by Tara Moss
Oh, the bliss. Oh my, the bliss of kissing a beautiful ghost . . .
The soldier pushed me gently to the bed, and I wrapped my arms around his strong, cool back. His ghost body felt simultaneously firm and misty, as if he were totally real on one level, but on another was just a dream. Our tongues intermingled, and I saw flashes of white light. I felt myself lifting.
‘Oh, Luke . . .’ I murmured with pleasure.
He pulled away. ‘Oh, Miss Pandora. I am so sorry.’
I sat up on my elbows on the bed. ‘Sorry? Don’t be sorry,’ I said, and meant it. I didn’t want him to stop.
‘I got carried away, Miss. You’ve been traumatised tonight. I can’t take advantage of that.’ He took his cap in his hand and stood with his head bowed. ‘You should go to sleep now, Miss Pandora.’
Being taken advantage of by a ghost? Now that was a thought.
I looked at the clock. It was past one. It had been rather a big night. ‘I do have to go to work in the morning,’ I managed, my body slowly returning to normal. The warm tingling began to settle. Goodness, had I really been kissing a ghost?
I slipped under my covers and pulled my jeans off. I threw them on the floor next to the bed. Somehow, because he was dead, I felt comfortable in his presence.
‘If you get scared or anything you just call for me, okay?’ Luke said, placing a cool hand on my forehead.
I nodded sleepily.
‘Sleep, Miss Pandora. Sleep. You are safe now,’ he assured me, and he gave me one last, cool kiss.
I felt my eyelids grow heavy, and soon Luke had disappeared to go wherever it was that ghosts went when they weren’t visiting the living.
My ghost friend had disappeared, but I no longer felt alone.
Sleep would have been too easy.
When I woke again it was still dark. I was in bed in my T-shirt and underwear, my bra pinching under my arms. The clock told me it was a quarter to three.
What a night.
Really, how could I sleep soundly after the night I’d just had? (Could you? I think not.)
It didn’t take long for me to decide to get up, to test another theory. I was fairly sure Celia had not yet returned home from her ‘date’. (Was she out there somewhere, sucking someone dry? I wondered darkly.) I’d been exhausted, but I had not slept deeply enough to miss the sound of her arrival, I thought. I got up and tiptoed through the apartment in my T-shirt. Her fox stole was not hanging by the door. I crept down the hall and listened at her locked door. There was not a sound.
I had somehow found a second wind, and was wired on a new rush of adrenaline, I spent the next twenty minutes arranging the apartment and myself for Celia’s return. I then settled myself in Celia’s leather reading chair. And I waited.
And waited.
I may have drifted off a few times before, finally, there was a tinkle of keys and the front door opened. I heard footsteps.
Celia.
It was past four in the morning, my eyes were burning, and I felt as strung out and tense as I’d ever been in my life. Edmund Barrett? Psychics? Hauntings? Vampires? Ghost kisses? These things had cycled through my head enough times to drive me half mad.
Despite the hour, Celia entered the penthouse looking as fresh as when she had left the house.
Now for the truth, Celia.
In what felt like a surreal role reversal, I switched the reading light on, and she saw me waiting in her leather chair. I was wearing a crucifix, a piece of costume jewellery I’d bought for a retro eighties school dance back in Gretchenville. The cross was oversized and made of plastic, and it sat heavily on my chest. (No, I wasn’t wearing the BOY TOY belt buckle that had gone with it.) I had moved the mirror to a strategic position, to see if Celia had a reflection. I’d only stopped short of fetching the garlic from the dumpster outside because I was too frightened to leave the apartment after my run-in with a fanged Samantha.
‘Hello, Pandora. You’re up late,’ Celia said calmly upon noticing me. She hung up her stole and paused in the entryway, looking elegant.
‘I am,’ I said, as steadily as I could. ‘I was wondering if I could ask you about something?’ I stood up from the leather chair and indicated that I wished for her to sit.
Beneath the omnipresent veil, I thought I saw a slight smirk. ‘Certainly. There is much to discuss,’ she agreed. ‘It can wait till morning though, I trust?’
