century in this place.
"Yes it isn't anything fancy but it has a certain charm," Henrietta said, without a hint of sarcasm. It had a certain smell of mold, a certain damp clamminess, but not what I would call charm.
"Would you like a cup of tea dear?"
But before I could politely decline someone else piped up, "who's this then?" a man Henrietta's age said from the little cluster of desks.
"Thomas this is Layla, Molly's daughter. I told you about her."
"Hmm," Thomas looked me up and down, "well what does she want?"
"She's the new hire Thomas," and then in a lower, confiding voice, "bless his heart, he doesn't have the greatest memory these days. You'll have to be patient with him."
"She doesn't look old enough," Thomas said.
"Of course she's old enough," Henrietta said, then looked at me, "you're old enough, aren't you dear? You're older than eighteen?"
Hadn't we had this conversation already on the phone? Maybe Thomas wasn't the only one losing his memory. "I'm twenty," I said, hoping that would do for an answer. I still didn't see how my age mattered, but I wanted the job so I was willing to play along.
"You see," Henrietta said, "twenty, plenty old enough."
"Hmm," Thomas said, "well then," and he went back to shuffling papers, apparently satisfied.
"Come over here to my desk," Henrietta said, taking me by the arm, "and we'll have a little chat."
Henrietta settled herself behind the vacant desk, and I found a wooden chair that looked like it had been whittled by hand and sat in it, perching on top of it to make sure that it wouldn't collapse under me, before settling in.
"Well isn't this something," Henrietta said, "two generations of Rowan women working for us, aren't we lucky. You know your mother was one of my favorites. So good at her job, not one complaint in all the years she worked for us."
"It's funny, she never talked about working here," I said. "Do you know why she quit?" I had promised myself I wasn't going to waste one more minute thinking about or looking for Mom, and already I was slipping back in to my old, self-appointed role of chief investigator.
"Oh my, let me think. Well, I don't think she ever did quit really. Just stopped coming to work one day."
That sounded about right. I nodded, "do you know why?" I really couldn't help myself. I was just a glutton for emotional punishment.
"I think...," Henrietta drifted off, and the moment began to stretch on, to the point where I thought maybe she had fallen asleep, "she had some problems, towards the end. I do remember that now. It's not unheard of in our line of work, but it did worry me at the time." Henrietta started sorting through a stack of papers and then stopped, "because she was such a lovely woman, before that. So lovely. And then... well how is she now?"
"She's good," I said, smiling to help sell the lie. "She works at a hotel."
"Oh isn't that nice. The life of a practicing witch can be hard on some people, sometimes it's best to get a normal job and leave all this craziness behind. I know when you're young it's all so exciting and glamorous, but believe me it can really wear on you."
Did she just say witch? But if she was going to claim that she was exterminating ghosts from people's houses then why not call herself a witch too. How had Mom ever gotten involved with these people? "But do you know what happened, to give her problems? It's just that Mom never talks about any of this. I'm curious."
Henrietta shook her head, "no no, and I didn't ask, I'm not one to pry in to anyone's business," she stopped sorting through the paper again, "but if I had to guess, I would say she got herself mixed up in something. We operate completely above the board here at Spiritual Dispersion Services of course, there's a serious tolerance policy for any funny business, but I probably don't need to tell you that in our
"Yes it isn't anything fancy but it has a certain charm," Henrietta said, without a hint of sarcasm. It had a certain smell of mold, a certain damp clamminess, but not what I would call charm.
"Would you like a cup of tea dear?"
But before I could politely decline someone else piped up, "who's this then?" a man Henrietta's age said from the little cluster of desks.
"Thomas this is Layla, Molly's daughter. I told you about her."
"Hmm," Thomas looked me up and down, "well what does she want?"
"She's the new hire Thomas," and then in a lower, confiding voice, "bless his heart, he doesn't have the greatest memory these days. You'll have to be patient with him."
"She doesn't look old enough," Thomas said.
"Of course she's old enough," Henrietta said, then looked at me, "you're old enough, aren't you dear? You're older than eighteen?"
Hadn't we had this conversation already on the phone? Maybe Thomas wasn't the only one losing his memory. "I'm twenty," I said, hoping that would do for an answer. I still didn't see how my age mattered, but I wanted the job so I was willing to play along.
"You see," Henrietta said, "twenty, plenty old enough."
"Hmm," Thomas said, "well then," and he went back to shuffling papers, apparently satisfied.
"Come over here to my desk," Henrietta said, taking me by the arm, "and we'll have a little chat."
Henrietta settled herself behind the vacant desk, and I found a wooden chair that looked like it had been whittled by hand and sat in it, perching on top of it to make sure that it wouldn't collapse under me, before settling in.
"Well isn't this something," Henrietta said, "two generations of Rowan women working for us, aren't we lucky. You know your mother was one of my favorites. So good at her job, not one complaint in all the years she worked for us."
"It's funny, she never talked about working here," I said. "Do you know why she quit?" I had promised myself I wasn't going to waste one more minute thinking about or looking for Mom, and already I was slipping back in to my old, self-appointed role of chief investigator.
"Oh my, let me think. Well, I don't think she ever did quit really. Just stopped coming to work one day."
That sounded about right. I nodded, "do you know why?" I really couldn't help myself. I was just a glutton for emotional punishment.
"I think...," Henrietta drifted off, and the moment began to stretch on, to the point where I thought maybe she had fallen asleep, "she had some problems, towards the end. I do remember that now. It's not unheard of in our line of work, but it did worry me at the time." Henrietta started sorting through a stack of papers and then stopped, "because she was such a lovely woman, before that. So lovely. And then... well how is she now?"
"She's good," I said, smiling to help sell the lie. "She works at a hotel."
"Oh isn't that nice. The life of a practicing witch can be hard on some people, sometimes it's best to get a normal job and leave all this craziness behind. I know when you're young it's all so exciting and glamorous, but believe me it can really wear on you."
Did she just say witch? But if she was going to claim that she was exterminating ghosts from people's houses then why not call herself a witch too. How had Mom ever gotten involved with these people? "But do you know what happened, to give her problems? It's just that Mom never talks about any of this. I'm curious."
Henrietta shook her head, "no no, and I didn't ask, I'm not one to pry in to anyone's business," she stopped sorting through the paper again, "but if I had to guess, I would say she got herself mixed up in something. We operate completely above the board here at Spiritual Dispersion Services of course, there's a serious tolerance policy for any funny business, but I probably don't need to tell you that in our
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