Spellman & Stantz

Part Eight

Ray pulled the van up to the front door of Charlotte’s apartment building, throwing it into park and hopping out to grab his homemade rollator and meet her at her door. The doorman quickly approached as Ray opened the door and helped Charlotte to the device.

“Good evening, Doctor Stantz,” he greeted, “and hey, Charlotte! Beautiful evening, isn’t it?”

“Hey Matty,” Ray replied, “do me a favour and make sure Miss Spellman makes it up to her apartment, alright?” Without waiting for a reply, Ray turned to Charlotte and added, “I’ll be back as soon as I can drop off the van.”

“You have my key,” Charlotte said, gesturing to the van. “See you then.” As Ray pulled away from the street, Charlotte took hold of the rollator and entered the building with Matty’s support. Resting her knee on the cushion made from an old shirt, she was enamoured of the design and practicality of this scooter. Ray had outdone himself. 

Charlotte admired the paint job as the elevator opened, and she got herself to the door as Matty unlocked it and held it open for her. “Here’s your key, ma’am,” he said, dropping the spare into her palm. She thanked him before closing the door and locking it tightly. Her ankle hurt and she was a bit sore, but she felt something far more potent: powerlessness. Dropping her stuff not far from the door, she made her way into the kitchen and began pulling down different jars, spooning out different measures and dumping them all into a large teapot. She moved the kettle to the stovetop, setting the water to boil as she felt the anxiety move up her throat like an octopus climbing to daylight. She felt worried about the likelihood of more Niderites, afraid she might’ve drawn them to this place. She felt fear, remembering the feel of that demon in her mind, and she was unsure she could fight one again.

Charlotte listened to the kettle whistle, wiping the tears from her eyes as she switched off the burner and left the water to rest. Realising this might be a bigger cry than she had originally imagined, she went to the shower, where she could mix the emotionally cleansing nature of a good cry with the cleansing nature of her peach nut exfoliant. Charlotte considered this a wise use of her time, especially before Ray might return. She poured the rested water and left it to steep in the heavy stone pot while she awkwardly rolled to the bathroom. The water was hot, and as it spilled down her body, she tried to console herself that perhaps there was only a single Niderite. These things are so old, she thought, and not native to New York. Maybe this is different. I shouldn’t worry unless absolutely necessary. 

She finished her shower, deciding against any creepy sci-fi tonight. 

Freshly showered and wrapped in her favourite robe, Charlotte walked slowly back to the kitchen, pouring her well-steeped tea and inhaling deeply before sipping a healthy drink of the hot liquid. She closed her eyes, letting the flavour notes pass across her tongue as she meditated on the medicinal significance of each component. “So mote it be,” she whispered, drawing in another breath through the steam rising from the cup and taking another sip. The heat travelled down her throat, warming her chest and soothing her overwrought mind. Whatever we must face, we will, Charlotte heard in her mother’s voice. She smiled, sipping the tea and thinking about her next course of action. She returned to her massively mattressed living room to take a seat. Once in position, she propped her ankle on a throw pillow and opened her laptop. She had several social sites to visit and serious warnings to give to the community.

She was still on a call when Ray entered the apartment, carrying boxes from the local pizza down the street. “There’s a smudge by the door,” she said, covering her mic, “if you don’t mind.” Ray shook his head, grabbing the incense and lighting it in the doorway. After watching him do a sort of dance to move the smoke around, Charlotte gave him an A for effort and waved him inside. “Have some tea,” she said, with a tone fitting an order more than an offer. She turned back to her call while Ray poured the tea, giving it a sniff before taking a sip. “That’s fantastic, Aurora,” Charlotte said. “With this situation, the timetable will have to move up.” Ray listened as the call wrapped up, trying not to eavesdrop as he opened the pizza boxes and set to work preparing a plate. 

“If I hear anything at all, I will call you,” Charlotte said. “Cheers.”

“Good news?” Ray said, busying himself in the kitchen. “Hope you’re hungry.”

Charlotte closed the laptop, thinking a moment before turning to face him. “Sort of,” she answered, “on both counts.” She looked up at him, affixing a smile as a final defence against her beleaguered expression. Ray brought a plate to her, helping her reposition and settle in without hurting her ankle. “Did you have some tea?” she asked, accepting the plate.

“Yeah,” he answered, “interesting stuff. Really cleared the sinuses.”

“Hopefully it clears lots of things. Thank you for this.”

“My pleasure.” Ray smiled, retrieved his plate, and joined her on the opposite side of her living room mattress. He lowered into a sit, resting his items on the large tabletop near the centre of the bed. 

