by Terri Garey
“You’ve been there, haven’t you?” Darlene’s question drew me back to her. She was looking at me curiously. “You know what’s beyond, don’t you?”
“Beyond” was a good way to put it. Beyond comprehension, beyond understanding, beyond explaining.
“Yes,” I said simply. “I do.”
“Should I be afraid?” Darlene was asking me, a total stranger, a very important question.
I didn’t hesitate, knowing anyone who inspired this kind of devotion in her husband had to be a good person. “No. You don’t need to be afraid.”
Darlene smiled, and I was glad to see it. She didn’t look quite so mousy when she smiled, and I had a glimpse of how she must have looked to Elwood as a young woman, however many years ago.
“Tell my dear, sweet husband that when we said, ‘Till death do us part.’ it was truer than we thought. We had twenty-four good years together.” She was still smiling. “But death will only part us for a little while. Tell him I said that, just like I said it.”
So I repeated it, word for word, as Elwood cried quietly into his tissues.
“Tell him we knew this day would come, and he needs to be strong.”
So I said that, too.
“It was supposed to be me,” Elwood sobbed. “I was the one who was supposed to go first.”
“Tough shit,” Darlene said simply, shaking her head.
I went with the flow. “Darlene says ‘tough shit.’”
The look on Elwood’s face was priceless, and then he burst out laughing. Crying. Whatever…it was hard to tell. “That’s my Darlene,” he finally said, when he could speak.
“Nicki?” Evan’s head popped in the door to the storage room. “Are you okay back here?” He gave Elwood the eyeball, obviously unable to decide what was going on. “Are you gonna be much longer? We have customers.”
Evan was giving me a way out, and I appreciated it, but I didn’t need it. We were done here.
“You have to let Darlene go, Elwood.” I rose from an old folding chair, more than ready to leave the cramped little room. “What’s done is done, and you have no reason to feel guilty. She loved you, she’s not mad at you, and she’s ready to move on. Your guilt is keeping her here. That’s all I can tell you.”
I’d done what I could; I was nobody’s afterlife marriage counselor.
“Seriously, Nicki, we have customers.” Evan’s tone became more insistent.
Elwood heaved himself to his feet, finally getting the message. “I can’t thank you enough, Miss Styx.”
Yeah, yeah. Enough already. I was anxious to get out of that room, anxious for Elwood and Darlene to leave, and anxious for things to get back to normal.
Whatever normal was.
For just a moment, Darlene poked her head around Elwood’s broad back, smiling. “Thank you. I’m glad Elwood finally found somebody who could see me. Most of you people are such fakes.” She waved, a mere wiggle of her fingers, looking like the girl she must’ve been once, and then she was gone.
I couldn’t help but smile in return, though I wasn’t one of “you people,” and the only thing fake about me was my eyelashes.
Darlene was no longer there, and Elwood thought the smile was for him. Before I knew it, he had me in a chubby, moist bear hug.
“You have a true gift,” he said. “Thank you.”
My face was squished against his Hawaiian shirt, somewhere between a palm tree and a pineapple. “No problem,” I mumbled, and extricated myself as quickly as possible. “Good luck.”
Evan earned my undying gratitude by ushering Elwood past me through the door and into the hallway. No need for me to follow; their voices got farther and farther away as I slumped against the wall, relieved.
“I’m so disappointed in you, Nicki.”
Sammy’s voice made me jump.
He was there, in the shadows, leaning against the shelves where we kept cleaning supplies.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I was in no mood for more of Sammy’s games, and it made me furious to see him so at ease in my store.
Sammy didn’t react other than to spread his hands and say softly, “I am with you always.”
The hair rose on the back of my neck—the air in the room seemed electrically charged.
“Get out,” I whispered, feeling like a mouse trapped by a cobra.
Sammy smiled, a slow curve of the lip that ended more like a sneer. The way his arms were crossed showed off his biceps, and the way he stood showed his lean hips to advantage. No baggy jeans for this guy. Big silver belt buckle, black leather strap bracelet, studded.
