Sudden Death

by Donald Hanley

  “That sounds like a great idea,” Amy announced. “I’m frying out here.” She marked her place in the journal with Daraxandriel’s condom packet, tossed the book at me carelessly, and stood while I juggled it. She turned her back on me and grabbed the bottom of her tank top. “No peeking,” she grinned over her shoulder, pretty much guaranteeing that I would, and peeled the garment over her head.

  My jaw dropped open and stayed there. Thirty-year-old blonde Amy stood there wearing nothing but panties meant for a girl half her age but what shocked me was the tattoo. It covered her back completely from the top of her shoulders all the way down to the bottom of her butt, a pair of wings depicted in jet-black ink, rendered in such incredible detail it looked like a photograph projected on her flawless skin.

  “Wh – where did that come from?” I stammered.

  “Hmm?” Amy twisted around to glance behind her, revealing a glimpse of ample side-boob. “Oh, that? It’s always been there.”

  “No, it hasn’t!” There was no way I wouldn’t have noticed something like that.

  “And how would you know that?” she smiled. “Have you been looking at me while I sleep?”

  “What? No!”

  “Your loss, then.” She bent over and slid her panties down her long, shapely legs, stepping out of them and letting them dangle from her fingers before releasing them. “I’ll just be a minute. Don’t leave without me,” she smirked.

  My eyes tracked her without any conscious control on my part as she made her way down to the river bank. Daraxandriel was waist-deep now, leaning over to splash water on her arms and chest, but Amy just dove straight in, leaving scarcely a ripple until she resurfaced a short distance away. She stood and swept her hair away from her face as droplets slid down her torso, glittering like diamonds in the sun.

  38-C, Little Peter estimated gleefully, maybe even 40-C. It’s hard to tell from up here. You should go down there to make sure.

  I’m not interested! I turned away resolutely and found Olivia standing just a short distance away, watching the two demons splash around with an odd sort of expression. “Oh! Um –” I cleared my throat, shifting around so that Little Peter’s current state of interest wouldn’t be so obvious. “They shouldn’t be long.”

  “Demons are really beautiful, aren’t they?” she said wistfully.

  “Well, some of them are, I suppose,” I allowed. “The succubuses, at least. The other ones we ran into weren’t,” I reminded her. Sadraximbril and Uxbranidorn were the stuff of nightmares.

  “I wish I was a succubus instead of a ghost,” she sighed.

  “Why?” I asked doubtfully.

  “So that people could see me and think I’m beautiful too.” She sat on the other end of the bench and stared down at her hands, looking glum.

  “You are beautiful,” I insisted.

  Olivia looked up at me with eyes that seemed much bigger and bluer than normal and then dropped her gaze again. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better,” she murmured.

  Uh-oh, Little Peter warned. She’s up to something.

  “You are,” I assured her. “I mean, Dara thinks so too, right? You two have been together for a while now.”

  “Well, that’s mostly me and her tail,” she admitted reluctantly. “Dara’s there because, you know, it’s her tail and she and I,” she cleared her throat, “well, we have fun together but it’s not the same.”

  “The same as what?” I frowned.

  “The same as having a real boyfriend.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear nervously.

  Told you!

  “I mean, I’m a real ghost again,” she continued. “I can’t be with Dara anymore. The only person I can talk to now is you.”

  And Mrs. Phipps, I thought, but this didn’t seem to be the right time to point that out. “Olivia –”

  “It was really nice this morning when we were both ghosts and we were doing things together and I just thought –” she cleared her throat again, “I thought maybe we could do – other things – together, if you wanted to.” Her eyes flicked in my direction and then locked onto her hands again. “When you’re a ghost, I mean.”

  “What sort of other things?” I asked hesitantly.

  “Boy and girl things.” She traced a meandering shape beside her on the marble bench with her fingertip.

  Now it was my turn to clear my throat. “Olivia –”

  “I mean, I know you’re with Melissa now and I know Dara really misses being with you and I know Amy wants – well, I don’t really know what Amy wants,” she grimaced. “I just thought it would be nice if I could be with you too, sometimes.” She looked up at me hopefully, biting her lower lip.

