“My Billy!”
I ignored Corinne, which was hard because she was doing somersaults in the air. Lovely. Add another skill to her floating repertoire. “Is he sick? What’s wrong with him?”
“Actually he seems depressed. He won’t eat.”
Looking around the doggy jail, it wasn’t too hard to figure. “Could I see him? Maybe he just doesn’t like it here.”
I followed her back out of the hellish bunker. The moment the heavy door clanged shut behind me was a blessed relief on my eardrums. Pure bliss.
The infirmary turned out to be a separate building. It was much quieter and less jail-like. More like a vet’s office. In the back of one of the cages, was a fawn-colored lump.
“Does it have a name?”
“No. Someone left him here in a box. No note or anything.”
“Billy,” Corinne shouted, somersaulting again. “Billy!”
The lump stirred and lifted his head.
“Hi, dog. Um. Billy?” He cocked his head and wagged a curly little pigtail uncertainly.
“I think he likes you,” the woman said. “Talk to him.”
“Hi, Billy,” I said, feeling stupid talking to a dog. “Come on over and see me.” He looked at me. His tail wagged hesitantly. “Can I take him out?” I asked the woman.
Billy spotted Corinne’s ghost. He could indeed see her. I know this because he suddenly leapt to his feet and barked.
“I’ll take him,” I said.
In retrospect, I should have tried to adopt an orphan from Africa. It would have been far simpler. Who knew there was so much paperwork involved in picking out a dog? A dog, for crying out loud.
I practically had to sign my life away. They wanted references and background info and my own freaking pedigree. You’d think they would be glad to unload an animal, but it was worse than wedding vows. I promised to feed him and water him and walk him and vaccinate him until death do us part. Sheesh.
A whole hour’s worth of paperwork and interrogation later, I was the proud owner of one pug. I’d had to purchase a leash and collar there since I hadn’t had the foresight to bring my own, which had shocked the woman. I couldn’t explain that I’d had no idea when I left the house this morning such things would be necessary.
Billy trotted along on the leash, inspecting every pant cuff and curb we passed, lifting a leg to water the ones he found appealing. He had a square body and a massive, comical head. His smushed-up face was black with the biggest, popped-out eyes I’d ever seen on something that wasn’t a squeeze toy. His ears were little velvety flaps.
I gave him a pat. I admit that the ears were quite soft. Maybe a dog wasn’t so bad. He licked my hand frantically. His oversized tongue barely fit into his mouth; mostly it lolled out the side. I wiped my hand on my pants.
Billy seemed thrilled to be on the leash and kept looking up at me like now what? Truthfully, I had no idea. How would I get him home? He was too big to hide in my purse like a Hollywood Chihuahua, and I couldn’t just tuck him under my arm like the old ladies in furs shopping down Hillman Street. He was small enough to be no protection from rapists and muggers, but too big to sneak onto the train. I gave up and called Harry, who grumped and complained and then snickered in disbelief at the idea of me with a dog.
“Just come get me,” I snapped.
It was bitter cold outside the terminal, but I couldn’t go inside anywhere with Billy. Dogs are extremely inconvenient. As I waited, Billy sat there happily blinking. Corinne cooed and baby-talked him. Blech. I would never do such a thing. His curly pigtail wagged in appreciation.
I realized that I had no food and no place to keep a dog that didn’t have thick, soft carpeting just begging to be peed on. I was shivering and pissed by the time Harry finally pulled up in a long white hearse.
“You’re going to ride in that?” Corinne’s eyes were wide.
“Welcome to the family business.” I scooped Billy up. He was surprisingly heavy. “This dog needs a diet,” I said, climbing into the passenger seat.
“No, he doesn’t. He’s perfect,” Corinne said.
“Looks like a ham hock with legs,” Harry said. “What possessed you to get a dog? Shouldn’t you be at work?”
“Don’t ask,” I said. “Just drive. I’ve got to stash this...I mean, I need to take my new darling home. Unless...I’ll bet you’ve always wanted a doggy.”