The wall behind me kept me upright. My heart was pounding—small wonder—and I struggled to remind myself to breathe.
Sammy straightened up, still smiling. He came toward me—I’d have to push past him to get out of the storage room.
I opened my mouth to scream for Evan, but something stopped me. Maybe it was his scent, dark and rich; Kahlua and cream, frankincense and myrrh. Or maybe it was his eyes, pale blue and lit from within with something I wasn’t sure I wanted to define. I was struck dumb by the breathtaking sensation of being so close to him; the planes of his chest were right before my eyes, flat belly mere inches from my own. Wide shoulders and big hands that screamed one-hundred-percent-male, and ready to prove it.
If the bulge in his jeans was any indication, he was more than ready.
“The next time a spirit comes to you”—Sammy’s lips were mere inches from mine, breath warm on my skin—“I want you to turn it away from the Light, not toward it.”
I closed my eyes, unable to bear being this close to him without screaming, without speaking or without ripping his clothes off. I heard how he referred to a lost soul as “it,” and my stomach clenched. My mind screamed “no,” while my lips yearned for his breath, and my fingers itched to touch him.
I couldn’t believe it—he was evil, but my body had a mind of its own.
“He’s putting these thoughts in your head,” I told myself sharply.
Black satin, red velvet, neck arched for my tongue…
I loved Joe, my sweet Joe. The perfect guy.
Candlelight, incense, rampant ecstasy…
I gasped at the flood of images, and that was enough to break the spell. Opening my eyes, I ducked my head and made a dive for the door.
Sammy didn’t try to stop me.
“You’re wasting your time,” I rasped loudly, double-timing it down the hall toward the front of the store. My voice wasn’t nearly as shaky as my knees, and I was glad. “Go away. Leave me alone.”
CHAPTER 6
“You’ve gotta do something, Kelly.”
I hated how desperate that sounded.
“He’s everywhere. He’s messing with my head. I know he’s evil, and he scares me to death, but every time I see him, my mouth starts to water. I wanna jump his bones.”
Cliché, but there it was.
I’d rehearsed this conversation in my imagination several times during the drive to Columbia Memorial Hospital to meet Joe, but I just couldn’t quite bring myself to dial Kelly’s number.
How was I supposed to confess I was hot for the Devil when I was in love with Joe? What would it mean to my sister to know I was drooling over some other guy?
Joe and Kelly had known each other long before they’d known me. They’d met in college, been married to each other for two years before she’d run off and joined the Peace Corps.
The whole thing was still weird.
I loved them both, and I believed it when they both said it was long over between them. I’d put on my big girl panties and dealt with it.
But it was still weird.
I needed someone to talk to, but I hadn’t dared tell Evan that Sammy had shown up in the back room; it would’ve scared him too much. He had already been traumatized by a spiteful spirit once because of me—if Evan truly knew how deep things had gone with Sammy, I could lose my best friend and my business partner in one fell swoop.
So with a sigh, I punched Bijou’s number with my thumb and drove one-handed while it rang, far away in Savannah.
Bijou’s way of saying hello was, “I’ve been so worried about you, dear.”
My shoulders eased, just a little bit, at her sweet Southern drawl. I’d interrupted afternoon tea with the Red Hat Club, I was sure; I could hear laughter and clinking china in the background. A former B&B, the Blue Dahlia was the perfect place for many of Bijou’s social clubs to meet.
“No need to worry, Bijou.” What a liar I am. “I’m just calling to let you know everything’s okay.”
“What a liar you are, dear,” she said calmly. “Wait just a moment while I step out on the veranda.” The background laughter and tinkling of china grew fainter, then ceased altogether. “Ah, there we are. Now tell me everything.”
I could picture Bijou so clearly, sitting in one of the white rockers on the front porch of the Blue Dahlia, wearing one of the floral silks she favored. Probably wearing a flowered hat on top of that carefully coiffed gray wig.
