The walk up the driveway is tense and silent. When you reach the front door a sticky, sweet scent reaches your nose.
Magic.
"Ew," Ed mutters.
There's a spell around here somewhere. You check the door frame. Nothing. The walls around it are also spotless, as is the truly ugly potted plant sitting nearby.
"It's here," Ed says, pushing the welcome mat aside with his toe. Sure enough, etched onto the ground in chalk, is a circle riddled with words.
It's in Latin. Because of course it is. Magic works in any language. Hell, you read a story years ago about some nerds selling amulets inscribed with Klingon. But something about the aesthetics of Latin still seems to appeal to the rich.
"Pentacle ward," Ed says. "With exclusions. That's tricky stuff. They must have paid a fair bit for it."
You glance at Ed in surprise. You didn't know he knew anything about magic. "Can you read it?" you ask.
"Something something cursed creatures something something."
Next