‘I never see you in the morning,’ I said flatly.
There was an uncomfortable silence.
‘True,’ she conceded. Now she smiled through her veil with closed lips. ‘All right then. I guess this is as good a time as any.’
My great-aunt glided across the apartment and stood in front of me in the lounge. Her eyes drifted down to my choice of pendant and back up again. She didn’t flinch, let alone burst into flames. Her entirely normal form was reflected in the mirror behind her. I felt ridiculous. I was only just coming to terms with the idea that I was really able to see dead people. I obviously had a lot to learn about the whole ‘undead’ thing.
Ever graceful, Celia took a seat in her leather chair. It creaked lightly as it took her weight. She tilted her head in my direction, her veil casting a shadowy web across her perfect alabaster skin.
My heart was beating far too fast, and I willed it to slow to a normal pace. I sat on the hassock opposite her, and took a breath. ‘Celia, how old are you?’ I asked her outright.
She blinked slowly. Her expression did not change. She crossed her arms. ‘Darling, your mother should have taught you that it’s rude to ask a lady her age.’
‘You are my great-aunt, though, yes? My mother’s mother’s sister?’
‘Of course I am, darling,’ she assured me. ‘Is this what you wanted to ask me? About our family tree? You look awfully tired. You ought to get some sleep. We can discuss all this another—’
‘Then why are you so young?’ I demanded.
Great-Aunt Celia pursed her lips and let out a delicate sigh. ‘I see. There’s no putting you off tonight, is there?’ The words sounded heavy as they came from her lips. She took my hands in hers – her skin felt much cooler than mine – and said in a grave voice, ‘I wondered when we would need to have this little chat. I’d hoped it would be a while yet. I am quite sure you already have some theories about the reason for my youth . . .’
At that moment I realised how desperately I wanted everything to be okay, how desperately I wanted to stay in this place and not have to go back to Aunt Georgia and to live in boring little Gretchenville for the rest of my life. Even after all I’d seen that night I was ready for any lie. Herbs. The fountain of youth. An amazing plastic surgeon. Buckets of BloodofYouth skin cream. Anything.
‘Do I?’ I asked.
‘Yes,’ she said calmly and squeezed my hands affectionately. With one hand she lifted the black veil she always wore, and pinned it back into her hair. Some of the fear ran out of me as I found myself face to face with the woman I had already become so fond of. She had been generous to me, so welcoming, helpful and caring. Her face was serenely beautiful and I could see no venom in her, nothing sinister at all, just a grandmotherly warmth, wrapped in a too-perfect, too-young package. I found it impossible to imagine this woman killing someone, but still, I wondered if I could forgive her if she had.
‘Look, it’s not all as scary as people make out. You mustn’t believe what you read about . . .’
‘About?’ I waited apprehensively for her to finish her sentence. I couldn’t be the one to say it. It was too absurd.
‘Really, it’s not such a big deal.’
It’s true then. ‘You’re a VAMPIRE!’ I blurted out, and pulled away, nearly falling off the edge of the hassock. My hands flew to my mouth but it was too late, I’d already let it slip.
Celia let out a throaty laugh in response. She leaned back in her chair and tilted her face to the ceiling, chuckling delicately.
‘Did you really do that to Samantha so I would get her job?’ I probe
d. ‘Did you? My god! That’s terrible!’
‘What?’ Celia stopped laughing. ‘I’ve done what to whom? Please, darling, do relax. You don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Oh, I think I do,’ I contradicted her.
At this fresh accusation she only started laughing again.
‘What? It’s not funny! Why are you laughing at me?’ I wanted to know.
‘No, darling.’ She smiled broadly, pulling her lips back to show her teeth. ‘I’m no vamp. See? No fangs.’ And indeed, her teeth were completely normal and human. There wasn’t one pointy incisor in there. Not like Samantha.