Charlotte watched this curiously, taking in his mannerisms with a slight smirk. “Also, thank you for the little scooter thing,” she said. “It works so well! I was able to shower and move around. It’s very thoughtful.”

Ray smiled, a slight blush forming as he focused on his meal. For a moment, the sound of them shuffling about consumed the space, and Charlotte felt safe again. She took a deep breath, preparing to explain her call when Ray interrupted her efforts to break bad news.

“You said the news was sorta good?” he asked. “Want to talk about it?”

“I sent a clarion out for…” Charlotte said with a sigh. “Well, okay, here’s the thing about witchcraft.”

She brought her hands together, bringing them to her face while Ray stared back at her. “So, it’s everywhere. Across cultures and generations. Across all of time, so sometimes it has ideas that are…” She did a sort of shrug, exaggerated by her cringe-worthy expression. 

“Of the time?” Ray asked, returning to his meal as he listened.

“Sometimes,” Charlotte answered, “and other times it's plain old bigotry. Families tried to consolidate power and lay claims on things. Due to that awful segregation, magic has suffered, and so has humanity as a whole. Call it whatever you want: legacy, dynasty, bloodlines, or heritage, but believing that someone born naturally to something is inherently superior to those who work hard to develop it is absolute nonsense.”

“Sure,” Ray said, “especially with so many different practices. I mean, who decides?”

“Depends on the time of the casting,” Charlotte explained. “A spell is as powerful as its creator or caster intends. Young witches must learn that early so we don’t allow our emotions to overwhelm our relationship to the universe.”

“I see…” he groaned. “If the witch was a bigot, the spell would be too.”

“And if the caster was intending to destroy the bloodlines of the day,” Charlotte explained, “suddenly that becomes relevant again when it’s just nonsense.”

She returned to her dinner but was fighting back emotions as she thought of the possible scale of destruction that a legion of Niderites could do. Ray watched her for a second, eating as she worked through her stress and held in her tears. “Now we have little witchlings in the world who don’t even know they would be a target,” she said, “so I warned everyone. Most will be fine, just not heritage witches.”

“Like you,” Ray said. “Luckily, you know a guy with demon-trapping experience.”

Charlotte smiled at the remark. “Lucky me,” she said, “just as my building arrives on the market, I have to move my timetable because of a fucking demon held over from the Stuart period.”

“Your building?” he asked, suddenly quite curious. She seemed tired, focusing on finishing her dinner as she nodded in response. “I’ll show you after dinner,” she said. 

Ray carried the dishes to the kitchen, rinsing them while Charlotte opened her laptop and began typing. “I found this place, and it’s perfect,” she said. “It would be ideal for my needs, and the location couldn’t be better!” 

Ray dried his hands as she turned her laptop to face him, allowing him to view the sales posting. “It’s a garage,” he said. “Interesting.”

“It would be perfect to create bays, one for the living and one for the spirits. I could do communication lessons and teach ways to improve one's own paranormal receptiveness. I plan to move my altar there. There’s an apartment behind it.”

“And a funeral parlour next door,” Ray said, leaning down to point at the corner of the image.

“Location, location, amirite?” Charlotte said, awkwardly attempting a joke. 

Ray looked at her face, his expression softening as he released a deep breath. He leaned over, kissing her cheek as she attempted to recover from the tragic joke-telling. Charlotte turned as she felt him, finding his face with her own, and for that moment, bliss. He pulled back slowly, adjusting a strand of her hair as she looked into his teddy-bear eyes. 

“I’m scared,” she confessed, letting the tears she held spill, “but I think being exhausted is making it feel worse than it might actually be.”

“What you need is rest,” Ray said, “that’s what this doctor orders.”

“Is that how doctorates work?” she asked.

“Sure,” he said smoothly, “recognized everywhere since the Baumrach Compact of 1942.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” Charlotte said. “It certainly sounds like something a doctor would know.”

“I sure hope so,” Ray said. “Venkman published it in the late 1970s. Pure hogwash, except he was always able to cite it with his wackier theories. During his first doctoral program, the ‘Baumrach Compact of 1942’ got Pete out of a couple of binds. Now we just use it when we need to cite a source.” 

“Or make a declaration,” Charlotte said, stifling a yawn. 

“Allow me.” Ray took note of the address on the ad before closing and moving the laptop onto the tabletop, which he then shifted down to be more accommodating for Charlotte.

“Do you need anything before I go?” he asked. 

