by R. L. Naquin
His smile was rueful. “They do get into some insane situations. Last week a couple of girls squirted the bathroom ceiling with yogurt and milk. There was a peanut butter sandwich smeared across a stall door, and applesauce coating a toilet seat. It’s like these kids have brain damage.”
I laughed. “See? Exciting. Don’t sell yourself short.”
“I’d honestly rather teach than babysit, but sometimes that’s about all there’s time for.”
I nodded in sympathy. “Well, until they fix what’s broken with the system, sometimes all you can do is slip in a lesson when nobody’s looking. You’ll see. Years from now, kids will come back and tell you how much they learned from you.”
His smile widened. “I hope you’re right.”
Got him. He might not have been feeling particularly competitive with the other two, but he was interested. Let a guy talk about himself. That’s all it took. Unfortunately, I could feel the other two getting restless, like they’d already lost the game.
Where the hell was their competitive spirit? A girl likes to be fought for. Sheesh.
I drained my glass and placed it on the bar. “Boys,” I said, “let’s dance.”
Chapter Two
The vomit-inducing headache I had the next day had less to do with opening myself up to a roomful of emotional people, and more to do with the alcohol I’d poured into my system. It had been a long, long night.
At some point, Sara had dragged me from a dark corner where I was, by her description, cackling like a witch and playing spin the bottle. I don’t remember much about it, but my three suitors had been joined by Gomez Addams and a man dressed as a red M&M. I’m not positive, but I think Sara may have pulled me away while I was kissing a mermaid.
Alcohol is not my friend.
Sara berated me in the car on the way to her house, but all I could recall was watching her Cleopatra headdress bob up and down with her lecture. Her lipstick was smeared, and it made me wonder if I had any lipstick left, or if I’d left it behind on the lips of the monster squad at the party. After that, I must have fallen asleep. When Sara hoisted me from the car and tucked me into bed in her guestroom, I hadn’t been much help.
It took me a few minutes to fight my way out of the crisp, hospital-cornered sheets pinning me against the mattress. I stripped off the remains of the fairy costume and slipped on a nightgown and bathrobe, which Sara had thoughtfully left on a chair. The closed door made me hesitate. I was so not ready to face her, especially not with my head throbbing. I took a deep breath, put on my best sheepish, shamed face, and made my way to the kitchen.
A mug of coffee and two aspirin waited on the table. Sara sat eyeing me. I shuffled in and slunk into my seat. She watched in silence, lips pressed together in a stern slash as I swallowed the little pills and set my cup down as quietly as possible.
She waited.
I waited.
I felt like a teenager who’d climbed in through the window at three in the morning—though I’d never in my life done such a thing when my dad was alive. He’d have been worried sick.
Sara, on the other hand, had been my college roommate from our sophomore year on. On the rare occasion I acted like a total ass—like I had last night—she kept me from getting into worse trouble—like she had last night. She also knew such behavior was out of character for me, unless something was wrong.
I fiddled with the ties on my bathrobe and cleared my throat.
“So,” I said. I rubbed a finger over a smear on the polished table. “Great music last night. I really liked the band. Did you add them to our vendor list? We should definitely use them again.”
Sara’s eyebrow went up. Never a good sign.
I stood, pushing the chair behind me. “Are you hungry? I’m hungry. Why don’t I make us some pancakes?”
Food was the last thing on my mind, and the sound of my own voice wasn’t doing my headache any favors. But I was desperate to avoid the coming conversation.
Sara’s other eyebrow shot up to join the first in a look of mild surprise. “Aren’t you a little queasy yet for pancakes?”
My stomach sloshed. I sat down. “Maybe in a little while, then.”
Sara’s eyebrows resumed their normal, perfectly-plucked shape, and her face relaxed. “Okay, Sunshine-head. Out with it. What’s got your panties in a bunch?”
“I’m fine. I was just tired and a little over-served. I got a bit carried away. You know how I am—I love Halloween.”
“I do know how you are. You rarely drink much, you aren’t a tease, and seriously, Zoey, were you really kissing a girl?”
I flashed to the previous night and groaned. “Would you believe I’m going through an experimental period?” I looked around the room, trying to find something to focus on besides her stern blue eyes. Sprinklers pattered against the window above the sink, and I watched a drop of water roll in an erratic trail down the glass.
“Nice try.” Her gaze bore into me, seeking entrance into my totally messed up psyche. “Who are you so mad at?”
My eyes flicked to her face and back to the window. “I’m not mad. Why would I be mad?”
She grabbed my wrist and pulled it toward her to get me to meet her gaze. “Is this about that guy Riley?”
It was like she’d punched me in the gut. I took a moment to catch my breath. Sometimes it’s a pain in the ass to be around people who really know me. “There is no ‘guy Riley.’ We went out once. I’ve barely thought about him since then. I have no idea why you would bring him up.”
Sara nodded her head, a knowing look on her face. “Absolutely. Just one date. Who cares if you were crazy about him at the time? That’s all over.”
I clenched my teeth in a fake smile. “Yep. All over. Don’t know what I’d been thinking.”