  Do it! Little Peter demanded eagerly. Say yes! This will be so much better than just peeping!

  “I know you think I’m too young for you,” she went on, “but I’ll be like this forever so that really doesn’t matter anymore, does it? You can just pretend I’m eighteen or twenty or whatever you want.”

  “Uh –” The brain inside my skull wasn’t getting enough blood to function properly, while the one between my legs was getting far too much. “I don’t think –”

  “And no one would ever have to know!” she forged on heedlessly. “They’d never see us or hear us. We could do it right here and they’d never realize it.” She licked her lips, took in a shaky breath, and stood abruptly. “Let’s do it, Peter.”

  “What?” I squeaked. I couldn’t believe that meek, innocent Olivia was propositioning me out in the open countryside. “We can’t do that!”

  “It’s all right,” she insisted. “I know Dara’s supposed to be next but she’ll understand. I’ll get her another chocolate cupcake or something.”

  “Olivia –” My protest died in my throat as she took hold of her nightgown and pulled it over her head in one swift motion.

  I had a pretty good mental picture of Olivia’s body, assembled from tantalizing glimpses over the last couple of months, but the whole was definitely greater than the sum of the parts. She didn’t have Melissa’s perfect figure or Daraxandriel’s exotic looks or Amy’s highly variable voluptuousness, but she didn’t need any of that. She was young and pert and innocent, the nameless dancer from the chorus line suddenly become the star of the show.

  “Oh my God,” I breathed, drawing a shy but pleased smile from her.

  “Go ghost, Peter,” she insisted. “Let’s do it.”

  I gulped. “I can’t.”

  “We can go somewhere else,” she offered quickly. “We don’t really have to do it here.” She actually looked relieved at that.

  “No, that’s not what I meant. I can’t become a ghost.”

  She blinked at me uncomprehendingly. “What?”

  “I’ve been trying but I don’t know how.” I indicated my naked self helplessly. “I’m stuck like this.”

  “What?” She clutched her nightgown against her chest, although it didn’t really hide anything. “What do you mean, you can’t? It’s easy! You just,” she waved her hand vaguely, “do it!”

  “It doesn’t work. Nothing I try makes any difference.”

  “But that doesn’t make any sense! When I had the curse, I had to concentrate to stay real. Every time something surprised me or I got distracted, I’d just blip out.” She snapped her fingers to illustrate.

  “Maybe I’m just more cynical than you,” I suggested with a half-hearted smile. “Nothing surprises me anymore.”

  “I don’t think that’s how it works,” she frowned.

  “I know, I’m just kidding.”

  “Oh.”

  We fell silent then, neither of us daring to look directly at the other. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched her resume her seat on the bench, looking forlorn as she draped her nightgown across her thighs and smoothed it out with her hands. “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “It’s okay,” she shrugged. “I should have asked you first.”

  “You couldn’t have known.” Her shoulder r
ose and fell again and she fingered one of the rents in the fabric. She startled me when she suddenly shoved the garment off her lap, letting it fall to the ground a short distance away. “What are you doing?” I gasped. “Quick, pick it up!” Ectoplasm – or whatever ghost clothes were made of – dissolved into nothingness away from their hosts. We learned that lesson with her panties back in June.

  “What’s the point?” she grumbled sourly, propping her elbows on her knees and her chin on her hands. “It’s ruined anyway.”

  “But –”

  “It doesn’t matter anymore, Peter,” she argued. “No one’s ever going to see me again.” She eyed me and the tip of her tongue peeked out from the corner of her lips. “Except you.”

  And Mrs. Phipps, I thought. She’s going to have a conniption if she sees Olivia like this. I might have one too. “Isn’t this sort of thing a sin?” I asked, clutching at the first excuse that came to mind. When we first met, Olivia was obsessed with sin, mostly the ones she thought I was committing.

