by Trisha Telep
“We gotta hurry,” Velvet said, pushing past him. “We might be able to catch Conroy in the act, bust this case wide open, and get out of this hellhole!”
But shortly after taking their first wobbly steps into the slender alley between the cottage rows, the shaking and darkness subsided. The inky tentacles that always accompanied shadowquakes receded into the dark corners of walls, into the eaves.
Velvet’s heart sank. Time was running out, they needed to cross over quickly.
The courtyard was a flurry of activity as they raced through it. Barker gathered the bulk of the temple’s residents under the pavilion. Charlie and a girl, Ho Min, flanked him.
“Is there anyone missing?” Velvet yelled in the man’s direction. “I haven’t seen Am—” he started.
“I’m here!” Amie yelled from the back of the crowd glowing bright and totally free of ash.
Velvet pulled Nick close. “You see that? Either she’s got a great skin care regimen, or she’s fresh from a trip through the crack.”
Nick nodded.
Velvet glared at the girl. Amie stared right back, a crooked smile curled onto her lip like it was caught on a fishhook.
“I’m going back. Stay here and watch her. I don’t trust her for a second, and something’s wrong.” Velvet raced off.
***
Velvet didn’t have to search for the source of the shadowquake after all.
She stumbled out of the crack and into a destroyed version of the busy kitchen they’d passed through earlier. Gas stove-top burners raged with flame, but their pots were overturned on the linoleum floor, crimson sauce splattered up the walls like blood spray on a forensics TV show. Knives and carving forks protruded from the ceiling and, as Velvet looked closer, she saw a carrot sticking out of the wall.
Pretty stereotypical haunting-type stuff, she thought. But it seemed a little over-the-top. Most hauntings didn’t show any outward signs, but rather were simple unwarranted possessions. This one seemed—she took another look around—amateurish.
On the far end of the kitchen, near the swinging doors, sat the waiter she’d assumed was being possessed by Conroy.
Approaching him, Velvet realized if this were the same guy, the undertaker had since disposed of his body. It was empty. The eyes were flat, dim—no ghost, no matter how skilled, was able to mask their glow through a body’s eyes. She glanced around the room for signs of another spirit lingering in the shadows, to no avail.
Just then, the swinging doors crashed open and a petite, young waitress with short-cropped brown hair like a pixie and a nose as narrow and blunt as a pencil eraser ran into the room.
“Emile, the police are here. They want to talk to you.”
The waiter’s face fell into his palms, and he shook his head, groaning.
Pixie Girl squatted beside him, concern spread across her features. She pulled a napkin from her apron pocket and dabbed at a trickle of blood trailing from the battered guy’s ear down his neck.
“Just tell them what we all know,” she whispered.
Velvet leaned in closer, intrigued.
Emile, as the waiter’s name apparently was, slapped his hands against his thighs and glared at the young woman, furiously. “They’re not going to believe that all this...” He flailed his arms about.
Pixie Girl’s eyes followed his. She chewed at her lip, discouraged.
“...That all this was done by some invisible entity. They just won’t.”
So they know, Velvet thought.
The amount of energy it took to do the kind of damage on display at Il Fortuna was definitely enough bad juju to cause a shadowquake but, clearly, from the looks of Emile, the kitchen hadn’t been the target. The haunting wasn’t about the restaurant at all. As though they’d heard Velvet’s epiphany, the two waiters continued:
“But it’s not been just this once,” Pixie Girl said. “And it’s always you that gets hurt. Look at you this time! Your black eyes were just beginning to fade, too.”
Emile nodded, clutching at his hair. “I know. I know. But it doesn’t matter. They’ll just think I’m crazy. Better just to lie and say it was a vagrant or something.”
“Maybe you should ask for some time off. Get out of here.”
“I need the cash. The tips. It’s not like there are jobs out there, you know.”
From the dining room, Velvet heard the sound of heavy boots stomping, getting louder as they approached; the cops coming with their questions.
Questions. She had some of her own. What did Abner have against this particular guy? Who was this waiter anyway—this Emile?
She listened through the police officer’s bland and patently uninteresting line of interrogation. When none of her questions were even remotely touched upon, and the restaurant had emptied out and darkened for the night, Velvet slipped back into the perplexing world of Vermillion. She was going to figure that place out, if it was the last thing she did.
***
The courtyard was quiet.