“Any guy who’d stand you up on your second date and never call you again, why, he’s barely worth another thought.”
“Nope. Not another thought.” I curled my hands around my coffee cup to steady them.
“Not answering or returning your calls, well, that’s just rude. He wasn’t worth your time in the first place.”
I stared into my mug, watching a stray coffee ground float around in the liquid. My voice was small and quiet. “Not worth my time.”
She tapped her fingernails against the table in thought. “In fact,” she said, “he probably did you a favor. The last thing you need is another guy like your ex-husband hanging around, sucking you dry for money and emotional support.”
My head snapped up so fast my neck cramped and my headache went nuclear. “He’s nothing like Brad.” My voice was louder than I’d expected, and I winced. “Riley has a good job—two jobs, in fact. He helps people. He’s never asked me for anything. He saved my life.”
Sara smiled, having accomplished her goal to crack me open. “That’s a little melodramatic. But I think you’re ready for breakfast now.”
She rose and moved to the refrigerator, rummaging around and laying things on the counter. I was off the hook. I knew she wouldn’t push me any further. As far as she was concerned, she’d pried open the box I’d locked my emotional garbage in, and now I’d have to examine the contents myself.
What Sara didn’t know was that while I was angry as hell at Riley for standing me up, I was also worried sick. Sara knew he was a paramedic, but she didn’t know he was also a reaper who collected the souls of the dead. Twice he’d been sent to collect my soul, and twice he’d stepped in to save me instead. One of those times had also included saving Sara, though she had no memory of those events, which was for the best. No one should have to remember being assaulted by an incubus.
From what little I knew about the Royal Order of Grim Reapers—or whoever was in charge of soul collecting—Riley’s behavior broke some huge, fundamental rules. I worried that I’d put
him in some sort of trouble, and I had no idea what the consequences were for a renegade reaper.
He said it was no big deal. He said he’d take care of it. He said he’d see me later when he picked me up. And then he never showed.
I’d called his cell several times and tried the office at the ambulance service. They told me he was unavailable. That was all they would say.
I couldn’t blame him if he’d had second thoughts. Our first date had been such a disaster, I wanted brain bleach to wash it from my memory. Brad had shown up, banging on the restaurant window to get my attention—probably one of the most humiliating moments of my life. When I got back inside, I was in time to see a woman nearly choke to death. Then her husband dropped dead of a heart attack. And my paramedic date did nothing but watch until it was too late. When I saw him pull out the man’s soul while the attention of the crowd was diverted elsewhere, I dashed from the restaurant in a huff, thinking I’d never see Riley again.
He broke another reaper rule by following me home and telling me what he was.
But after six weeks of no word from him, he must have decided I was too much trouble, or he was in a mess of his own. I didn’t like either of those choices, and I didn’t know how to find out which it was. Unless I bumped into him on the street sometime and he had a flashy blond hanging on his arm. That would suck green donkeys, but on the bright side, I’d stop wondering what had happened.
Sara took me to my car an hour later. I was dressed in her clothes, had a full belly, a much milder hangover, and enough crap in my head to keep me busy thinking for the drive home. Curse Sara and her pokiness. I was doing so well swallowing my problems and living in denial. Except for that drunken spin-the-bottle thing. That probably wasn’t very healthy.
Maurice greeted me at the door, eyeing my unfamiliar clothes.
“Please tell me this is not a walk of shame,” he said.
“Sara’s shirt. Not to worry. She kept me out of trouble.”
“Was there trouble to keep you out of?” He grabbed the paper bag containing my rumpled costume, a frown lining his face.
“What are you, my dad? No trouble. I think the mermaid was married anyway.”
I left him standing there and sashayed down the hall to my room. I heard his voice as I closed the door.
“Mermaid?”
After I showered and changed into my own, less prissy clothes, the hangover receded and I felt a great deal better, both physically and emotionally. I’d done a mental purge in the car and realized there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about Riley. Even if the Dire Council of Death had come in broad daylight to carry him off to his doom, he would have had warning enough to text me at the very least. I’d thought he was a keeper. I had to let it go.
Yes, that sounded harsh. If he’d shown up on my doorstep, I probably would’ve folded like an origami squirrel, but for the time being, I had to remove myself from the situation. It was either that or suffer repeats of last night’s performance of stunning sluttitude. Or take up knitting. And I was so not coordinated enough for a needle-based hobby.
I made my way to the pool to check on Frannie and the new baby. Prepared for muck and gore, I was stunned to see the water looking clear and pristine. Maurice must’ve worked overtime to clean it.
A mental picture of a goldfish in a water glass, waiting for the aquarium to refill, flashed through my head. How does one go about cleaning a swimming pool when the occupant is still...occupying it? I decided I didn’t want to know. Besides, Frannie had gotten herself from the bay all the way to the pool in the first place, so she must be amphibious.
I really needed a Dummies book for all this.
Frannie snorted a greeting at me, then nosed her offspring to the surface to show her off. I smiled and patted the little serpent on the head. The glistening green flesh was slick and covered with tiny bumps. The baby did a few rolls in the water, then disappeared under the surface into the deep end.
“Nice job, Frannie. You do very good work.”
