by Terri Garey
I gave Evan and Butch their good-bye hugs and watched as they shut the door behind them, wishing I could shut my problems out as easily. I felt edgy and unfulfilled by an evening's fun denied, and quite frankly, at this point I didn't care how those images had managed to show up on Kelly's camera.
It was Halloween, after all. If it was Peaches, maybe our mother just had a sense of humor.
"Maybe Joe should leave, too," Kelly suggested, surprising me. "Peaches might come back if it's quiet. There might be too many people here."
Yeah. At least one too many.
"You think I should go?" Thankfully, Joe looked to me for confirmation, not Kelly. Despite his words, he didn't seem in any hurry to leave.
"Not yet," I said, and was relieved when the subject was dropped.
"This doesn't make a whole lot of sense." Joe picked up one of the pictures, though we'd all been through them several times. "Yes, I see what looks like a shadowy figure in some of these pictures, but I can't swear that it's a ghost. It could just be a problem with the camera."
"How can you say that?" Kelly demanded. "It's obviously Peaches. There's two eyes, a nose, a mouth. See the outline of her head?"
"It could be a trick of the light," Joe interrupted calmly. "Maybe it was the flash from the camera."
"You're wrong," Kelly insisted, equally as calm. "She could be here—in the room with us—right now."
I hated to admit it, but she was right. Maybe it was harder for normal people like Joe to see and believe the unbelievable. I wouldn't have believed it myself a few months ago.
Joe sighed. "Every time Nicki's had"—he hesitated, then settled for—"a problem like this, the spirits appear in person—she actually sees them." He looked at me, baffled. "Do you see her now?"
"It's not like I make them appear on demand, you know." I was already tired of talking about this. My fun evening had been ruined by the undead. Might as well start calling them the "fun dead."
Recalling the fun I'd been having reminded me of the guy I'd met at the Vortex. For a brief second I wondered if my spiky blond bad boy had something to do with this. I couldn't shake the feeling that he was more than just some tortured poet in a bar. He'd known my name, after all, and there'd been something about him…
I was being silly. I shoved the thought away, but other thoughts of him lingered. The memory of our encounter gave me a tingle. I'd been hot and bothered all evening, and it wasn't going away. The guy at the Vortex may have fanned the flames, but I wanted my sweet, sexy Joe, and I wanted him now. I hoped it had nothing to do with Paradise Lost.
Right now I would prefer some "paradise found."
I tapped my finger on the photo I was holding. It was the one where I was sitting in Joe's lap; I was laughing and showing a little leg while he held me tight, looking very pleased with himself.
I made myself a mental note to break out the Photoshop. The shadowy figure standing behind us ruined what was an otherwise fabulous photo. Maybe I could airbrush it out.
It might be the only satisfaction I was gonna get this evening.
I tried to keep my mind off sex, but Joe looked so good. The sleeveless shirt really showed off his biceps—he should keep that barbwire tattoo. And the way those leather pants strained over his hips was practically obscene. Deliciously obscene.
"I'm tired," I lied. The evening was still young, and there were better ways to spend it. "I'm gonna go get out of this costume—my corset is killing me." I shot Joe a flirtatious look. "Wanna help?"
His eyes flicked to Kelly, then back, but luckily for him, I chose to ignore that split second of hesitation. "You bet." He stood up and reached for my hand. "I've checked the house, Kelly. It's locked up tight. Nicki and I will be right down the hall."
"Oh." If Kelly sounded momentarily deflated, she covered pretty quick. "I'll just go watch some TV in my room. You guys have fun."
Neither of us looked back as I led him down the hallway, but when the bedroom door closed behind us, I couldn't help a little sigh of relief.
"This feels kind of weird, Nicki." Despite his words, Joe slid an arm around my waist, pulling me close.
"That's funny," I answered, "it's always felt pretty damn good before." I kissed him, loving the taste of his tongue. The cherry-chocolate scent of his aftershave drove me crazy. I was so hot for him I could've done it standing up, but the bed was close. I turned his back to it and gave him a playful shove.