  “Sins only count while you’re alive,” she retorted. “I can do anything I want now and it won’t matter.” Her eyes slid down from my face and her tongue made a slow circuit of her lips.

  “I don’t think that’s actually true,” I said uneasily. “I think you should –” Olivia straightened suddenly and looked around with a frown. I scanned the area hastily, suddenly fearful that Not-Peter had somehow tracked us down, but the only people in sight were Daraxandriel and Amy, still cooling off in the river. Daraxandriel was up to her chest now with the tip of her tail trailing her like a miniature shark fin, keeping a watchful eye on Amy as she slowly swam in a circle around her, like a crocodile sizing up its prey. I hoped they wouldn’t drown each other. We still needed someone to translate Dr. Bellowes’ journal. “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Somebody called my name,” Olivia said doubtfully.

  “I didn’t hear anything.” Other than the faint watery sounds from the river, the area was eerily quiet.

  “The same thing happened before, when I was waiting for you at the cemetery. I thought Dara was calling me or something.”

  “It was probably just nerves,” I assured her. “You were worried about her.”

  “I didn’t imagine it,” she stated firmly. “Someone really did – yeep!”

  Olivia flung herself aside as a fiery white pentagram flashed right in front of us and then disappeared just as quickly, leaving Susie standing there with her arms raised. Blue-white lightning crackled between her fingertips as she turned in a complete circle.

  “Where’s Dara?” she demanded. “She’s supposed to be here.”

  “Susie?” I wasn’t sure I could believe my eyes. “What are you doing here?”

  “Peter?” The miniature lightning storm abated fractionally. “What are you doing here? I just left you.”

  “Huh?”

  “Peter Simon Collins!” Daraxandriel called from the river. “What is amiss?” Susie immediately whipped around and pointed her hands in that direction and I jumped up and grabbed her wrists.

  “What are you doing?” I gasped as the crackling intensified. Every hair on my body stood on end from the static discharge but I didn’t dare let go.

  “I have to kill Dara.” Susie wriggled in my grasp, trying to yank herself free. “You’re ruining my aim!”

  “Are you insane? Stop! Don’t kill her!”

  “Okay.” She stopped struggling so quickly I nearly lost my balance. The gemstones in her rings went dark as the last sparks faded away.

  “What the hell, Susie? What’s gotten into you?” She looked at me and my heart skipped a beat. Her pupils nearly swallowed her irises completely. “Oh, no,” I breathed.

  “Peter Simon Collins!” Wet feet pattered on the path behind me and then Daraxandriel appeared at my side. Her tail wrapped itself around my thigh like a damp tourniquet. “Whyfor is the waif –?” She sucked in her breath. “She is enthralled!”

  “Susie,” I said quietly, searching her face. “Can you hear me?”

  “Yes.” The empty look in her eyes sent a chill down my spine.

  “I’m going to let go of you now. Don’t kill Dara, understand?”

  “I understand.”

  “Peter,” Olivia said nervously, “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “She stopped when I told her to. I don’t think she’ll do anything now.” I mentally crossed my fingers and slowly opened my hands. Susie moved then but only to rub her wrists. “What are you doing?” I asked her. “Why are you trying to kill Dara?”

  The faintest frown creased Susie’s forehead. “You told me to.”

  “Are you sure it was me?”

  “Of course.”

  “What was I wearing?” I asked, although I already knew the answer.

  “Your police uniform.” Susie’s eyes flicked downwards and her frown deepened.

  “And where were you when he – when I gave you that order?”

  “At Mrs. Kendricks’.”

  “Shit,” I muttered. “The incubus must have gone back there after he left our house. We sent Susie right to him.”

  “Yet the waif’s wards are the most potent of all,” Daraxandriel said worriedly. “How did he overcome them?”

  “Susie, what happened to your wards? Show me your hands.” Susie lifted her palms obediently. “Turn them over. Oh, crap.” Only a few faint smudges of green remained of her nail polish. “What happened after we left the apartment, Susie?”

  She blinked as she dredged up the memories. “Cameron made me a sandwich.”

