“Damn, I was hoping to catch you in some form of dishabille.”
“Dish-what?”
“Undressed.”
I looked for something to throw at him, but I didn’t really think lobbing my panties would have the desired effect.
“Sorry to disappoint,” I answered dryly.
Luckily, I was more or less dressed, except for the oh-so-sexy bonnet.
“Oh, you don’t,” he answered, a gleam in his eye that despite Bobby and taken gave me a little jolt of excitement.
I stepped out of the dressing room, and Ulric moved—barely—to let me pass.
“When I told Kari I wanted to talk to you, I didn’t mean BC,” I said.
“BC?”
“Before clothes.”
He laughed and looked at me like he was wishing for a superpower of his own, like X-ray vision.
I sighed. Ulric was a force of nature. Or nature’s evil twin, anyway. There was no point in trying to convince him he’d done anything wrong. He’d never buy it.
“Tonight at the Gothic Magic Show, we need your help,” I told him.
“Go on.”
“Can you arrange it so everybody is distracted, focused on you?”
“For how long?”
I thought about it. “For as long as it takes.”
“Why?”
“That’s on a need-to-know basis.”
Ulric didn’t roll his eyes. In fact, their intensity continued to bore into me. I licked my lips and nearly nicked my tongue on my fangs, which had extended and locked into place at his nearness. It had been days since I’d fed—not since we’d hit the road in our flight from the Feds. It didn’t help that I knew the taste of Ulric’s blood … a flavor like heat and spice, adrenaline and youth. Liquid life. I nearly moaned just at the thought of it.
Bobby stepped out of his dressing room, swinging his cape around his shoulders and catching Ulric in the face with it. Ulric flinched back and the spell was broken.
“Did I interrupt something?” Bobby asked, staring at Ulric for an answer. I somehow didn’t think the cape had been an accident.
“Yes,” Ulric said, at the same time I answered, “No.”
Exasperated, I huffed, hands on both my hips now. “No,” I repeated.
Ulric looked from me to Bobby and back. “I’ll help on one condition.”
“What?” I asked, dreading the answer.
“A date.”
Bobby answered for me. “Nevermind, we’ll handle it ourselves.”
“Oh, I’m sure you will,” Ulric responded.
“Okay, seriously? Down boys. Ulric, I’m taken. Bobby, dial it back before you come down with testosterone poisoning.”
They both stared at me, then Ulric’s lips quirked up in amusement. “It was worth a shot. Sure, I’ll help.”
Bobby didn’t look so sure the help was worth letting Ulric off without a punch in the nose, but that wasn’t really his style. In the end, he smiled back.
“Thanks,” he said.
“I’m not doing it for you,” Ulric answered.
“I never thought you were.”
Men. Can’t live with them, can’t stake ’em.
As the three of us walked together toward the front of the shop, I noted Kari talking with a stunning redhead. Exactly the kind of girl I’d always hated—model-tall, runway sleek, legs that probably went on for miles. Thank goodness they were currently covered up, along with everything else, by her Pilgrim suit. Sorry, Puritan. Only her dress was red. My signature color. All my secret insecurities rose to the surface. So I was short—no way around that. But I’d always fought frumpy and overlooked, tooth and nail, even before said weapons became instruments of crass destruction.
Kari’s eyes lit up when she saw me. The redhead’s eyes skimmed over Ulric, saw and dismissed me, and moved straight on to Bobby, where her gaze caught and held. Bobby seemed equally gobsmacked, to the point where I had to nudge him in the ribs—hard—to get him to blink.
“I’m so glad you’re all here. Gia, this is Rebecca. Rebecca, Gia. The boys will take the first two groups. Rebecca, Gia’s going to take you out and show you where it all happened so you can get in some practice before the filming tomorrow.” As always, Kari was way too cheerful about everything. At some point, I’d apparently gotten in touch with my inner goth, to the point where perky was now painful. Or maybe it just came with the whole creature-of-the-night gig.
