by Lissa Kasey
“No,” I agreed. “Maybe not only him, but he might be part of the problem. The yowling could have been him the other night. Or another cat in heat.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and looked away from me. The mask was back and impenetrable.
“Don’t be mad at me,” I said. “I’m not doubting you. Hell, I heard stuff too. Was it all this tom? Maybe? Does it matter? That thing outside, whatever it is, you said it’s deterred by Jet, right?” At his nod I continued. “So maybe having this big orange brat wandering about will help keep it away too.”
Micah dry washed his face with his hands. He looked tired.
“Don’t be like that. Don’t dwell on this. Whatever it is. Good, bad, or nothing.” I snatched the phone back from him, plugged it in to the speaker, and hit his playlist again. “Dance with me.”
“You’re an awful dancer,” Micah said.
“I know but didn’t you say something about training?”
He let out a dramatic put-upon sigh. “Try not to step on my feet,” he said and proceeded to try to teach a soldier with two left feet how to dance.
We closed the shop at nine without any fanfare. Micah put the cash in a safe in the back, we armed the alarm, and locked the door. Sky had left a half an hour earlier, eager to be somewhere more exciting on a Saturday night I was sure. I carried Micah’s bags from earlier in the day as we headed toward his house.
“Shop is closed tomorrow.”
“Yeah? For church reasons?”
“Nah, ‘cause even I need a day off. I find people are less offended by the store being closed on a Sunday because they think it’s church related, not an ‘I’m staying in bed’ thing.”
“Smart,” I nodded. He let us in through the gate and down the path. Nothing was out of place, but now that I knew there was a resident yard cat of the real variety, I was a little less intimidated by the shadows.
“So listen…” Micah began.
My gut clenched. “Is this the ‘it’s-not-you-it’s-me’ speech?”
Micah laughed and shook his head. “Wow, you’re quick with the snark. No. I’m thinking that maybe we can take a break tonight? I could use some time in my own head. There’s been so much going on, and I need to sort it all out.”
“Oh, of course.” I held out the bags of stuff for him. “You’re not going to do anything crazy like go examine graves in exclusive graveyards or dig through a newly dead lady’s trash for clues of what she stole from said graveyard?”
He gave me narrowed eyes. “Eerily specific plans for pulling them off the top of your head. Are these things you plan to do?”
I’d thought about them, but was pretty sure Lukas would kick my ass if I so much as set foot in that direction. “Nah. Might do some more research on Lukas’s computer. Lukas might actually hang me if he catches me stepping into this again. I should have thought to borrow some books from the shop. Since I have tomorrow to myself. I could read and catch up on all the fun New Orleans lore.”
“I think Lukas has most of them anyway. Used to buy stuff while he was pretending that he wasn’t actually there to check on me or Sky.”
“Buying stuff from himself? Since he owns the store and all…” I laughed. That sounded like Lukas. “And he said I have a hero complex.”
“I think you’re more alike than either of you believe.” He grabbed the front of my shirt and tugged me close, then leaned up to kiss me.
“What? Oh,” I said returning his kiss which started out with little brushes of the lips and quickly turned to a heated duel of tongues. At some point I must have dropped the bags because I found myself wrapped around him, pressing my heat to his and wishing we were inside right that second to continue what I’d put a halt to last night.
He released me, but sighed sweetly into my lips. “Weren’t you the one saying you wanted to see if we were more than just a spark?”
Yes. Dammit. “Was that me?”
“I really am only going to get some sleep,” Micah said. “There’s a lot in my head from the past few days I need to work out.”
“Sleep or feverishly work on projects?” I clarified.
He shrugged. “Not sure yet, but it doesn’t matter.” He stepped away and picked up the bags I’d dropped. “Can you find your way home okay?”
I wanted to watch over him, but knew he was right. “Yes. I’ve got the route down now.”
“No chasing shadows on the way home,” Micah said.
I put my hand over my heart. “Straight home, sir.”
He glanced my way and nodded before heading to his door. “Text me when you get home? So I know you’re safe.”