“Samael’s here,” I blurted, “and he’s not going away.” Bijou knew who Sammy was—she’d dealt with him before, when her daughter Peaches was alive. “He’s trying to seduce me, threaten me, scare me…” I made a noise of frustration. “I’m not really sure what he’s doing.”
“Are you willing to be seduced?” Trust Bijou to home in on that one.
“No,” I said instantly. “But he’s making it hard.” My cheeks flamed at the mental image that statement created. “I mean, he’s playing dirty. He sent the spirit of a girl who died under Joe’s care to possess me—it was totally creepy. She made me say bad things about Joe, on camera, and the footage showed up on the evening news. Then Sammy came to my house this morning and appeared in the store after that. He says he’s drawn to me, that he can’t leave me alone. Like Lilith in the garden.” I kept talking, hoping it would make me feel better. “One minute he’s threatening me, the next minute he’s trying to get in my pants. What do I do?”
“Keep your legs closed,” Bijou said, with a bluntness that surprised me. “Remember, he can’t make you do anything you don’t want to. The Devil is all about temptation, dear. Forcing you to do anything against your will defeats his purpose.”
“Oh, I know his purpose,” I said glumly. “He explained that part pretty well.”
“He mentioned Lilith?” Bijou was a sharp old bird. She kept her tone neutral, but I knew the question meant something.
“Yes.” I waited, anxious to hear what she had to say.
“That’s not good.”
No shit, Sherlock.
I’d never say that to her, of course—Southern belles did not put up with bad language.
“Having the knack makes you valuable to him, Nicki.” Bijou was referring to my ability to see the dead. According to her, our family legacy was getting stronger: Kelly and I had the “knack,” Peaches had been a “seeress,” while Bijou herself was merely an “intuitive.” Each generation stronger than the one before.
“Valuable because he can use your gift for his own evil purposes, and valuable because it makes you different. Being different forces a person to make hard choices.” My dear old tranny granny knew of which she spoke. “Some choose to become stronger, to embrace their uniqueness and use it for good. Those who don’t—or simply can’t—often end up as servants of powers greater than their own.”
There was a silence.
“Which one was Peaches?” The question was abrupt, but I really wanted to know. Was my birth mother a good woman who tried to help people, or was she a pawn, used to recruit soldiers for Sammy’s “army”?
I was afraid I’d never really know for sure because I’d only met her a few times, briefly.
And by then she was already dead.
“Peaches was a good woman, Nicki.” Bijou’s voice quivered slightly, as it always did when she spoke of her daughter. “She tried to do right by the people who came to her, but I don’t claim to know her mind. I know she made mistakes.” Bijou hesitated. “But you’re stronger than she was.”
I didn’t know what to say.
“I saw it right away, at your mama’s funeral. Kelly in her wheelchair and you standing straight and tall beside her, head held high.” Bijou’s voice broke, then steadied. “Not a tear in your eye. Three strong men flanking you.”
I remembered that day, too. Kelly, me, Joe, Evan, and Butch—the only mourners at Peaches Boudreaux’s funeral, until Bijou showed up. The smell of early autumn, scattered leaves tumbling over the graves, a kind-eyed preacher whose name I’d forgotten.
“You have to be stronger than he is, Nicki.” Bijou’s voice turned no-nonsense. “The Devil’s fickle; he’ll get bored soon enough. Now tell me about this possession. Who was the girl? What did she want? Were you aware of what was taking place?”
“Oh, I was aware, all right.” I shuddered inwardly at the memory of Crystal invading my body. “I could hear her voice in my head, feel her inside my veins, you know? She was angry at Joe, said he hadn’t done anything to save her.” It was sad, really. I would’ve felt sorry for Crystal if she hadn’t been such a bitch. “She was on drugs or something when she died—very thin, not a healthy person.” To put it mildly. “She took over my body long enough to accuse Joe publicly of murder.”
“How was she cast out?”
I winced, uncomfortable with her choice of words. “Demons” were a concept I was becoming all too familiar with, and I didn’t like it.
“I just concentrated really hard and kind of pushed her out.”