"Oh, yeah." The mattress bounced under his weight. Elbows braced, legs splayed across the bedspread, Joe looked sexy as hell. "Impatient little thing, aren't you?"
"Tonight I am." I stepped closer, right between his knees. "It's your own fault for wearing those pants." I smiled wickedly, admiring the view from my particular angle. "Now take 'em off."
"Bossy, too."
Joe's lips were smudged black from my lipstick. I found the result very erotic, and wondered how he'd look with some eyeliner.
"That's me. Impatient and bossy." I started undoing the clasps on my corset.
"Are you sure we shouldn't go to my place? What if Kelly hears us?"
I felt a flash of irritation, but pushed it away. Joe was such a Boy Scout sometimes—but it wasn't worth losing the moment. I could care less if Kelly heard, particularly if she were nosy enough to listen.
"Impatient, bossy, and trying desperately to get your attention." My corset fell away, and Joe's eyes widened. I rested hands on hips, posing for him. "Selfish, too, because I can't wait the time it would take to get to your place."
If the growing bulge in his groin was any indication, he couldn't either. I had his attention now, but that didn't stop me from tormenting him further. I turned around and flipped up my skirt, giving him an eyeful of lacy panties and garter belt. "Maybe you should spank me for being such a bad girl."
Joe sat up and took me by the hips. He kissed each rounded curve, just once. His lips felt like fire. Then he slid his arms around me and pulled me into his lap, nuzzling the bare skin of my shoulders while his hands roamed wherever they wanted. "I have a better idea." he murmured. I caught my breath as his teeth nipped my earlobe. "How about I reward you by making you feel good."
His hands felt so strong as they kneaded my skin, sliding over my breasts and thighs, squeezing every curve. He drew a deep breath through his nose and let it out appreciatively, warm against my neck. "You smell like incense and flowers." I squirmed against him, pressing my softness against his hardness. "In naked beauty more adorned, more lovely than Pandora."
I tensed, not sure I'd heard him correctly.
"Mmmm…" Joe trailed kisses along my shoulder blades, leaving a moist path of heat that pulled me back into the moment. "Taste good, too."
My body felt heavy, pleasantly so. I didn't want the kissing to stop. "What was that you just said?"
I could feel Joe's chuckle against my naked back. He barely lifted his lips enough to answer, "I don't know… it just popped into my head. I was inspired." His fingers brushed my nipples, already pebbled into hard nubs.
Two men quoting classics in one night—what were the odds?
"I find you very… inspiring." He proved it by cupping a hand between my legs, making me gasp, while his hardness gave an answering throb against my bottom.
I was slipping, giving into sensation. Joe felt so good. His thighs were rock hard beneath my fingers, supporting all my weight as I arched against him.
He rubbed me there, through my panties. I bit my lip against a moan, closing my eyes. An image flashed into my mind—the blond-haired, blue-eyed guy with a killer smile, raising his glass of Black Magic in a salute. The memory was a good one, and so was the tingle that came with it.
I pushed the mental image away—Joe deserved my undivided attention. Opening my eyes, I twisted in his arms, determined to live in the now.
We spent the next forty-five minutes doing just that, and every time my Billy Idol bad boy popped into my brain, I shoved him back out.
I just wish he hadn't popped i
n so often.
. "Nicki. Nicki, wake up." Someone was shaking my shoulder.
"What?" I cracked an eye to find Kelly leaning over me. It was morning, and Joe had left for his own apartment somewhere in the wee hours.
Kelly was still in her pajamas, long hair hiding part of her face, but she tossed it over her shoulder in an impatient gesture. "Look at this, Nicki." She thrust something at me.
I frowned blearily at whatever she held in her hand. It was the scrying mirror.
"Get that away from me," I mumbled. What was she doing, barging into my bedroom unannounced this early in the morning? Judging by the light seeping through the blinds, it wasn't much past seven.
"Look at it," she insisted.
I couldn't help but glance at it, though I didn't appreciate being ordered around any more than I appreciated the rude awakening.
"Did you do it?" Her voice was rising.
"Do what?" I pushed myself up in the bed, in full crank mode now. "What the hell are you talking about?"