“I am?” I asked.
Rebecca’s gaze slid toward me, as if now that she realized I was important she had to size up the competition.
“Hi,” she said, doing a halfway convincing impression of friendly.
She held a hand out to shake, and I’d love to say that it was clawlike with hangnails, calluses, and critically cracked skin, but it was perfect, just like the rest of her. She had the kind of hands they used in lotion commercials. Her fingernails were all buffed, shaped, and shined but without color, probably in keeping with her Puritanical role. When I looked from that hand to her face, she was just painfully pretty. Her skin could survive cosmetics commercial close-ups. Her uptilted green eyes were almost as bright as mine.
But I had two things on her. My glittering green eyes were framed by long black lashes most women would kill to possess, and while she might be a long stretch of highway you could handle full throttle, I was a cool, curvaceous road, like San Francisco’s Lombard Street, that needed serious time and attention to navigate.
“Sure,” Kari said, oblivious to any undertones. “You said you got stage fright, so Rebecca offered to step in.”
“I’m a drama major at Boston College.”
“Of course you are,” I mumbled.
“What was that?” Kari asked.
“I said, ‘Bet you go far.’ ”
Rebecca gave a million-kilowatt grin. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.” I mean, like, ever. “Come on, I’ll show you what happened.”
“Don’t be long,” Kari said. “I need you to lead the nine o’clock tours.”
“Will do.” I’d have her back by eight.
We were barely out of earshot when Rebecca asked, “So, what’s the story on the new guy?”
“He’s taken,” I said, shortly.
“Taken?” Rebecca’s steps slowed and she turned to me, eyes wide. “You mean, you and him?” She looked me up and down, which didn’t take long considering my height.
“Yeah, is there a problem with that?” I asked. I hadn’t meant to seem so defensive, but somehow, tall and leggy (at least I presumed there were legs and not, say, a serpent’s tail under that costume) drama majors brought out the worst in me.
“Oh, no,” she answered, but not with conviction. “I just … didn’t realize.”
Moving right along. “Kari gave you the lowdown? You’re wearing a cross or some type of protection? A crucifix saved me yesterday.” And today my hair was arranged so that no one could see that it had also scarred me for life.
“Yeah. I’ve got protection.” She patted her chest, which I took to mean she had a pendant hidden under her costume.
“I’m not sure hiding it away is gonna help. The crucifix didn’t do anything until it touched whatever attacked me.”
Rebecca looked vaguely uncomfortable, which was interesting. “I’m pretty sure my religious symbol doesn’t go with the costume. Kari would probably have my head.”
Definitely interesting.
“We’re not on a tour right now,” I argued.
We were already outside, heading toward the Old Jail. It was just the two of us, but still, it was a no-go. In fact, she put a hand over her chest—over the pendant—as if I might see it right through her shirt.
Curiouser and curiouser.
“Come on,” I wheedled. “What’s the big secret? This town was founded on the idea of religious freedom, right?”
“If you mean the right to practice one particular religion, then yes. Anyway, I’m sorry, but how is my belief any of your busi
ness?” she asked.
Fair point. It wasn’t … technically. Not unless she was some kind of witch and could actually work magic. Even then, I guess it wasn’t my business unless she’d used that magic to create the kind of supernatural incident that would bring the Ghouligans to town so that she could act out a little drama and get herself discovered. But even as I thought it, I knew it was more jealousy than logic speaking. If Rebecca wanted to find fame and fortune, there were far more direct paths on which no one had to die.
“It isn’t,” I admitted with a shrug.
She relaxed, her hand slipping away from her pendant. “Anyway, I’m supposed to be playing you, so I need to get into your head, not the other way around. Tell me all about yourself.”
My favorite topic.