“Ah,” Bijou said, with satisfaction. “I’m so proud of you, dear.”
Proud of me?
“You need to practice that skill, master your mind as well as your body. You absolutely must spend some time each day meditating, growing stronger. Visualization is the key.”
Where had I heard that before? Oh, yeah…yesterday morning. Evan’s New Age talk show.
“Great.” I spoke my thoughts aloud. “Maybe I can reincarnate my way to a new me while I’m at it.”
“Don’t be silly, dear,” Bijou replied. “Reincarnation requires a great deal more effort. Concentrate on the matter at hand.”
I sighed, resigned to hearing a lesson on how to meditate properly.
Maybe while I was at it, I’d take up yoga and become a swami, turban and all.
The legal counsel for Columbia Memorial Hospital was a woman named Lisa Butler. Midthirties, hard-eyed, long brown hair; attractive in a “corporate kick-ass” kind of way. She was sitting in a chair in Joe’s office when I came in, the two of them chatting like old friends.
Joe stood up, smiling, which eased my mind considerably. This interview was not something I’d been looking forward to.
Lisa stood up, too, a measuring look in her eye as Joe made introductions.
“Nice to meet you,” she said, but I didn’t really think she meant it. She was probably only a few years older than I, but we were worlds apart in style. Her dark gray suit was okay—probably Liz Claiborne—but did nothing for her; the color made her brown hair look dull. A little jewelry would’ve gone a long way, but she wore nothing but a pair of small silver studs in her ears.
Pretty, but plain.
I shook her hand before giving Joe a quick hug of greeting. If Lisa thought our show of affection strange, she didn’t show it.
“Thank you for coming, Miss Styx.” Lisa took her seat again. When she crossed her legs, I saw her shoes; bombshell pumps, black leather with near-stiletto heels.
They were not the shoes of a conservative attorney, and were my first clue that I should stay on my toes.
“Dr. Bascombe assures me that your accusation against him was meant in jest, but the hospital’s board of directors is not amused. A public accusation of murder against one of our staff is a serious matter.” Lisa obviously believed in getting straight to the point.
I’d barely settled in my chair, but I wasn’t going to let this woman
rattle me. “I realize that. I’m sure Joe told you the whole story already.” I wasn’t sure what Joe had told her, so I was doing a little dancing. “I apologize if what I said made the hospital look bad.”
Actually, I didn’t give a damn about the hospital, only about Joe’s job.
“Yes, I’ve already taken Dr. Bascombe’s statement, but I’ll need to take yours, as well.”
“My statement?” An apology wasn’t good enough?
“Nicki’s an aspiring actress, Lisa,” Joe said.
I am?
“It’s called method acting.”
Method acting?
“I’d just finished telling Nicki about what a hard night I’d had in the E.R., and she was trying to tap into the emotions involved by pretending to be the mother of one of my patients. Some guy was filming a commercial at the time and caught it on video. That’s it.”
Lisa shot me a look. “Is that true, Miss Styx?”
She knew Joe was lying, but she’d chosen not to call him on it. Instead, she was going after me.
“I’d had too much to drink,” I said flatly, choosing to make the lie simpler. “I didn’t know what I was saying.”
Across the desk, Joe sighed, but I ignored him.
“It was barely nine thirty in the morning, Miss Styx,” Lisa said mildly.
“That’s right.” I gave her a tight smile. Let her think what she wanted; my all-night party-girl days were long over, but at least I had a few to look back on.
Lisa Butler probably wished she had a few to look back on.
“Don’t you think it was rather disrespectful to make fun of the deceased? Have you no sympathy for the bereaved?”
My temper started to rise. I didn’t need to justify myself to this woman, and I knew more about the “bereaved” than she could ever imagine.
“Like I said, I didn’t know what I was saying.”
“Well”—Lisa leaned back in her chair, touching a manicured finger to her chin—“judging by the bizarre rant that came after the accusation, I suppose it’s a believable excuse. You were impaired by alcohol; if that’s the defense we need to use, then we’ll use it.”