  “No, after that.” And please, please, please don’t say anything about condoms.

  “I sent him home and then I went to the library to get Mrs. Kendricks’ wardstones. They were hard to find. There was a lot of junk on her desk.”

  “Yes, I know about that. Then what?”

  “I took them to Mrs. Kendricks’ house.”

  “Was the inc– I mean, was I there when you got there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Was Mrs. Kendricks there?”

  “Yes.”

  “Damn.” I’d hoped she’d recovered enough to escape. “Did she seem okay?”

  “Yes. You were kissing her.”

  “Wh – wha – what?” I stuttered. “I was what?”

  “Ooh, this is getting good,” purple-haired teen Amy murmured with a crooked smile, appearing on my other side.

  “What do you mean I was kissing her?”

  “I mean you had your arms around her and your lips were touching.” A hint of Susie’s normal impatience crept into her voice. “Kissing.”

  “Oh my God.” This is bad, very, very bad. “Were we just kissing?” I asked hopefully. “We weren’t, uh, you know, having, um –?” Susie just stared at me blankly and I swallowed with difficulty. “Never mind. What happened then?”

  “You asked me what I was doing there and I told you. You told me to give you the wardstones but you grabbed my hand when I tried and – and –” She shook her head as if to shake out the cobwebs. “You had a glowing ring. It – told me to listen to you. It said I had to obey you. I didn’t want to but –” She grimaced and pressed her palms against her temples. “My head hurts.”

  “She may be breaking free from his thrall,” Daraxandriel murmured.

  “I hope so,” I whispered back. “What did I want you to do?” I asked Susie.

  “You told me to remove my wardpolish.” She looked at her fingernails. “Why would I do that?” she muttered to herself.

  “Then what?” I prompted.

  “You told me to find Dara and kill her.” She lifted her eyes to Daraxandriel and her fingers twitched. “Then you told me to find Olivia and bring back Dr. Bellowes’ journal.” Her gaze shifted to the bench where the journal lay. She reached for it and I hastily grabbed her hands again.

  “No!” I told her firmly, like I was disciplining an errant puppy dog. “Do not take the journal! Understand?”

  “I und
erstand.” She sounded hesitant this time, as if she couldn’t comprehend why I was countermanding my own orders.

  “This is bad,” I said, feeling a queasy knot tighten in the pit of my stomach. “We have to rescue Mrs. Kendricks!”

  “From almost certain pleasure?” Amy chuckled.

  “This isn’t funny!” I told her heatedly, turning on her. “She’s going to think he’s me!”

  “Well, if he still looks exactly like you, she shouldn’t have any complaints.” Amy bent over to retrieve her panties and I blinked at her back.

  “What happened to your wings?”

  “Hmm?” She held her panties across her hips with an appraising twist to her lips. There was no way she’d be able to get them back on. “What about them?”

  “They shrank!” The tattoo only covered three-quarters of her back now and there were definitely fewer feathers.

  “Nonsense, they’ve always been that way.” Amy dropped her panties on the ground and sat on the bench. She picked up the journal from where it had fallen and opened it up, tossing the condom aside carelessly.

  “Fret not for Dame Kendricks, Peter Simon Collins,” Daraxandriel insisted. “The incubus will soon discern his plan has failed, for the waif has not returned to him. He needs must flee to another refuge, for fear we will return there to confront him in greater numbers. Moreover, the waif has given us the key to overcoming our adversary.”

  “She has?” I eyed Susie doubtfully and she stared back at me with a suspicious glint, flexing her fingers.

  “Dost thou not see? She obeys thy commands.”

  “So? She’s my sister. Oh, wait.” Susie never did what I wanted her to, unless I threatened her or bribed her. “What’s going on?”

  “She cannot distinguish thee from thine other form. His words and thine carry equal weight, at least for a time.”

  “And the incubus doesn’t know you exist,” Amy pointed out absently as she traced a line in the journal with her finger. “He thinks you’re safely tucked away inside your skull, fast asleep.”