Playful spirits, melancholy spirits, vengeful, desperate, sad. Spirits who did things for a reason, and spirits who were agents of chaos and destruction. Just because they liked it. The windows above the sink rattled as if something on the outside was banging on the glass. I slid from the edge of the counter, took my glasses off and stashed them in a spare case in the work supply cabinet, grabbing more salt while I had the cabinet open. “What is it?” Blake said. “Ghosts.” I tossed him a half empty bag of rock salt. “Spirits, haints, call ’em whatever you like. You may have to make yourself a protective circle if they get in the house.” I gave him a wicked grin. “Unless you don’t mind them resonating all over you.” I wanted to take a snapshot of the queasy look on his face and frame it. “If they get in, you can banish them, right?” “Probably.”