“Fat chance. I don’t know why you got the damn thing, but I sure don’t want it. I can’t keep a plant alive. And it’ll cramp my dating style.” He put the car in gear and jolted forward into traffic with barely a glance. Indignant horns sounded behind us.
“I thought you were so lonely and unloved.”
“Met a girl last night at a club.” He winked. “Turns out her roommate is even cuter. They think I’m adorable.”
“Lucky you.” I met a bunch of old ghosts playing cards and killing each other. Then I promised Death to try and help solve a murder.
Billy made little snorking noises with his nose, and he drooled on my leg. He stood with his paws braced on the window. I was glad someone enjoyed the ride. I closed my eyes as the hearse weaved in and out of traffic like Harry was playing Grand Theft Auto.
* * * *
I’m not allowed pets at my apartment, but a furtive look around assured me that the place was deserted. I carried Billy in and deposited him on the floor. He immediately ran the perimeter, sniffing everything and making horrible snuffling and wheezing noises. Snork!
“Does he always sound like that?” I asked.
“It’s something pugs do,” Corinne said. “Isn’t it cute? Aunt Susie breeds pugs, you know. She gave me Billy when I moved here so I wouldn’t be too lonely for home.”
I found the pug’s phlegmy noises less than charming, but I was in too deep now. Billy seemed excessively interested in my sofa.
“Oh no, you don’t!” I nabbed him just as he started to hike his leg. Everywhere I looked in my apartment, I saw lovely things waiting to be destroyed.
Over Corinne's objections, I put Billy in the bathroom and sacrificed a pillow for him to lie on. “Don’t pee on it,” I instructed him. “It’s your bed.”
Afraid to check my watch, I trudged back down to the DART station for the second time that day, wondering if I still had a job. Being a secretary at a successful law firm pays well, and I have gotten very accustomed to my creature comforts. The other secretaries aren’t bad to work with and we go out once a week, sort of a ladies night out, but in a more genteel, fine wine-and-dine sort of way than Harry’s wild nights. My apartment isn’t cheap, either. It’s centrally located near good shopping and restaurants.
But my boss. Ginger “Cruella” Deville is the most self-absorbed, impossibly bitchy boss I’ve ever had. I had the stomach flu last year and missed two days. She called me eight times.
My head was down, braced against the cold. As I withdrew my DART pass, I saw it: something large hunched next to the ticket scanner. It had to be eight feet tall and hairless. The amorphous shape reminded me of a slug. Its head raised, sniffing the air. It turned and looked at me. Its malevolent red eyes caused my heart to race. I knew I was looking on pure evil.
Its lips drew back in a snarl, and it unleashed a frightful howl, then flew right at me. I wanted to run, but I froze. My eyes closed, and my purse slid from my numb fingers. I felt the thing pass me like a cold chill stinking of wet dogs and rotten eggs.
An older gentleman handed me my purse off the ground. “You okay?” he asked.
I nodded. My hands shook so violently it took me three tries to swipe my pass through the scanner.
“You sure you’re okay, miss?” The kind old man was still behind me.
“Yes,” I whispered. “I’m having a bad day.”
I was so distracted as I sat in the nearly empty car, I almost missed the ghost.
He sat politely across from me with his hat in his hands. I took a moment to register the faint blurring around the edges that marked him as not
quite corporeal. I had seen him before. It was the man from the tracks.
“Do you know my mother?” It was a child’s question, but he had to be at least sixty.
“No,” I said softly.
“Excuse me?” The older gentleman had gotten on the car with me.
“Nothing,” I said. “Sorry. Talking to myself.”
When I looked back, the seat across from me was empty.
Chapter 4
I tried to sneak into the office. It was lunchtime, and I figured Cruella would be power-lunching somewhere or getting her nails manicured.
Melissa sat at her desk. She has these enormous dark eyes that always look startled, which normally makes her hard to read, but today her expression was pure annoyance. “Finally,” she whispered. “Where have you been?”
“The hospital,” I whispered back. “Thanks for visiting.”