“Of course,” I promised. “I will go once I’m sure you’re inside.”
He nodded and unlocked the door. A moment later he was gone and I did a quick search of the yard, looking for anything out of place before heading home.
Chapter 20
Lukas’s place was dark and quiet when I got in. I texted him to let him know I was home and would be asleep on the couch if he got in late. Not that I ever heard him come in anyway. He was a bit like a ghost in that regard.
I made another batch of poor man’s peanut butter cookies, leaving the ones I didn’t eat out with a note for Lukas, and made up the couch. It was the first time I noticed, that in Lukas’s pile of top sheets, there was one with gnomes on it. It was a sort of creamy white with blue China plate sort of print. The gnomes had looked like people at a glance, but up close, the big noses, beards, and pointy hats were unmistakable. Which meant this was probably Micah’s handiwork.
I found my phone and took a picture of a closeup of the print. Is this your work? I sent to Micah. Oh and btw I’m home.
The (…) appeared for a moment. Then, Yes. It’s a running joke. He even has gnome boxers somewhere. Christmas ones. It was a fabric I found on clearance at a thrift shop and only had enough for something small. The nose of one of the gnomes goes where the…
I laughed at the idea of my brother wearing a big gnome nose on his dick. Had he ever worn them? You made my brother boxers?
Boxers are easy. Fifteen-minute project. I make them for everyone. Expect them for Christmas at the very least. Even Sky has sleep boxers.
I could use some boxers that fit, I allowed and thought about the fabric choices we’d made in that little quilt shop. Could maybe have boxers with little dragons on them?
Already started on something with that one. Sorry. I hope you don’t hate it.
I will like anything you make me. Aren’t you supposed to be resting? I made my way to Lukas’s room and the wall with three—five shelf bookcases, full of stuff. The first was all police procedural stuff, manuals, and forensic guides. The second was fiction like Harry Potter. The third was a mix of everything else, but he did have three whole shelves dedicated to the paranormal. I pulled out a few books on New Orleans ghost history and the one with Micah’s 411 mystery and took it to the couch.
Micah’s reply said, Am resting. Jet curled up with me. Two seconds later a selfie arrived with a close up of Micah in bed with Jet perched on the pillow near his head. I couldn’t help but smile.
You’ll call if you need me?
Yes. Don’t scare yourself too much with ghost stories.
Ghosts aren’t real anyway, I reminded him. Or so you keep telling me.
The (…) appeared for a minute. Then, But the idea of something else, unclarified and unexplained, is pretty scary sometimes too.
That was true enough. Best remember you’re not alone then? That your friends are just a call or text away.
Yes. Thank you.
I smiled at the phone. Night.
Night.
I actually fell asleep fairly quickly. Reading straight up facts about ghost stories wasn’t as exciting as listening to Micah retell the tales of them. However, I dreamt of searching the city for something. My heart pounding in fear as I turned corner after corner only to find nothing. It was a growing sense of panic that made my heart race and sweat trickle off my brow. I tur
ned a corner down an alley I didn’t recognize and felt someone grab my arm.
I came up swinging.
“Fuck!” I heard the curse before it made sense that it wasn’t me dropping the F-bomb. I blinked half a dozen times, worlds meshing and finally separating. Lukas stood a few feet away, hands up in front of him. I was sprawled halfway across the kitchen counter like I’d tried to get to him.
His apartment, not some random alleyway. The sun shone through the windows. Had I really slept so long? Was all that a dream? My heart still raced and I fought for a full breath.
“Sorry,” I said.
“You were sleeping hard until about an hour ago when you started making noises. I thought I’d try to wake you up before it got too bad,” Lukas said. He was dressed in cop chic again.
“Did you even get any sleep?”
“Yeah. You were out, so I went to bed. I’m headed back in. Are you going to be okay?” The unspoken ‘if I leave you alone’ hung in the air without needing to be said.
“I’ll be okay. I was going to catch up on some reading today.” I dropped back onto the couch, tired now that the adrenaline from the dream was fading.