A slightly chewed fish floated by and I cringed.
Despite the dead fish and the October chill in the air, the water was inviting. I sat with my legs tucked beneath me and debated whether to stick my bare feet in while I chatted with Frannie. With both Bruce and Molly gone, we couldn’t actually understand each other, but our intentions were clear enough.
I tilted my head and squinted at the sky. Small puffy clouds floated in the breeze, and the sun stole away a little of the chill in the air. My eyes closed. I was content to let the wind blow away the muck that had collected in me while new life swam nearby—miraculous, mythical life I had helped bring into the world.
“Zoey.”
I opened my eyes to find Maurice standing over me. His face was serious. For five glorious minutes, everything had been right with my world. Apparently, five minutes was my allotted time.
Maurice held my phone in his hand. Now that he had my attention, he looked doubtful, as if he were rethinking whether he should give me the phone.
“How bad is it?” I asked. Everything from loved ones in a car crash to Brad calling for more money crossed my mind. If it was Brad, I was inclined to hang up without talking to him.
Maurice looked stricken and still didn’t hand over the phone. I stood up, brushing myself off.
“It’s him,” he said.
“Him who? What’s going on, Maurice?”
“It’s Riley.”
I’m sure all the color left my face. Just when I’d come to terms with his disappearance, there he was. If you love something, let it g—Shut up, Zoey.
I took a deep breath and grabbed the phone.
“You’re alive,” I said. I tried to keep my voice neutral. There wasn’t a chance in hell I was going to let him know how much I’d worried over him, or worse, how positively jump-up-and-down excited I was to hear from him. I was also pissed off. Couldn’t forget that part.
“Zoey, God, it’s so good to hear your voice. I am so sorry. I wanted to call and tell you what was going on.”
“But it slipped your mind. It’s fine. You’re a busy guy. I get that.”
“No, it’s not like that.”
“You weren’t busy?”
“Yes, I was busy, no, wait. I was...”
I heard a muffled exchange on the other end but couldn’t make out what was said before he came back a little breathless and rushed.
“Zoey, I can’t talk now. I need to go.”
“Of course you do.”
“I have to see you. I want to explain what happened. Meet me at the coffee shop on your way to work tomorrow. I...I have to go. Please come, Zoey.”
I didn’t get a chance to respond before he was gone.
The phone was heavy in the palm of my hand. I stared at it, unblinking. The curves and buttons blended together and made no sense, much like if you say a word over and over until it becomes meaningless.
My gaze was broken when Maurice laid his hand over the phone and curled his fingers around it.
“Zo, what’d he say? You okay?”
I blinked. “He wants to see me tomorrow morning.”
“Did he explain, at least?”
“No.”
I could tell Maurice wanted to say more, but he closed his mouth. It took a lot for Maurice to keep his opinion to himself, especially when it came to my well-being. But Maurice, and every other creature in my house, was afraid of Riley. Apparently, reapers were scary guys, even to monsters. The night he came to the house, everybody disappeared without warning, making me feel like I was missing some vital piece of information.
After the enigmatic phone call, I was a wreck for the rest of the night, of course.
I couldn’t sit for more than a few minutes. I painted my nails twice, first in bright red, then in a more subdued aqua.
I yanked half my closet apart, spreading clothes on the floor and trying to decide what to wear. Maurice, ever the caretaker, made me a chocolate-peanut-butter pie to keep me occupied and soothed.
I yelled a lot. I cried a little. I cracked self-effacing jokes. Maurice became alarmed when I disappeared into the garage and returned with a hammer and nails.
“What are you doing, Zo?” He kept his voice light and eased closer to me, as if I held a gun or a venomous snake.
“I need to fix the cupboard door in the guest bathroom.”
He eased the hammer from my grip, and somehow it disappeared. “I fixed that weeks ago. How about we play Monopoly? You like Monopoly.”
His tone of voice made me realize how bat-shit crazy I was acting. It wasn’t like me to let a guy put me into such a tailspin. I relaxed and passed Maurice the handful of mismatched nails.
“I’m a freak. Let’s find a movie to watch.”
* * *
I fidgeted on the sidewalk, trying to pull my head together and go inside. The last time I’d seen Riley in the café, I’d made a spectacular ass of myself. I spilled coffee on another customer, babbled something about buying cheese, and bolted in a funk of self-flagellation. I was desperate not to repeat the performance.
Of the six times I’d seen Riley, three featured dead bodies, and two were appointments he had to collect my soul, in the event I should end up drained by an incubus.
The only time I’d seen him without death’s involvement was in that coffee shop. It stood to reason the place should have some sort of warm, fuzzy feelings associated with it. But no. All I could think about was how much I didn’t want to come across like a three-year old on massive amounts of Pixy Stix. Again.
I tugged at the hemline of my skirt, then eyed my shoes, turning one ankle to get a better look. Too much? Fuschia heels with polka-dot bows, red belt, pink cardigan, red scarf. I exhaled a lungful of air. I looked like a damn valentine. Sara was right. I probably shouldn’t be allowed to dress myself. At least my skirt was neutral and fairly demure, despite the hem creeping up my legs.