Kelly thrust the mirror at me again.
I snatched it, ready to throw it at her. The bronze handle was warm beneath my hand. Reluctantly, I looked down, bracing myself. "It's cracked," I said, stating the obvious. There was a hairline crack running from the lower left to the upper right, marring the otherwise smooth black surface.
"It wasn't cracked when I went to bed," Kelly answered. "Did you do it?"
I thrust the mirror back at her, not wanting to hold it any longer than necessary. Mirrors were supposed to be silver, not black. "No, I didn't do it," I snapped irritably.
Kelly tried to stare me down, but I gave as good as I got.
"Haven't you ever heard of knocking, by the way? What if Joe had still been in here?"
She shrugged, taking the mirror from my hand. "Nothing I haven't seen before."
I glared at her, and it was then I noticed how pale she was. Dark circles beneath her eyes stood out like smudges.
"What's the matter with you? What's going on?" I ran a hand through my hair, snagging my fingers on glitter gel. Kelly looked away, pointedly, and I realized I was naked. I'd just given my sister a great boob shot, nipple ring and all.
I shrugged mentally, though I did pull up the sheet. She was the one who barged in—she deserved to be flashed.
"I woke up and found the mirror broken, that's what's going on," she said. "I laid it on the table right beside the bed before I went to sleep, and this morning it has a crack in it." She kept her eyes averted, even though I was decently covered.
"I thought you said you never wanted to look at it again." I might've just woken up, but I hadn't forgotten that. "What were you doing with it right before bed?"
She sighed, hesitating. "I changed my mind," she said. "You were right—I'd had two glasses of wine last night and I probably got freaked out over nothing. Besides, it's pretty. I paid a lot of money for it."
I narrowed my eyes at her, though she wasn't watching. What was all the fuss about? Last night she'd been afraid of the mirror, and this morning she was pissed because it was broken?
"I know a guy who can replace the glass," I said. "Let's put a real mirror in it, slap a price tag on it, and sell it at the store." Good quality Art Nouveau pieces were pretty popular. I knew I could unload it pretty quick or else I'd never have offered.
"No," she said quickly. "I'm going to hang on to it."
"Well, hang on to it somewhere else, would ya?" I grabbed the sheet, ready to whip it off and head for the bathroom. "And you can make the coffee this morning," I added. "I wasn't planning on getting up for at least another hour."
She left, and I went to freshen up. I'd barely closed the bathroom door behind me when I heard her calling.
"Nicki!" Her voice was high-pitched, frantic. "Nicki, come here!"
I grabbed my robe from the back of the door and hightailed it toward the kitchen.
"What is it?"
She was standing in the middle of the living room, staring in horrified fascination at the breakfast counter that overlooked the kitchen. Every piece of china I owned was sitting on it, stacked precariously in a mishmash of plates and saucers, teacups and coffee mugs. Smaller pieces on the bottom, larger pieces on top, an inverted pyramid of breakable objects that appeared ready to topple at the slightest touch.
"What the—" What the hell had Kelly been doing? Were my dishes not clean enough for her? It looked like she'd been up all night emptying the cabinets. And maybe a bottle of Jim Beam while she was at it.
"Look," she whispered, pointing.
There was something written on the refrigerator. All my fridge magnets had been swept aside and replaced with bright pink letters about two inches high.
YOU WERE DRIVING, it said.
Kelly started to cry. The cabinet doors gaped open on their hinges, showing a jumble of spilled spices and tumbled cans. The silverware drawer was open, but empty—the contents had been dumped in the sink. I walked closer and saw that the floor was littered with broken glass.
So much for my favorite wineglasses. How could I not have heard the noise this must've caused? Joe and I had been having a good time, true, but I think I would've heard it if the earth literally moved. The kitchen certainly looked like an earthquake hit it.
Except for those precariously balanced dishes, and the pink lettering on the fridge. I hoped it was lipstick, not permanent marker.
Kelly's sobs grew louder, and if I'd only been able to think clearly, I would have tried to comfort her. As it was, I could only stare, dumbfounded, at what I'd woken up to, while a thousand irrelevant thoughts ran through my head.
