A Cast-Off Coven by juliet blackwell

really. Marlene asked me to look into . . . whatever’s going on here.”
    “Going on?”
    “Weird noise-wise.”
    “Ah. You’re a ghost hunter?” he asked, a gleam entering his eyes. “Do you use any of that high-tech equipment?”
    “Not exactly. I’m just sensitive to such things, though to paraphrase a friend, you don’t have to be sensitive to hear what you and I experienced today.” I looked him up and down. “I have to say, Luc, you’re pretty nonchalant for someone who was just assailed by the unexplainable.”
    “I lived in Europe for some time. In an old castle. You want to talk about spirits . . . Let’s just say I’ve seen enough to try to keep an open mind.”
    That was refreshing.
    “Just be more careful, okay?” I said. “If I hadn’t pulled you away earlier, you might have lost your eyesight. No joke.”
    “I’ll be careful. Come to my office, and I’ll call down and see if Walker’s around. He set up shop in my studio. A pipe burst in his ground-floor space not long ago.”
    Luc led me down the now-quiet hall to his small office. A number of scale models and small sculptures adorned simple wood shelves, and there were papers everywhere, not stacked but seemingly tossed willy- nilly. Lots of fine-point Sharpie pens and sketches in black ink on thick white paper, mostly nudes and details of the human body.
    “I do my actual sculpting work in my studio. This space is just for the paperwork, and the thought. Two different processes. Thinking through one’s work, then bringing it to fruition.”
    “I always thought artists came up with their ideas on the spot. You know, moved by the muse, that sort of thing.”
    He shook his head. “If only. Sculpting stone involves taking away rather than building up, so a mistake can’t be undone. If you rush in and start carving, you’ll end up with nothing. A lot of consideration goes into it. It’s as though you’re freeing the very essence of the stone.”
    “I think I heard someone quote you on that just last night. Is Ginny Mueller one of your students?
    “She is.”
    “I hear she was just offered gallery representation.”
    “Ginny?”
    “That’s what I hear. You’re surprised?”
    “Frankly, yes. Her work shows a lot of promise, but her technique’s immature. Nothing time won’t solve, but she’s not there yet. Not by a long shot.”
    “Maybe you’re a better teacher than you think.” He smiled. “Well, like I always say, it’s better than working for a living.”
    Luc reached over to the beige institutional phone and dialed Walker Landau. They had a brief exchange, and Luc told him I was on my way down. He drew a little map on a pad of scratch paper.
    “He’s just one floor down,” Luc said. “Feel free to leave your pig here with me if you’d like.”
    “You wouldn’t mind?”
    “After our little incident, I could use the company. It does get creepy up here occasionally.” He took a Pay-Day candy bar out of his desk drawer and gestured to Oscar. “Does he like peanuts?”
    “As far as I can tell, he likes everything, with the possible exception of ham.” I watched as Oscar proved my point by sitting prettily for a portion of the candy bar. “Thank you so much.”
    I patted Oscar and headed down the hall to the narrow stairs.
    As I rounded the landing, I realized there was a subtle hint of scent on me—Luc’s scent. It was a heady aroma. He was charming. I didn’t trust him, but was that because of him or me? Partly he was too good- looking, too charming—I had the sense that he got whatever he wanted, not through magic as did Aidan, but as a favored heir to the throne. He had probably been voted Most Popular in high school.
    I had not been exactly popular in high school, and had an innate distrust of those who were.
    Down on the second floor, I found Walker Landau easily enough. The door was open and the light on, and he waved me in eagerly.
    “Hello, hello, come on in,” he said. My second impression