Page 63 of It takes a Psychic

“Edith Fenwick told us that Mr. Thacker had a housekeeper named Hester Harp. I’m Oliver Rancourt. This is Dr. Griffin, my consultant. I believe Mr. Thacker is expecting us.”

“He’s expecting you and the consultant, but not a dust bunny.” Harp gave Roxy a piercing glare.

Roxy chortled and blinked her blue eyes. Harp did not look charmed.

Leona rezzed up a dazzling smile. “Edith Fenwick indicated that you were indispensable to Mr. Thacker.”

“The dust bunny isn’t coming into this house.”

“Roxy won’t be problem,” Leona said. “She’s a licensed emotional support dust bunny.”

Roxy batted her baby blue eyes again.

“What’s that ridiculous thing on its head?” Harp demanded.

“It’s a fascinator,” Leona said.

“A what?”

“A hat.”

Harp was unmoved. “The dust bunny stays outside. No animals in the house. That’s the rule. If you don’t like it, you can get in your fancy car and leave.”

Leona felt her temper kick in. She narrowed her eyes. “I explained that Roxy is a licensed emotional support—”

“I don’t see any reason why Roxy can’t stay outside,” Oliver interrupted smoothly. He fixed Leona with a stern expression. “Leave her in the car if you’re afraid she’ll wander off and get lost.”

“I’m not going to lock her up in the car,” Leona muttered. She set Roxy down on the steps. “Run around and do some exploring,” she said. “We’ll be out in a while.”

Roxy fluffed up, chortled, and bounced off, heading for the nearby trees.

“That’s better.” Harp stepped back and opened the door wider. “Thacker is in the library. Follow me.”

Leona moved into the gloom-filled hall, aware that Oliver was right behind her.

She had been braced for strong currents of paranormal heat. Thacker was a collector, after all, and Edith Fenwick had called him a hoarder. But nothing could have prepared her for the sea of energy that churned in the hallway.

She glanced over her shoulder to see if Oliver was reacting to the seething currents.

“Hotter than a two-dollar mag-rez,” he said in low tones.

Harp overheard him. “You get used to it. The Thackers have been collectors since the house was built.”

It took a moment for Leona’s eyes to adjust to the murky twilight that filled the mansion. When her vision sharpened, she almost regretted it. She had spent much of her career in the Underworld, but until now she had never been bothered by claustrophobia. The oppressive atmosphere inside the shadowed house was different. It closed in on her, rattling her nerves.

Stuff was piled everywhere. Alien artifacts, Old World and Colonial-era antiques, books, yellowed magazines, newspapers, paintings, and sculptures were stacked high on both sides of the hallway. There was only a narrow aisle available for walking.

The objects did not appear to be organized in any meaningful way. A dangerously high mountain of aging file folders sat atop a glowing quartz pedestal that was worthy of any mid-sized museum. Chipped and cracked dishes and cookware from the Era of Discord had been dumped into an open crate that also held rare and valuable quartz mirrors.

There was no doubting the paranormal provenance of many of the objects. In the dim light, the urns, crystals, and statuary that had come from the ruins radiated a familiar energy. Many of the other objects emitted currents that were not visible to the human eye, but they dazzled her senses.

Oliver looked around with an expression that was a mix of awe and disbelief. “This is…amazing.”

“That’s one word for it,” Harp muttered. “But the pay is good. My mother had this job before me. Back then you could still see out some of the windows. Now they’re all blocked off with what Thacker likes to call his collection.”

“A lot of these objects are museum quality,” Leona said.

“That’s what Thacker claims.” Harp stopped in front of a closed door. “Just so you know, the boss self-medicates with some herbs he grows in the basement.”

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