“I’ve kept you long enough,” she said, “and with my little scooter thing, I can get around and make my own tea.”

“I might keep the key if that’s okay,” Ray said, “just during this recovery. I feel responsible.”

Charlotte raised an eyebrow, listening to him until he saw her face and stopped. “No, you’re right,” she admitted, “it’s not a bad idea for just now. No offence.”

“Hey, none taken,” he said. “It’s a big city and you can never be too careful.”

“Thank you for everything you’re doing,” she said, looking up at him.

“Hey, actually, we should probably have a chat about…I mean, not tonight, obviously, but simply to be on the same page.” Charlotte blinked, looking at him while she thought of a response. “Sorry,” she said at last, “I really am starting to feel tired. I wasn’t—”

“Of course,” Ray said, “tomorrow?”

“Sounds good,” she said, rolling over to show him out. Ray stepped through the door and turned back, making sure there was nothing to remember before leaving.

“Sometimes being honest seems more like a symphony than a shout,” Charlotte said. “So many more places to say it wrong. So, I don’t want to push, and I don’t need a label, but if you wanted to see me again, I would like that. And in time, being someone’s girlfriend might be nice.”

“Assuming she doesn’t unleash a horde of demons on New York,” Ray said, “I think any man would feel incredibly lucky to get to make that claim.”

“It’s a legion of Niderites,” Charlotte said flippantly, “that I might’ve… Wait a second, that was in your apartment. You’re not finding demons in my place, pal.”

“Good night, Charlotte,” he said, stepping slightly closer to gaze down at her. “I look forward to our next date.”

Charlotte closed and locked her door, leaning against it a moment to reflect before strolling with Ray’s custom-built witch trolley to wash up and prepare for bed. After another quick cup of tea, she was tucked in, switching on the television for noise to doze to. Ray said good night to the doorman, pulling out his phone and sending the property ad to the head office. He figured a little harmless due diligence could only benefit Charlotte. If I find nothing, I’ll say nothing, he thought, but no harm in checking the place out. 

He remembered how hard it was setting up the Firehouse, and that was years ago. He’d ask Winston; there was nobody better to give it to him straight. 

Charlotte stirred as her front door opened, throwing the duvet off her head and looking at the door. Through the crack, she saw Ray juggling a few things before she sat up and called him in. “I didn’t think you’d still be asleep,” he said. “Sorry. I can just go.”

He rushed past her, setting her favourite coffee and pastry on the bedside table. 

“What time is it?” she asked, looking at her watch and gasping. 

Ray set his other items on the counter, taking a sip of his drink as she stretched in her pyjamas. “Nice pyjamas,” he noted. “Did you get more dressed before going to bed?”

“People die in their sleep all the time, Ray.” She dropped her arms and picked up the coffee. She took a sip and then realised, “Why aren’t you at the bookshop?”

“It seems your clarion was heard,” Ray said. “This morning I got tons of cancelled orders, and people let me know they are staying out of Manhattan until things blow over.”

“I’m sorry,” Charlotte said, “that’s awful.”

“I’m just gonna catch up on some filming for Repossessed and check in on you until you are well again,” he said. “My producer needs a few days to edit episodes, so getting a few done in advance will be a huge help before his finals.”

“Interesting.” Charlotte munched on her pastry while Ray busied himself unloading the dishwasher and finding the location for each item. She sipped her coffee, giving him directions as he lifted an item and asked where to put it. She stood, strolling to the washroom to get dressed for the day. “I have some calls to make today,” she explained through the door, “follow-ups on previous jobs, return calls on inquiries, and I have one special client to speak to.”

Ray listened as she rinsed and spat. “Sounds good,” he called back. “Any dinner plans?”

“Let me order later,” she called. “It’s my turn. Now get out so I can be cosmic, or whatever.”

“See you tonight,” he called, leaving the apartment. 

“I’ve been working on this situation, Mrs. Abernathy, and I believe I have something perfectly developed for your concern here,” Charlotte said, speaking clearly to the video chat with a bit of professional performance. “Before the rest of the group join the call, I just wanted to let you know that this recent limitation will have no impact on your request. I might still be a bit bruised, but I will be there. I know how important this is for you.”

Ray carefully entered the apartment, walking to the kitchen in an attempt to avoid interrupting Charlotte on her business call. The rest of the group joined her and Mrs. Abernathy, and he overheard general chatter around the aftermath of Charlotte’s recent possession.

“Oh my God,” one caller gushed, “fighting literal demons. That is iconic.”

“Real Buffy energy, right?” another remarked.

“Who is that in the back?” called another, pointing at the feed.