She didn’t notice a single ashen soul upon her return until Barker coughed from the shadows. A second later she saw a match flare and the wick of incense begin to glug its pungent smoke into the air.
“Come.” Barker beckoned, patting the cushion next to him. “What have you learned?”
She padded over and sank down. “A whole lot and not enough, I’m afraid. Abner apparently has a grudge against some guy named Emile, a waiter at a restaurant called Il Fortuna. He was beaten bloody tonight by an ‘invisible entity.’ His words, not mine. The place was a wreck, too. Abner is a pretty angry guy.”
The words felt false in her mouth. What had the little card shark said? Abner was an okay guy. It was like they didn’t even know him. Velvet and Nick were close friends with their poltergeists. They knew each other. These people seemed to be skirting around the issue. Hiding something.
“That’s unfortunate ... ironically.” Barker spun the stick of incense between his fingers until the smoke spiraled like a ribbon on a present.
“Do you know if Abner had any connections to that place?” Velvet asked.
“Not at all. But I’m certain you’ll find out.”
“I wish I was so certain.” She glanced around. The place was deserted. She didn’t notice even the creepiest resident of the temple complex lurking. “Where is everyone, anyway?”
“I sent them to bed.” A glint from the nearby gaslight caught in Barker’s eye, as he stared at her, contemplating his next statement. “You know, Abner was very close to Amie.”
The tiny hairs on Velvet’s neck stood up at the mention of the girl’s name. “In what sense?”
“I think he had a crush on her. She, being Amie, had very little interest in him. In fact, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, our Body Thief can be a bit abrasive. I suspect,” he paused. “I suspect she has some unresolved issues from her death. She ‘struggles,’ if you know what I mean.”
“We all do. It’s no reason to be a...” Velvet was going to say ‘bitch,’ but thought better of it. “...mean person.”
Barker shrugged.
“So I guess I should talk to Amie.” Velvet sighed.
The man shrugged again and stubbed out the incense. “In the morning. It’s quiet now, and I don’t expect it’d stay that way if you confronted her this evening, considering the animosity I sense brewing.”
Velvet took that as a cue to head back to her bed. She thought about Barker’s final words. About the “animosity.” Why was Amie so hateful toward her?
The girl had made it perfectly clear that she was engaging their services under duress, but what was it specifically that bothered her about Velvet and Nick?
***
“Velvet?” Amie’s horrid voice crept in, destroying the quiet solitude of Velvet’s cell and waking her ... rudely.
She pushed herself up on her elbows and sighed. “What do you want, Amie?”
The girl slunk across the shadowy room and sank onto the foot of the mattress.
&n
bsp; “It’s just that I feel like we have quite a connection, you and I.” When Velvet didn’t respond, she continued. “Since we share the same job and all.”
Velvet stared. She had no clue what the girl was talking about. Didn’t Amie hate her? Hadn’t that been established? They were both Body Thieves, that was true, but beyond that, as far as she could tell, they had absolutely nothing connecting them. Since Velvet wasn’t a complete skeez.
“You look pretty in the soft glow of the candle light.” Amie slipped her hand under the sheet and inched it toward Velvet’s calf.
She threw the sheet off and glared at Amie’s hand, then up to her surprised face and back to the hand. Velvet was glowing all right, but this time it was the furious glow of the remnants of her nerves being pushed to the far side of enough.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Velvet demanded as the girl snatched her hand back into her own lap and hung her head in shame. Then Amie broke into sobs and darted out of the room.
What the heck was that about? Velvet wondered. Apparently it’s crazy time.
Was she putting out some sort of lesbian vibe? She knew she could be a little butch, but she liked to think of that as assertive. And she certainly thought other girls were pretty, because they were—some boys too. But she’d never made any passes at Amie, unless the girl viewed contempt as a come-on.
Velvet decided she wouldn’t be able to sleep unless she got to the bottom of this. She hopped out of the sorry excuse for a bed, out the door, and into the open-air hall. Behind the thin doors and drapes that rustled in the doorways, she heard the soft snores of sleeping souls; saw the flicker of candles and the acrid scent of incense wafting through Vermillion’s air from the balconies of the massive pagoda.
She crept toward the far end of the row, half expecting Amie to jump out from the shadows and pin her to the wall with a kiss as unwanted as a tissue full of ether. Or scurry past with someone’s bunny, ready to boil it alive.