I thought about the books I’d been reading about vampires – all this time I’d thought they were fiction. But didn’t most of them say that vampires could hide their fangs, only to have them come out like cat’s claws when needed? Or when they were, um, excited? ‘But you might be . . . keeping them in,’ I argued. ‘That doesn’t mean you don’t have fangs.’
My great-aunt chuckled at me again. ‘Is that what this big Madonna crucifix is about?’
I felt too ridiculous to go on accusing her. I slumped forward, feeling like a royal idiot. ‘Then what? What’s not so bad?’ I had to know.
She sighed and examined me patiently. ‘Oh, your mother taught you nothing, did she?’
‘What? What was she supposed to teach me?’
‘Oh, Oriel.’ She said my mother’s name with a little exasperation. ‘Darling Pandora, you are a supernatural girl living in a supernatural world,’ she said, making a theatrical gesture with one hand.
I blinked. I was ready for anything that would help my life make more sense but this variation on a Madonna lyric was not it.
‘Let me start at the beginning before we get into all this other business about immortals and so on,’ Celia said, and then leaned in and wagged her finger at me. ‘And you shouldn’t have gone wandering around the building after dark. I told you not to, and look at the result. You’re practically hysterical.’
I ducked my head guiltily.
‘And you can take off that silly crucifix. It’s cheap, and it won’t do a thing to any real undead. And it doesn’t do a thing for you, either.’
I took it off, humiliated.
‘Now, the most important thing you should know, and I really wish your mother had helped you with this . . .’ She took my hands in hers again. ‘You have the gift,’ she said finally. ‘Pandora, it is in your name, in your heritage. You are gifted. All the Lucasta women are gifted.’ Lucasta was my mother’s maiden name. Celia was a Lucasta, too, and I would have been, if child naming were not so invariably patriarchal. ‘You have abilities. And you . . . well . . . You are a very special Lucasta girl.’ She looked at me with something significant behind her eyes, something I wasn’t sure she would share. Special? ‘Surely you are already aware of this?’
Celia studied my face and frowned. She shook her head. ‘Oh dear. It was that man she married,’ she said, evidently cross. ‘Sorry, darling.’ She had obviously recalled that she was talking about my father. She patted my hand. ‘It’s just that she insisted on marrying your father against her better judgment. He stifled her abilities. She had such talent, such potential. It was a terrible waste in my opinion. I suppose he was a good man, and he made your mother happy, I think. But . . .’ She crossed her arms. ‘Well, your father and I never quite saw eye to eye.’
That was pretty clear.
‘Pandora, your great-great-grandmother was Madame Aurora.’ Celia announced this proudly, as if I would recognise the name. I must have looked a little blank. ‘Madame Aurora was with the travelling shows at the turn of the century. She was Barnum and Bailey’s most famous and gifted psychic.’ She sighed. ‘I suppose Oriel neglected to tell you that as well?’
‘I guess so,’ I said. I’d not heard a word about my great-great-grandmother or a Madame Aurora.
Celia shook her head gently, clearly disappointed.
‘So, you’re not a vampire,’ I said softly, ashamed of myself for even considering the possibility.
‘No, darling. But that model of yours, well . . .’
‘What?’
Celia stood. ‘Now I’ve said too much. Look, it’s late. You need to go to bed, darling Pandora. You are too tired to take all this in.’ I could tell from her tone that there would be no further discussion. And indeed I was beginning to shake from exhaustion. Once upright I could feel the weight of my intense fatigue. It was half past four after a rather eventful day and I could barely stand.
‘You’re not a vampire? You don’t have fangs?’ I babbled. I felt overtired and confused, but I just couldn’t stop my big mouth. ‘You’re not going to kill me?’
Celia looked at me soberly. ‘Sweetheart, no. I’m not going to kill you.’ She helped me up and walked me to my room. ‘You have an important day ahead of you at work. Investigations to be done for your writing, and so on. You won’t even make it to the office if we keep you up much longer. We’ll talk more tomorrow,’ she promised.
Just before I plunged into sleep I heard her mumble, ‘That Bram Stoker has a lot to answer for . . .’