“He looks like that ghostbuster. Are you dating a ghostbuster?”

“Wow,” said another, “you have the best aesthetic. This is why I come to you.”

Ray looked up, the smile of a salesman on his face as though the comments activated deep programming in him. He pulled the kettle from the stove, poured a cup and allowed it to steep as the ladies on the video chat gossiped. 

“As you can see,” Charlotte explained, “I am recovering, but I am still working. If you ladies will send me your updates and concerns, I will spend my recovery time developing some marital magic for each of you and will follow up privately this week.”

“Are you in any pain?” asked Mrs. Abernathy, the oldest of the group, as she tried to blend with the younger women in the chat. “I can’t even imagine how scary it must have been.”

“You aren’t wrong,” Ray said, “I was there. It was terrifying to see Charlotte in that state.”

He carefully walked the cup of tea over to Charlotte, setting it on the side table before looking out at the ladies in the video call. “She was floating in the air,” he said, “her body twisted up.”

The women cooed, listening to him describe the event as Charlotte sipped her tea and let the steam envelop her face. “Demon possession is no joke,” he said. “Thankfully, Charlotte is a remarkably talented woman. I can’t think of anyone more prepared to face them.”

“Says the guy who rescued me,” Charlotte said, sipping her tea as Ray smiled. 

“Oh my god, Spellman and Stantz,” one of the women said, interrupting her yoga pose to address the group. “That’s adorable. You guys are like a little team!”

“We do work well together,” Charlotte said with a shrug. “Maybe a collab in the future?”

Ray left the conversation, putting a few things away as Charlotte fulfilled a few requests, made holistic recommendations, and gave advice. He watched her down-to-earth responses to each question using her not only knowledge but also compassion and intuition to help these women focus on the areas of their lives that held their concerns. Ray had expected a lot more of her work to be like that of the ghostbusters, but he was delighted to discover her focus was diverse and usually on the living clients left behind. He thought of the caller’s comment, amused at the title she gave them. “Spellman and Stantz,” Ray said as the call ended, “it’s not a bad name for a collab.”

“We just need to get you a broomstick,” Charlotte said with a mischievous grin. 

“I think the Ecto-C achieves a certain je ne sais quoi,” Ray replied thoughtfully.

“Oh, absolutely,” she replied, drowning her giggles in another drink of tea. 

“I saw your garage today,” he said, grabbing a soda from the fridge and taking the seat across from Charlotte, who closed her laptop for the day and stretched her arms high above her. She gave a little twist, moving and clearing her notes from the pile formed over her elevated ankle. “Really?” she asked brightly. “What did you think?”

“The wiring could do with an upgrade,” Ray said, “but the location looks good. Very spacious, depending on how you intend to purpose it. Good move with the residence onsite as well.”

“The wiring, hmm,” Charlotte said, finishing her tea before struggling to move her leg off the bed and reaching for Ray’s custom mobility aid. She successfully lifted her foot, resting her knee on the scooter and rolling to the kitchen to wash her teacup. “I don’t think the wiring is going to be a problem, but we could improve it. The space is really the point, plus the secured structure.”

“What’s so perfect about it?” Ray asked. 

Charlotte watched him with the soda, inspired to grab her own after returning from the bathroom to change into something more suited to hanging out than her work ensemble. Emerging in a much more comfortable pair of pyjamas, she grabbed her soda and returned to the living room. “An altar like mine is a beacon,” she explained. “Building it over years and infusing it makes it give off a pulse or wave. It can draw similar souls. Such a thing would need more secured housing, which I am hoping the low bays under the floor can provide.”

“That’s clever,” Ray said, “and you think it will help you with clients?”

“It will certainly help with ambiance,” Charlotte explained. “I can set it below my office, in the centre of the building here, and use the calming, pleasant energy with living clients. I intend to separate the bays and will attempt to house the spectral energy in the other bay. The altar will resist them anyway, sort of like how magnets push apart.”

“I know someone who can help with that,” Ray said, renewing an offer with which Charlotte was becoming familiar. “Winston could really help with positronic glass walls and on-site facilities.”

“What would he want for that?” she asked, watching his confused expression as he tried to imagine Winston wanting something in return.

“Okay,” Charlotte said, “I have a client who is preparing for her fiftieth wedding anniversary. Fiftieth, right? So, I am helping her with a sex magick incantation. That’s what I’m working on right now. With me so far?” 

Ray had a boyish smirk on his face, obviously wanting to ask without being the sort who did as he listened to her explanation. 