She blinked like the idea had never occurred to her. I had a dim idea there might be flowers or balloons or even a card waiting for me on my desk, but instead there was a terse note. See me. Ginger.
Fabulous.
Melissa leaned closer. “Cruella has been on a real tear. She missed an appointment yesterday.”
I groaned. “Was it an important client?”
“Worse. Her hairdresser. Now Mr. Illyvich says he can’t work her in for another whole week. She’s terrified he’s going to butcher her color in revenge for being stood up.”
Cruella and her stylist have some sort of weird love-hate thing going on. If Mr. Illyvich was pissed at her, she would take it out on me. Never mind that she was a grown woman who should be expected to keep up with her own appointments for a couple of frigging days. The Mr. Illyvich appointment had been on her calendar for two months.
I took a deep breath. Either Cruella wanted to rant and spew and load me up with work or she wanted to fire me. Either way it was going to be unpleasant.
I tried to skulk past Cruella’s door, but her head poked out. “There you are. In my office. Now.” I don’t enjoy being talked to like a wayward child, but I gritted my teeth. Better to get it over with.
“Have a seat.” Ginger swept her hand toward the chenille love seat and settled herself in her leather chair. She steepled her fingers and looked over them at me. “We have a problem, Portia.”
“And what sort of problem would that be, Ginger?” My tone was a little more aggressive than I’d intended.
She raised one overly tweezed eyebrow. “I’m talking about dereliction of duty.”
What the fuck? I’m in the army now? I kept my tone measured and calm. “Ginger, I was hurt.”
“Team players play hurt.”
I was careful not to roll my eyes. Cruella’s father had been a football coach, and she was prone to inappropriate football metaphors. “I was in the hospital.”
“Do you see my hair? Do you?” It looked the same as always. For all the money she spent on it, no one had hair that shade of red. Burgundy is a wine, not a hair color. “I heard about Illyvich,” I said soothingly.
“Gregor Illyvich is considering dropping me from his client list. Do you know what that means? Honestly, Portia! I never thought you would be so irresponsible. It isn’t just the hair. You’ve really put this office behind. We have interrogatories due, and Mr. Butcher keeps calling about his demand letter. I can’t do anything on his case until Skeevick turns down his offer.”
“I had a head injury, Ginger. It’s not like I went to the Bahamas.”
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I’m going to have to let you go.”
“What? You can’t do that.” I was sure when she’d started the lecture that she was choosing shame over termination. What was the point of both? “You can’t fire me for being hurt!”
“Don’t shout at me.” She leaned backward in her chair. I realized I was halfway across her desk. “I’ve already buzzed security.” Her eyes bugged, reminding me of Billy.
I allowed myself a little smile. “You can’t fire someone for being hurt.” I leaned in closer and lowered my voice. “I’ll sue.”
She fumbled under the desk, looking for her panic button. It was on the floor. She needed to stomp on it, not press it, but I wasn’t about to tell her. “I don’t think so,” she said. “Where were you this morning? You weren’t in the hospital then.”
She was right, but I had the trump card and we both knew it. “I returned to work over doctor’s advice based on a conversation with you. I want a month’s pay.”
“A month? You’re crazy. Go ahead and sue. You’ll never win.”
“It isn’t about winning in court. That isn’t where cases are won and lost. Isn’t that what you always say?”
“You’ll embarrass yourself.” She tossed her head, which was hard to do since she was leaning back in her chair as I loomed over her. Sometimes it’s good to be tall.
“I don’t think I’ll be the one embarrassed, Ginger. Your colleagues will love to hear what I have to say.”
She knew it was true. She had gossiped indiscriminately in front of me. Even worse, I knew everything about her: from her true hair color to which parts of her body got waxed. I made all her appointments.
She pursed her lips. “One month’s pay.”
“And a good reference for my next job.”
“I can’t believe it,” she said. “After all I’ve done for you.”