I arrived at Pandora magazine at nine twenty-five in the morning sporting my first-ever serious eye baggage. My eyes were bloodshot, puffy and underscored with dark rings. Sleeplessness and being freaked out evidently made quite an impression on my face. Morticia noticed my altered appearance immediately.
‘Oh, you must have had fun at the launch,’ she declared, bravely trying not to sound jealous about my little coup.
It had been a big night. But not the kind of big night I could confide in the receptionist about. I only nodded wearily in response. ‘Is Pepper here?’ I wondered if she’d come back to the office after she slipped away from the launch.
Morticia shook her head. ‘Not yet.’
I looked around. The office seemed a little quiet. ‘Is Skye still sick?’ I asked.
‘Yeah. And the issue goes to print in, like, three days. I’ve never known her to call in sick before. I mean, she went ballistic when Samantha quit just before deadline, and she’s not even here herself now. Can you believe it?’ She studied my face. ‘You aren’t coming down with what she has, are you?’ she asked with concern.
‘No, I’m not sick – it’s just lack of sleep,’ I assured her, without getting into details. Where would I begin? The bit where I French-kissed a ghost? Or the bit where a vampire tried to neck me?
‘Morticia, can you tell me what happened with the other girl, Samantha?’ I ventured cautiously. This could be a normal question, I reasoned. I was new in the office and maybe I was just curious about why she’d quit. ‘Um, did she have a run-in with Skye or something?’ I tried to seem casual about it, although under my tired visage I was desperate for answers. ‘I don’t want to make the same mistakes.’
‘Oh, no,’ Morticia replied. ‘Skye blows up all the time, but she calms down eventually.’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t really know what happened. The night before you arrived, Samantha was on the cover shoot with Athanasia, to be sort of an assistant if they needed anything.’ She took a deep breath and looked away for a moment, and I detected that Morticia was put out that she had not been invited to perform the task herself. Again, I felt a touch guilty that she hadn’t been asked to accompany Pepper or myself to the launch. ‘And she checked in with Skye to say that everything was going well, and they were on schedule, then hours later she left a message on the office line saying she quit and she wouldn’t be coming in again. Just like that, she quit in a phone message! I didn’t find out until I got in that morning. She didn’t even clean out her desk.’ Morticia saw my expression and said, ‘Oh yeah, as you know, right? And that was it. Not a word from her yesterday. Weird. If she hadn’t quit, Skye would have fired her ass for that.’
True enough.
‘I did wonder if maybe something had happened at the shoot,’ Morticia said. ‘But that’s ridiculous, right? She’d probably been planning to quit for ages.’
&nb
sp; That was an interesting instinct.
‘Did something happen, do you think?’ Perhaps it was Athanasia who had got to her? Would that explain the strange feeling I’d had about the model? Was she a vamp, like Samantha? Admittedly, of all the new information I had to grapple with, the idea that Athanasia was an evil bloodsucker was not exactly the biggest stretch. Hadn’t Celia alluded to something like that? I wish I hadn’t been so tired when we spoke. I could barely remember what was said, and I wanted nothing more than to go over Celia’s every word.
Morticia shrugged. ‘The photographer didn’t seem to think so. It all went fine, apparently. It’s not like Samantha had been here long, anyway. They don’t always last, you know.’
Thinking of Skye/Medusa, I could imagine that was the case.
The flame-haired receptionist was lost in thought for a moment, then she became animated again. ‘But Skye nearly had a conniption, it being less than a week off deadline and not being given any notice at all! I put an ad on the usual recruitment websites. If I didn’t fill her position fast, I was going to get throttled, I think.’ She made a fake strangled sound and crossed her eyes.
‘Good thing I showed up,’ I said.
‘Oh! Good thing!’ she agreed. ‘And like only an hour after I put the ad out. Like magic!’
Magic.
Morticia looked down for a moment. ‘And Samantha was all right, but I like you better. I hope you don’t quit.’ Morticia looked up and smiled her adorable crooked smile at me, and I felt kind of touched.
‘Thanks, Morticia. I’m not planning on quitting,’ I assured her.