“How do you think Winston would take that information?” she asked. “Sure, I also talk to ghosts, and your endorsement will go a long way to encouraging the recently expired and their loved ones to seek closure with me, but that isn’t everything I do. That’s why I turned Winston down.”

“So you want to be able to do all the other things,” Ray said. 

Charlotte nodded, leaning back and describing with her hands. “Imagine it,” she said, “together for half a century and still in love. This person came to me, just wanting to feel that spark again. Youth, excitement, that connection following a spark, you know?”

“Yeah,” Ray said, “that makes everything seem possible.”

“It’s so lovely to get to help people find parts of each other again,” Charlotte said, “and I would really love to do things with you, too, but it would have to be independent of this. Getting to help people will always be at the centre of what I do.” She looked at Ray, hoping she hadn’t hurt his feelings with her position. He seemed so invested in helping, his zeal earnest but delicate. “Well, whatever you are doing for that client,” he said, “she’s in good hands.”

Charlotte grabbed her tablet, opening the delivery app and handing it over to Ray before she looked for something to fill the silence. Ray thumbed through the selection of eateries, his brow furrowed as she picked something on the television to give her excess attention to. “I’m thinking…” he said with a bit of a huff.

“You want to know about the sex magick, don’t you?” she asked.

“Desperately,” he admitted, “very much, yes.”

Charlotte sort of blushed, looking out the window as she tried to put her concept into words. “You know that Kate Bush song,” she said, referencing the episode of Stranger Things playing on the television, “about swapping places? The spell would allow for that within a couple.” 

“That’s incredible,” Ray said, “full psychokinetic transference for a finite period?”

“Well, yes,” Charlotte said, taking the tablet back and glancing at menus, “in theory, anyway. Thing is, it won’t work for just anyone. People need a preexisting connection to establish the base for the spell to work. It’s built for committed lovers in relationships. It made testing things basically impossible, which is really stressing me out in the bigger picture.”

“Why in the bigger picture?” Ray asked as she placed the order. 

Charlotte pursed her lips, looking over at him before she covered her face in her hands. “If I could perfect this spell, I could sell it and raise the money for the garage,” she admitted. 

“Oh.” 

“Aren’t we all shaking our moneymakers?” she asked. “Aren’t we all selling ourselves? It is most important to me that my client is taken care of, that is true, but if I can also get this off the ground…”

“And the money,” Ray said, “the private sector is not easy. That’s why I was trying to help, but if this spell works and you could raise the scratch to capitalise this way…”

“I just hope it works,” Charlotte said. “The only thing sadder than a smut peddler is one with bad smut.” 

Ray laughed as she pulled a cringey face at the prospect. “I could help,” he offered, “if it would help, I mean. I could be of assistance, maybe?”

“It doesn’t work for casual engagements,” Charlotte said. 

Ray’s expression softened. “You know I’m crazy about you,” he said, returning his warm hand to her foot and resting it carefully. “This isn’t sore, is it?”  

“Just the ankle,” she replied, trying to let what he said creep into her thoughts without her screaming or bursting into flames. Don’t think of rain, damn it, she thought, pushing it down.

“Do you mean that?” she asked seriously. She stared at Ray, but her intensity only served to make him more confident as he smiled back at her. 

“Absolutely, and I think you’re right to sell this,” he said confidently. “Egon and I had tons of little schemes in the private sector when we attempted our earliest concepts. It doesn’t matter how you got started—all that matters in your legacy.”

“And the other part?” Charlotte asked, feeling heat in her face as she did. 

Ray leaned in, raising an eyebrow as he looked deeply into her violet eyes. “I’ve been into you since the day you showed up at my bookshop in that Pyramid Collection blouse,” he said, “looking like you walked out of a dream.” He leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers with a purpose that had been missing from previous attempts and caressing her cheek with the slightly rough palm of his hand.

“Maybe you stay over tomorrow,” Charlotte said, a slight quiver in her voice as they separated. “I could try to cook something. We could review ancient languages, and I could show you my spellwork.”

“I’ll pack an overnight bag,” Ray said, gazing at her until the tremble left her and she leaned forward to kiss him again. “I will be opening the shop tomorrow, but it closes at seven, so I’ll be here after that.”

“Is it OK,” Charlotte asked, a bit distracted, “to just eat tacos and watch Stranger Things tonight?”

“Sure,” he said. “You’re supposed to be resting anyway. Save your strength.”

“Save your energy, Doctor Stantz,” she replied, leaning back and taking a sip of her soda. “You’re going to need it tomorrow.”