“So not one nightmare while you were with Micah?” Lukas wanted to know.
“Not that I recall. He didn’t say anything about me making noise in my sleep.” I glanced at the microwave clock, it was after seven a.m., not that late. “He wanted time in his own head last night. I hope he didn’t text me and I slept through it.” I glanced at my phone. Nothing. Was it odd how sad it made me feel to not see anything from him?
Lukas leaned against the counter. “Thanks for the cookies, by the way. Man, did they bring back memories or what?”
“Right?” I tugged my boxers up as they’d fallen partially down my hips.
Lukas noticed and glared. “If I leave you some cash, can you maybe go get some clothes that fit you?” he asked.
“I have clothes,” I protested, not wanting to spend more of his money.
“Clothes that fit you, not me. You’re wider in the shoulder than me and narrower in the hip. You can’t keep wearing my clothes hoping our bodies will suddenly be the same.”
“We’re identical twins,” I reminded him.
“Which doesn’t mean we are actually identical. You’re a half inch taller than me, and I weigh a good twenty pounds more than you.” He glanced at my hair. “Maybe get a haircut? Though whatever Micah did has been helping.”
“I have been doing my hair,” I said. “Some product Micah gave me, but I’ve been taking care of it.”
“Okay, so maybe a trim, then. And clean up the beard a little? Clothes that fit? You have a respectable job now.”
“Working for you.”
“And a hot ex-porn star.”
I sighed. “Aren’t you supposed to be finding a missing girl or something?”
“I’m homicide, not missing persons. The dead guy is my jurisdiction.”
“Is that why nothing gets done anymore with you cops? Right hand not talking to the left?”
“I’d bitch at you if you weren’t so damn right.” Lukas pulled his wallet out of his pocket and took out a stack of cash. “Shopping, yeah? Don’t buy clothes you think I’d like, buy stuff for you. You still have the credit card I gave you? Use that too.”
“What if I want ballgowns and wizard cloaks?”
He shrugged. “Okay, if it makes you happy.” He glanced at the clock. “Gotta go. Don’t find any dead people today.”
“You’re not funny.”
“Shop,” he said as he waved the money at me.
I sighed, taking the offered cash and watching him leave. Shop. Normally I hated shopping, but it had been fun yesterday, though I hadn’t been looking for clothes for myself. I unlocked my phone and stared at the blank text window for a minute or two before sending Micah: I hope you’re okay.
A minute passed with nothing. Maybe he was still asleep.
I’m supposed to buy clothes, or so Lukas has ordered. Where should I go?
I got up and made my way to the shower to wash away the sweat and the dream. I’d almost forgotten what the nightmares felt like, but waking from it reminded me of that overwhelming weight in my limbs, the drowning pool of depression, and the mental exhaustion. I felt like I hadn’t really slept at all. A few days with Micah and I’d almost felt normal. It was a little scary to get a glimpse because what if Micah didn’t want me around anymore?
By the time I exited the shower and dug through Lukas’s clothes to find something that didn’t make me look like an emaciated hobo, there were a handful of texts lighting up my phone.
Lots of shops off Decatur. Great thrift shop near Ursulines and Royal. Not far from LaLaurie Mansion. Tiny but good selection.
You okay?
Yes. Sewing and thinking.
I wasn’t sure that was okay, but since he didn’t seem to be inviting himself along or asking for my presence, I decided he probably still needed some space. That was okay. Apparently I needed clothes.
On the way to the thrift store I found a barber shop who was willing to turn me into something presentable. The barber cleaned up the beard, trimming it down and softening it, and took enough off my hair to make me look somewhat distinguished. The older black man gave me a long lecture on hair care, and a handful of products to help me keep the ‘fro tamed during the humid New Orleans days. I thanked him profusely and took a selfie in the barber mirror, forwarding it to both Lukas and Micah, then headed for the clothing shop.
I’m glad you didn’t cut it short. Micah wrote back. Or shave off the beard.