* * * *
By the time I made it to the DART station, my victorious feeling had faded. I had a check for a month’s wages and a box with the contents of my desk. I also had a ghost and her dog crashing at my place. I took a deep breath. I could do this. I got myself this job, and I could find another. I would get the ghost to cross over, find some place for the dog to live, get myself another job, and reclaim a normal life, one without dead people and their problems.
It’s weird how creepy an empty train is when you’re used to the crush of rush hour. There were a few important-looking business types with briefcases and one or two retirees, but the station was largely deserted. I thought I would have the car all to myself, but an old man with hound-dog eyes and a newspaper tucked under his arm followed me in.
An entirely empty car and he had to sit right next to me. Even worse, he reached in a back pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. I looked pointedly at the No Smoking sign. He gave a little smile and took one out, but he didn’t light it.
I got up and moved. If he was a mugger, this was his unlucky day. He looked small and weak. I was tall and pissed. I tried to ignore him, but he half-turned and leaned back, looking at me mournfully as the train lurched forward.
“What is your problem?” I snapped.
“We’ve got to talk, doll,” he said in Hephzibah’s voice.
“Yow!” I jumped to my feet and toppled over. I scrambled back up into the seat.
“It’s just me,” Hephzibah said. “Don’t freak.”
“But...but...”
“Mind if I light this?” She held the cigarette up.
“Yes, I do.”
“I can commandeer bodies when I need to. Sometimes it’s easier to talk to someone in public that way. Anyone looks in, they’ll just see you having a conversation with an old man, not talking to the air. Pretty nifty, huh?”
“Yeah. Nifty.” I took a deep breath. “Actually, it’s weird. But I’m okay now.” I wasn’t okay. I was far from okay. Mother never mentioned anything about Death commandeering bodies.
“Listen up, doll. I can’t keep this up forever, and the clock is ticking. Corinne is in danger.”
I held up my hand to stop her. “Really quick. I saw this...this...thing. Big and fleshy and stinky.”
“I was afraid of that. We’ve got too many unclaimed souls wandering around. That was a demon.” Hephzibah made a face. “Nasty things.”
“A demon? Mother never mentioned demons.” Mother and I were going to have a long talk.
“Your mother doesn’t see them, doll. Few do. For someone so late to the game, you’ve got a
wicked strong gift.”
“Lucky me. So what was this demon doing in the train station?”
“It was hunting.”
“Hunting what?”
“Unclaimed souls. It’s dangerous out here for ghosts like Corinne. That’s what we need to talk about.”
“The demon wants Corinne.”
“Among others. She’s not the only one out here. I was worried about the Reclaimers. I didn’t know we had a demon on the loose.”
“What would the demon do with the ghosts if it catches them?”
“Eat their souls.”
“Ew! That’s horrible.”
She shook her head. “You’ve got no idea. It’s like this, doll. If Corinne doesn’t cross over within the week, the Reclaimers will come for her.”
“Reclaimers?”
“Mercenaries. They hunt unclaimed souls. Not like the demon, of course. They don’t eat them. They take ’em and forcibly cross them over. It ain’t pleasant.”
“What happens to them when they’re reclaimed?” I swallowed hard.
“Depends on who hired the Reclaimers. They work all the sides. Corrine’s got sort of a grace period right now, but the clock is ticking. She’s got four days left, and then she’s at risk.”
“What about the demon?”
“If it finds her, she’s toast. She can outrun it for a while, but if it corners her--and they are damned good at doing that--bad things, doll. Very bad things. We got to get this gal crossed over.” She looked down at the cigarette she was holding. “I wanna smoke this thing so bad I can just taste it.”
“Don’t you dare. That thing would kill you if you weren’t already Death.”
“Hey,” the man said in his own voice. “Speak for yourself, girlie. You don’t look so hot, either.”
* * * *
I kept a sharp lookout for Corinne all the way home, or at least I tried to. It was hard with the sleet pelting me. At the moment I couldn’t care less what my woolen hat did to my hair. I pulled the hat tighter until I could tuck the edge under my collar. Shoulders hunched against the precipitation, I darted along the edges of buildings, trying to seek out as much shelter as I could.
The First Ghost Page 4