Outside the canvas flap draped across Nick’s doorway, Velvet heard whispers, soft cooing.
She shook her head, the ire rising inside her like bile, thick as curdled milk.
You didn’t run far, did you Amie?
Bitch.
Craning to listen, Velvet curled her fingers around the tattered edge of the curtain and gripped it with such intensity her knuckles glowed a metallic color in the cracks of her skin. “You’re so beautiful Nick,” the girl whispered. “So strong. What do you see in that girl? That horrible ugly girl?”
What the hell? Um ... no. This was not happening.
Velvet tore at the curtain with such force the rod holding it dislodged from the wall and clattered against the cobbled hall. Inside, Amie gasped and fumbled to cover her nude torso with the edge of Nick’s blanket. The boy looked genuinely stunned, the light from the globes of gaslight on the far wall lit up a face so groggy that Velvet could almost mistake it for deep sleep—if she didn’t know better.
If she didn’t know what Amie was capable of.
Dirty whore.
She wouldn’t have been surprised in the slightest to find the girl smothering Nick with kisses.
“What’s going on?” Nick growled, inching up onto his elbows and grinding sleep crumbs from his eyes like a four-year-old.
“Why don’t you ask your friend?” Velvet didn’t like the sound of insanity creeping into her voice, the high-pitched lilt of the super jealous didn’t suit her and she knew it.
“What?” Nick startled and jerked his feet up and away from Amie. “What? What?”
“Oh for chrissakes!” Velvet shouted. “Cut the crap, Nick. I heard her. I saw her!”
“It’s true, Nick,” Amie sighed. “She was right outside. She knows everything. It’s useless to deny it. Tell her.” She urged him with a sympathetic nod.
Velvet simmered. Eyes darting from the girl to Nick, back again.
“Tell her what?” he howled, slapping the mattress angrily.
The girl simply shrugged, letting the sheet fall loose from her nakedness.
Velvet cringed, turning to search Nick’s face, watching him go from tense teeth-grinding anger to a shocked realization that he was caught, no doubt.
His mouth dropped open.
“You don’t deny it then?” Velvet challenged. “You’ve done things with ... this...” She flipped a hand in Amie’s direction. “Walking STD?”
“Hell, yes, I deny it.” Nick snatched the sheet away from Amie and bound it around his waist, hiding the lucky clover boxers Velvet had given him for his birthday, but not his magnificent torso. It would have been easier to be disgusted with him, if he didn’t look so hot, but Velvet was pretty sure she could still manage it.
He rushed across the floor toward Velvet. “I don’t know what kind of game she’s playing.” His head whipped in Amie’s direction, and he yelled at her. “Put your top on! Jeez.”
Velvet turned and stomped outside, her feet tangling up in the drape and nearly tripping her. She would have fallen flat on her face if Nick hadn’t caught her mid-dive and twirled her into his arms.
“You’re crazier than her if you think something happened in there!” he shouted, eyes wild with terror.
She jerked her head away, staring off down the passageway.
The dead are nosier than you’d imagine. Soon after the yelling started gray heads were poking out of doorways and around corners, whispering intently, hot for some new gossip.
Vultures, she thought.
She pushed Nick away. “Just stay away from me, unless you want to be picking nerve endings out of your smashed skull.”
Letting go of her, Nick crossed his arms and glared. “Fine!”
“Fine is right,” she mumbled over her shoulder as she marched back toward her room, glowering at each and every startled soul on the way and slamming the flimsy door behind her.
A crack splintered up its shoddy center.
Velvet glowered back at it and flinched.
She wished they’d never come to Vermillion. And more than that, she wished they’d never met Amie Shin. And more than that she wished Nick had never laid eyes on the skinny bitch.
Amie.
This was all her fault, after all. Of course, how hard is it to push a tiny Asian girl off your junk? Damn boys and their weak fortitude. It was all only a matter of time, she supposed. It’s not like she’d ever had a relationship work out.
Even when she was alive, boys had been a fleeting quantity. All façade. And all the same inside. Pervs.
But she’d thought Nick was different. She was sure of it.
She glanced up at the door and whispered, “If you’re different Nick Jessup, you’ll knock on that door in the next five minutes.”
Velvet lay on her side and stared at the crack and waited.
And waited.
Until finally she drifted off to sleep.
