Ghost Talker

Ghost Talker by Robin D. Owens Page B

Book: Ghost Talker by Robin D. Owens Read Free Book Online
Authors: Robin D. Owens
    As they drove away, he saw crows, but they took off too quickly for him to count them. Maybe they were real crows. Maybe.

Chapter 10
    With a deep breath and dragging feet, Clare entered the office on the second floor of her home that she’d set up for her ghost seer “gift” . . . work. One wall held a thick corkboard with a mounted map of metro Denver. She’d outlined in red the bad zones thick with ghosts—where she couldn’t drive. She’d also stuck golden pins, only four, of ghosts she’d helped transition, and none of those had been major projects, just phantoms she’d moved on while coming into her gift. That main map dominated, but others hung, too. Of Colorado, of the Old West, and old maps, too.
    The room smelled exotic, both from the perfume her great-aunt Sandra—and Clare—loved, and the furniture she’d inherited from her relative. Great-Aunt Sandra had liked burning incense. Straight ahead sat two bookshelves full of her great-aunt’s journals—books the woman had sitting around in every room, much like Clare had clocks, and would write in at whim.
    Once more Clare deeply regretted not spending more time with the woman she loved but had considered a flake. Not only had she missed wonderful times with Sandra, but she hadn’t let the woman groom her for this vocation.
    Her teeth hurt, and she found she’d been grinding them.
    She didn’t want to be here. Didn’t want to open her old, heavy laptop and look at the pages of the journals she’d transcribed. Sit in the folding chair with a pillow on it.
    Who would? It occurred to her that if she made the place more comfortable and less intimidating, reflecting more of her than just her gift, she might feel better about being in the space. And about her gift, and her new vocation. She should swap out this tiny room for the larger one where she’d optimistically set up her accounting business office. She hadn’t had time for more than an easy client or two.
    Yes, the other office, with prettier windows and more light, painted a cream-yellow, her favorite cheerful color, with some new art she bought and loved, as well as maps . . . a pretty desk and an excellent ergonomic chair, maybe a soft loveseat, even . . .
    A new project, perhaps a new procrastination, but now she didn’t underestimate the mental lift that working in a place she enjoyed being gave her.
    Since she’d just moved in three weeks ago, it would be a pain messing with painting and changing furniture around, but she could afford to hire that out instead of doing it herself. She
begun to spend more money on herself—and Zach—and, face it, with the ghost cases coming so quickly, she had more money than time. She couldn’t afford to paint and rearrange furniture herself.
    Another steady breath and a determined nod. She
make her workspace more appealing, especially as her business expanded as her name and abilities became more well known. She didn’t like the thought, but believed more publicity was inevitable.
    Marching the couple of paces to her great-aunt’s journals, she scanned the colorful backs. If she were Sandra, which might she have used to record a spectral wound?
, Clare thought, putting a hand to her side and rubbing it,
if Sandra hadn’t had another closer
    Sighing, she pulled out three red journals, kept them in one arm, and stuck a packet of multi-colored sticky tabs in her pocket, then scooped up her laptop in the other. She headed downstairs, her feet echoing hollowly on the polished wooden treads. The whole house felt empty without Zach. He really did infuse it with a vital energy.
    So she trucked out of her house along a sandstone footpath, through the backyard to the old carriage house, which she’d decided would be her ghost “client” place. Texas Jack had refused to meet her here, but other

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