It’s super soft, I sent him, stroking my beard and marveling at the texture of it. Who knew there was stuff that could make your hair as soft as satin? Having the beard trimmed this short it always felt prickly to me, only now it didn’t. I had purchased a half-dozen products from the barber after he’d used them on me. Having never been all that into ‘self-care’ in general it would be work to create a new habit, but since it made me feel good, I’d try.
There were a dozen small boutique style shops in the area selling T-shirts and tourist gear, and I recognized the shop Micah had mentioned immediately. It was a mash of crowded racks, heaped with well-loved clothes, while still being very organized.
A plaque beside the entrance told a story about a lover’s quarrel which had ended in tragedy, leaving the disgruntled couple to forever haunt the shop. The story was pretty recent, from the late seventies. I laughed at the silliness of it, a haunted clothing store. If there was something I would do in my afterlife, it would not be hanging around a thrift store. I took a picture of the plaque and sent it to Micah.
Never felt anything there. Micah replied. But know the story. Murder-suicide. Sad.
“Can I help you?” A young woman asked me. She must have been an employee, though didn’t have a nametag. Her clothes were kind of thrifty cool, dated, like she’d picked the best stuff from the seventies and eighties and meshed them into a neat outfit. Her dark hair was long and flowing, pushed back by one of those cloth headbands.
“I need some clothes that fit,” I told her and tugged on the shorts I was wearing, which were held up by a belt that really didn’t go with the shorts.
She gave me a warm smile that eased some of my anxiety over shopping for clothes. “Sure. Follow me.”
She led me to a section in the back of the store where there was a little changing booth and several crammed-full racks. One whole rack appeared to be jeans, pants, and shorts for men. I went to the size I knew Lukas wore and down one.
“Feel free to use the changing room to try stuff on,” the woman told me.
“Thank you,” I said, watching her weave her way through the racks. The store seemed otherwise empty, and bigger inside than I’d thought from seeing the outside, though not larger than Simply Crafty.
I pulled a handful of things off the rack and headed to the changing room, finding quickly enough that I was not one size, but two sizes smaller than Lukas.
Jeans felt odd. Very restrictive. Had it been so long since I wore them? I liked the shorts better, and a handful of cargo pants in cream, green, and khaki, with giant pockets and wide legs. I took a picture in one of the pairs and sent it to Micah.
These hide my chicken legs well, but fit through the waist and ass. What do you think?
I took pictures from the side and front, so he could see that it didn’t hang off my butt or slouch on my waist. They were comfortable when I bent or moved.
As long as you have some color on top, they look good. Micah sent back. I can add some designs to the pockets. I have an embroidery machine.
Designs? I thought about that. You mean like flowers or something? How gay did he think I was?
Was thinking dragons or anime characters.
Okay, that was a cool idea. I tried on the rest of the pairs and added the batch to my must-have pile. The T-shirt rack was easier to sort through as I looked for solids in the size I’d picked from Micah’s shop. Though I did aim for more color than I normally would have gravitated toward.
Someone had left a sequined dress on the shirt rack. It was pink, with sequin that turned silver when rubbed in the other direction. I picked it up, thinking funny things about something this slinky. I knew nothing about women’s sizes but it looked like it might fit, so I brought it to the changing room to try it on for shits and giggles.
The inside of the dress was scratchy and I had to tug to get it into place, then smoothed the sequins down to pink. I took a picture and sent it to Micah.
What do you think? Should I become a drag queen?
You’re fabulous. He responded. But pink isn’t really your color.
Rude. I wrote back, then wiggled out of the dress and back into my regular clothes. I found another rack with dresses on it and tried on a yellow sundress. How about this one? Not a kilt but I like the breeze on my balls.
I received the laughing emoji back with a: No yellow either.
“He’s so picky,” I said to no one in particular.
My phone buzzed and there was a picture this time, of a skirt, black with rainbow colored scales between the pleats. I think those were pleats. It took a minute to figure out that I was looking at a kilt. Had Micah made that for me?