"I knew it," Kelly said. She'd slumped to the arm of the couch, eyes full of tears. "She blames me. I killed her."
That snapped me out of it. "No, you didn't!" Peaches didn't blame anyone for her death except herself. Vanity, thy name is Peaches, she'd said, about not wearing her seat belt.
"That's why she came here last night," Kelly cried. "That's why she did this!" She swept an arm toward the kitchen. The wording on the refrigerator stood out, an accusation we couldn't ignore.
I wasn't buying it. If Peaches really blamed Kelly for her death, she'd had plenty of time and several opportunities to tell me so.
So who'd done this?
I backed out of the trashed kitchen and went to Kelly, but she'd buried her face in her hands and refused to look at me.
"Peaches doesn't blame you," I said firmly. "Why would she do this when she could've just told me whatever it was she wanted to say?" I put my hand on her shoulder, taking a deep breath. My therapy sessions with Ivy hadn't been completely wasted, but I was hesitant. "Blaming yourself doesn't help. I know a great therapist—"
Kelly gasped, then shrugged off my hand and rose to her feet. "You think I did this?"
"I just—"
She didn't let me finish. "Yeah, Nicki. I woke up in the middle of the night and decided to wreck your kitchen and write all over your refrigerator." Her voice was bitter. "Better yet, I was sleepwalking and I just don't remember doing it, right?"
"Well…" The theory wasn't that far-out. She'd been under a lot of stress these past few weeks, and if she was eaten up by guilt, too—who knows?
"I know, I know!" She was getting all worked up. "I was pissed off because you and Joe were getting it on in your room all night, so I took my jealousy out on your dishes !•" Her voice was taking on a hysterical note.
Getting it on ? Did people even use that phrase anymore?
"Calm down, Kelly." I filed what she'd said away to think about another time. Another interesting theory, though.
"I broke my own mirror, too, right?" She snatched the damn thing up off the couch and waved it at me.
The mirror.
An ugly suspicion formed. "Were you trying to call Peaches up in that mirror again last night after I went to bed?"
"No."
She'd said it too quickly. I didn't believe her.
"What did you do?" A feeling of dread settled
over me, heavy as a cloak.
"I didn't do anything." Her face was red, cheeks wet with tears. But she was calmer now, and for that I was glad.
I eyed her suspiciously, but decided not to push it. It was too early in the morning for all this emotional shit. With a sigh, I said, "Let's just get this mess cleaned up, shall we?"
"I'll do it," she said stiffly. "You go get ready for work."
I would've argued with her, but the idea of a shower was so tempting—my scalp itched from glitter gel and my bladder was about to burst. "It wasn't your fault that Peaches died, Kelly," I repeated gently. "It was an accident."
She brushed past me, swiping at her nose and cheeks with the sleeve of her pajamas. "Whatever."
I'd almost reached the bathroom door when she announced, "I'm calling Bijou in Savannah today. You may be able to see spirits without even trying, but I want to learn more about the knack."
Grimacing in frustration, I answered her the way she'd answered me.
"Whatever."
Either my house was now haunted or my sister was a nut job who needed therapy even more than I did. Neither prospect was appealing. Let her go to Savannah for a while, and take her issues with her.
"I've got a problem, Evan."
"What problem is that, sweetie?" he answered me absently, engrossed in his latest creation.
It was time to change the window display at Handbags and Gladrags, and we'd opted to celebrate fall in shades of brown and gold. Texture was the name of the game, and we'd designed a great look for our Jean Harlow mannequin. Jean was wearing an ecru cashmere sweater with a mink collar, a cute metallic-gold crocheted hat, and a brown corduroy skirt with velvet trim. The boots were faux snakeskin. With her platinum hair and kewpie-doll lips, Jean was the original "blonde bombshell." She still looked the part, only warmer.
"Besides your sister inviting spooks into your house and wanting to charge off to Savannah, of course," Evan added.
"Well, there's that." I'd already told him about the disaster in my kitchen. Neither one of us was sure whether it was evidence of paranormal activity or guilt-induced paranoia. "But there's more."