Of course, I skipped right over my death and resurrection and started with going to work for Haunts. I took her through my near-death-due-to-strangulation, the feel of the chill hands on my neck, my collar twisted tight across my throat like a gallows rope …
When we hit the approximate spot where the attack had happened, I acted it out for her six or eight times, then watched her go through it herself, critiquing her performance, suggesting improvements. I had to admit that she was good, totally better than I’d be at taking direction. But giving it—that was a whole ’nother matter. Maybe my dreams of stardom hadn’t completely gone up in smoke with my death … maybe I just had to wrap my mind around working on the other end of the camera. Directing—now that was something I could sink my teeth into.
By the time we were done, I was almost having fun. Rebecca’s eyes were shining, and I was just glad Bobby couldn’t see her like that, because as knock-out as she was standing still, animated she was powerful. She made a better me than me.
“Nailed it,” I told her, and she came in for a high-five. I met her part way.
“You must have been terrified,” she said, not for the first time. “I almost wish I felt something here. It’s so hard to imagine that kind of thing … ghostly hands around your neck.” She shuddered.
Strangely, I was no longer compelled to throttle her myself so she could get the experience first-hand.
“Just be glad you only have to imagine. Remember, the last girl was killed. I only escaped by the skin of my teeth.”
The light in Rebecca’s eyes dimmed. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”
I shrugged. “That happens to me all the time. Or so Bobby would tell you.”
“I bet he wouldn’t.”
It was sweet of her to say, but I suspected she wasn’t the kind to go around offering praise without an ulterior motive.
“So, is he The One?” she added casually.
“The one what?”
“You know.”
“You mean, like, forever, until death do us part?” Or …
not, in our case.
It was a terrifying thought. I loved Bobby, but eternity was a lot longer for us than for most people. I didn’t exactly have commitment issues, but I’d thumbed through the fashion spreads before placing the magazine back in the rack.
“Whoa, sorry, it wasn’t meant to be a tough question. You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
I smiled feebly at that and suggested we head back. Rebecca touched her chest again, as if to be sure the pendant was still locked and loaded before leaving, but I stopped her as I spotted something in the distance, which looked suspiciously like a lantern bobbing and weaving all on its own.
“What’s that?” I asked, forgetting her eyesight wouldn’t be as good as mine.
“Where?”
I pointed it out for her.
“Past the Old Jail? That’s the Howard Street Cemetery. It’s right by the site where Giles Corey was pressed to death. Didn’t you listen to the tour?”
“Not that,” I said, as if she hadn’t just scored a point. “That.” I directed her toward the light.
“Oh.” She laughed. “That has to be Tommy Haskins. He’s the caretaker. He’s a real throwback. Says electricity riles up the dead. I heard that Haunts used to lead tours through the cemetery, but then there were some incidents, and the people in the new condos at the Old Jail didn’t like it. Now no one’s allowed.”
“So it’s closed to the public?”
“Except by special arrangement.”
“What kind of incidents closed it down?”
“Ulric’s tour didn’t cover that part?”
“Um, maybe? It probably went straight out of my head when the Ghost of Murderers Past decided to put in an appearance.”
“Oh, right.” Her face crinkled, and even her embarrassment looked stupid-cute on her.
Note to self: keep your friends close and your rivals closer.
“Well,” she continued, “it was small stuff at first—women claiming their skirts had been blown up by freak winds on totally calm nights, tripping over invisible things poking up out of the ground, saying that hands had grabbed at their ankles, men reporting trouble breathing, a weight on their chests, seeing ghosts. Also, graves were disturbed, either from people tripping around in panic or from vandalism. Kids would dare each other to spend the night and come out with some real horror stories—or be chased out when Tommy caught them. That kind of thing.”
I had her go into the specifics with me on the way back—anything I might have missed on Ulric’s tour. As a guide myself, I should commit it all to memory. And come up with a really good reason why my tours could take pics of anything but me.
• • •
By the time my tours ended that night, I was stunningly thankful for my bonnet. Every time I caught a camera aimed my way, I found something fascinating on the ground or far off to one side or another. I also did my best to stay in perpetual motion, so that any blurs on camera would be easily explained. But it was exhausting being always on guard, and I was more than ready to get down to straightforward stealth.
