Larry and Jesse stood outside the rusted metal gates of their new magical assignment. A wooden sign hung crookedly from one gate post, announcing in peeling green paint that they had arrived at O’Malley’s Scrapyard. A smaller, but equally tattered, sign hung above an old-fashioned brass bell-pull, instructing visitors to Ring Bell for Service. A massive chain, sporting an equally large lock, secured the gates firmly closed. Another decrepit notice hung directly above the lock: Closed.

“Holy shit!” The run-down, abandoned look of the place threatened to douse Larry’s determination to tackle their new assignment with vigor. “Well, let’s ring the bell and see if we actually get any service.”

“No one’s here, you ding dong. We’re the ones who are supposed to be providing the service.” Jesse eyed the lock speculatively. “Give me a hand. Let’s get this lock open. I’m tired and need to put my feet up. These orthopedic shoes are killing me.”

Larry stifled a sigh before moving to Jesse’s side. He raised his magic and directed it toward Jesse’s hand, which rested lightly on his neck.

Jesse combined her magic with Larry’s and touched the lock with her index finger. The lock clicked and fell open, newly applied oil shining on its hasp. The gate opened with a small push, rolling smoothly on greased tracks.

Hmmm. Larry realized someone must be caring for the scrapyard, despite its abandoned air.

As they walked through the gates, their mouths fell open in awe. Or horror. Or a little bit of both.

Enormous mounds of metal scrap created a mountain range that filled the vast acreage. A mammoth crusher hulked at the far end of the courtyard, its cab easily two stories above the dirt of the forecourt. Several forklifts gleamed orange from a three-sided metal shed resting against the closest fence. Weeds and spindly trees dotted the apocalyptic landscape. Above a large wooden shed hung a sign that identified the dilapidated building as the office.

“Fuck.”

“Yep.”

Larry looked to the left and heaved a sigh of gratitude. After poking Jesse with his nose, he tilted his head toward a gingerbread style house partially hidden by the open gates. “The house looks nice. Cared for. Pretty garden. Lots of bushes to pee on.”

Jesse rolled her suitcase towards the one welcoming structure in the nightmare landscape that was O’Malley’s Supernatural Scrapyard. “Let’s go check out our new home.”

Predictably, the key was under a flowerpot adorning the front steps. It slid into the lock with ease. Again, Larry sensed someone must still be on the grounds caring for the place. The manager had been missing for over a month and, judging by the unholy mess littering the scrapyard, didn’t seem the tidy type.

As Jesse opened the door, the sweet scent of beeswax and lavender wafted out. Larry ran through the opening and twirled around in the hallway, eyes and ears wide open. No one about that he could sense, but someone had recently been in the house and cleaned it from top to bottom. There wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere.

“We’ve got a Brownie,” Jesse murmured with satisfaction. “No other creature cares for a home quite as well as a Brownie.”

Jesse made a show of wiping her finger along the top of an elegant side table perched on spindly legs under a rather magnificent antique mirror. She smiled in delight. “Sir or madam Brownie, we appreciate and applaud your most excellent housekeeping skills. I’ve seen none better in my two centuries on this earth. I do hope you’ll agree to stay on now that the former occupant of this home has gone. We would be lost without you, as would this lovely home.”

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Larry knew Jesse’s flowery praise was meant to placate the Brownie and encourage her—or him to stay on. He hoped it worked. Jesse’s housekeeping skills were lackadaisical, at best. His were non-existent.

* * *

After a thorough inspection of their new home, every room as spotless as the last, the tired friends collapsed on the couch in the front room.

“I’m starving hungry. How about you? Want some of your delicious kibble for dinner?”

“I could do with a kibble appetizer, but what’s actually for dinner?” Larry licked his chops in anticipation.

Jesse heaved herself off of the couch. “There’s a bunch of take-out menus on the fridge. Let’s see what looks good and order delivery.”

Larry finished the last of his kibble and belched. Out of habit, his tongue made one last pass around the metal bowl that had housed his food. Nope. All gone.

“Can you please stop clattering that thing around the kitchen floor? I’ll have to get a rubber mat for it so it doesn’t make such a racket on those tiles.” Jesse griped absently as she popped the last piece of a truly delicious pizza in her mouth and wiped her greasy hands on a paper towel. “Boy, they sure don’t make pizza like this in Salem.”

“They don’t make pizza at all in Massachusetts, or in most states, in fact. What they do make is some kind of tomato pie that sits on a thick, chewy crust that’s smothered with cheese.” Larry cocked his head, lips curling in distaste. “It’s like New York style pizza and Chicago pizza got together and had an ugly pizza-baby.”

He snickered at his joke, then stopped. “Oh wait, remember that trip we took to San Antonio when the coven was thinking of moving there? We ate at that place run by the vampire who’s a retired mobster from New York. What’s his name? Oh yeah! Vinnie.” Larry snickered again. “Vinnie the Vampire.”

Jesse smiled and nodded her head in agreement. “That’s right. Vinnie’s pizza is the closest thing to real pizza you can get in that Italian-American food dessert otherwise known as San Antonio.” She covered her mouth and burped. “But oh, boy. This pizza almost makes it worth coming to this goddess-forsaken hell-scape that calls itself a scrapyard.”

Larry hopped up on the chair next to Jesse. “Can I have another pizza bone? I’m still hungry.”

Jesse broke a piece of crust off the remnants in the pizza box and passed it to Larry, who took it daintily before gobbling it in one go. No chewing required. Yum.

Larry licked his jowls and wondered if he could get away with the rest of the crusts in the box before Jesse stopped him. “Well, if a pizza is the only thing required to get you to accept this place as our new home, I’m sure we can work something out. The Giardi’s Pizzeria menu is on the fridge and their number’s on speed dial.”

Silence reigned as they considered a life filled with excellent pizza. There had to be an upside to their current situation. Good food worked.

“Besides, wherever you are ... there you are.” Larry gave Jesse a doggie grin.

“Thanks for that,” Jesse replied dryly. “It makes everything so much better.”

Larry fought not to roll his eyes and snap a reply, but couldn’t hide a low, grumbling growl. “I thought we’d hammered this out on the journey here. We’ll soon get this scrapyard in shape, then we should be able to run it in our sleep. That’ll give you time to play at being a senior citizen and me time to continue our investigation into what happened to Mabel.”

Jesse shot up out of her chair, almost tipping it over. She grabbed the pizza box and stuffed it in the trash can. “Not that again. Can’t you just leave it? It’s over and done with. I’m semi-retired now, remember? No more magical leadership roles. No more witch politics. I’d suggest you leave the past in the past, as well.” She sniffed, furtively rubbing her eyes. “I’m done with it all. I’m going to buy some awful costume jewelry, magic my hair purple, and join the senior center down the street.”

“That huge one we passed on our way here? But it’s run by the Catholic Church!” Larry barked in dismay. “You’re a witch, remember? Not too sure you won’t go up in flames when you pass the gate onto church grounds.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. As you well know, during the Burning Times in Europe, many excellent witches hid themselves in plain sight in churches.” Jesse grinned wickedly. “Some even became nuns and none of them burst into flames when entering a church.”

Larry grinned, but a shadow passed across his eyes. “Yeah, but a fair few of them, plus a whole bunch of innocent humans, had themselves lit on fire during the Inquisition. Just be careful. I know humans don’t burn witches at the stake anymore, but it’s still a good idea to keep a low profile.”

“I’m just an elderly, frail senior citizen who wants to play Bingo and socialize.” Jesse mimicked an old-lady voice, then burst out laughing.

Despite his misgivings, Larry couldn’t help but laugh with her.