We decided to divide and conquer. Eric and Nelson were already at the Morbid Gift Shop, helping Donato prep for his show. Eric was acting as a consultant (for free, at least for now), and Nelson … well, I wasn’t really sure exactly what Nelson was up to. He was definitely fascinated by the illusions and interested in picking up as many tips as he could. I suspected that he might be planning an act of his own for when we moved on. With the vamp thing going for him, he’d be a natural—water escapes, rising from the dead and all that jazz. But it wasn’t so smart a pursuit for a vampire in hiding. I’d have to have a talk with him.
Anyway, Bobby and I planned to meet up with them later. First, we had a little recon to do at the Old Jail and the Howard Street Cemetery. Those were the spots so far where the disturbances seemed to be centered. Maybe we could figure out why.
We ditched our costumes for street clothes and moved out. I’d never been so grateful for skinny jeans in my entire life. And if my T-shirt didn’t have my signature bling, at least it was form-fitting and scoop-necked and a stunning green to match my eyes, not Puritanical poop-brown.
Bobby took my hand, and we walked out into the night like we were just two teenagers looking for someplace to be alone. It was nice. No one was trying to kill or capture us. The moon hung low—a Spielberg moon, where a boy might sit and fish for stars.
We sauntered through several streets, and a few twists and turns, over to the condos that had once been the Old Jail. We stopped in the exact spot where I’d been attacked the night before and waited to feel a ghostly presence. Unlike Rebecca earlier, we were completely sans religious symbols. Completely defenseless.
Nothing. Not a tingle or a tweak, a sizzle or a strangle.
“Anything?” I asked Bobby, knowing the answer.
“Nada.”
“Think you can get us inside the Old Jail?”
“I don’t even need my mojo for that. Push enough buzzers, someone’s bound to let us in.”
Second note to self: never buzz someone into a building without knowing exactly who they are. They might be some fearsome, fanged creatures o
f the night up to no good. Not in our case, of course, but you never know when someone might bust into your place to feng shui your furniture or rearrange your internal organs. Caution is just common sense.
“Well then, let’s go,” I answered.
We strolled right up to the front doors and, as it turned out, didn’t even have to wait to get buzzed in, because a guy—weaving a little, possibly from a trip to Brent and Marcy’s brew pub—held the door open for us when he let himself in. We thanked him. He nodded like a dashboard Elvis and went on his merry way, leaving us in the foyer to look around.
It looked more like an high-class hotel than a former prison. The only thing that gave it away was the tasteful sign back on the walkway talking about how the building fit into Salem’s history. No mention of the conditions folks had found within or anyone who might have died there, of course.
I wondered what Brent would make of the place, but with history as alive as it seemed to be in Salem, I wasn’t sure we dared find out.
“Let’s go deeper,” Bobby suggested. We took a set of stairs down to the basement level, and found nothing but a laundry and a lounge. Still, my hair seemed to literally stand on end.
“Static electricity?” I asked Bobby.
“I don’t think so. Hush for a second,” he said, though I’d already stopped talking.
Bobby closed his eyes and stood in absolute stillness. With no one else around, neither of us even pretended to breathe, so the only noise, the only motion, came from the single dryer still going in a corner, miraculously quiet for an industrial-grade machine.
“Stop thinking so loudly,” Bobby whispered.
“What? I wasn’t—”
Okay, so he was in receiver-mode, listening with all his mental mojo. I did my best to blank my mind.
Think nothing at all, nothing at all. Damn, he looks hot in those jeans; nothing at all. I wonder how soon someone’s coming back for those clothes in the dryer. There’s a nice couch in the lounge. Nothing at all, nothing at all.
“Gah.”
“Did you get anything?” I asked.
“Nothing at all,” he answered.
“Wanna move onto the couch?” I asked.
Fangtabulous Page 6
