A Match Made in Hell

by Terri Garey

  I stared at her, heart pounding, the way a mouse would watch a snake. "I—"

  "You should've helped me with that lying bastard, Keith," she interrupted. "His wife wasn't supposed to know about the money—that was our money, Keith's and mine, our little 'love fund.'" Psycho Barbie smiled as she said it, as though it were a joke, but it was an ugly smile. "Instead, you and your sister saw to it that he looked like a hero to his family… a real saint. All those grateful, mealy-mouthed prayers have slipped him beyond my reach." Her flawless mask slipped for a moment while naked rage glowed in her eyes. "I'm going to love making you and your meddling twin pay for that."

  "Wait just a minute!" The hostility in the air was palpable, like a shimmer of heat from the cold bricks beneath our feet. "This is between you and your boyfriend." Your rich, married boyfriend, I thought, though I didn't say it. "You lived your life, you made your choices, and they had nothing to do with us." If they hadn't been out drinking at the country club, they'd probably both still be alive, but I didn't say that either. "Don't drag us into it. It's not Kelly's fault for trying to do the right thing when somebody asked her to, and it's not mine either."

  "Doing the right thing is so overrated," she sighed, touching a perfectly manicured nail to her chin.

  "Listen…" I took a shot at blunt honesty. "I don't mean to be cruel, but you're dead. And so is he. It's over. It's done. You need to move on and leave me and my sister alone."

  Psycho Barbie cocked her head, still smiling. "You don't understand," she said. "My master has made me an offer I can't refuse. My eternal soul in exchange for one of yours." She shrugged a black-clad shoulder, toying with the freshwater pearls gleaming at her neck. "What's a ghoul to do?"

  And just like that, anger replaced fear. I wanted to snatch those pearls and shove them down her throat, but I knew my fingers would find only empty air. The dead can manifest physically, sometimes even manipulate objects, but that ability didn't seem to go both ways. The living can't lay a finger on a spirit, no matter how much they want to.

  The only thing I could do was call her bluff. I leaned in, bringing my face closer to hers. Her eyes held the cold flatness of a cobra's, but I refused to panic. "Back off, bitch." I pushed myself up from the chair and took a few steps away from the table, just in case the cobra decided to strike. "If you want my soul, you're going to have to kill me to get it, and I don't really think you're up to that." I made myself sneer, though my stomach felt like ice. "It might mess up your hair." That chic blond updo must've cost a pretty penny.

  Barbie—for that was her name in my mind—lost her smile but not her focus. "I'm not going to kill you, little goth girl." She rose from her chair, languid, every movement a study in graceful control. "But by the time I'm finished with you, you'll probably wish I had."

  * * *

  CHAPTER 11

  I rushed up the stairs to Peaches's room to find the door closed. "Kelly?" I didn't bother to knock, just opened it.

  And there I found her, sitting in the dark. The curtains were drawn, sashes pulled down to block the light. A single candle guttered in the draft I'd created by opening the door.

  "What the hell are you doing?"

  Kelly gave me a look that was both guilty and defiant. She didn't say anything at first, not until I turned on the overhead light and saw what she held in her hand. "I had to try," was all she said then.

  The scrying mirror. She cradled it in her lap, reflective side down, but I was sure she'd been staring into it just a moment ago.

  "Are you nuts? What are you doing with that thing?"

  "What do you think I'm doing with it, Nicki?" she said waspishly, obviously not happy at being caught. "I'm trying to contact Peaches, of course."

  I stared at her, scared and frustrated beyond bearing. She was up here conjuring spirits while I was trying to keep one away from us. "Why?" I really didn't understand. "Peaches is gone, let her go!"

  "Because I'm worried her spirit isn't at rest, and because I need to tell her I'm sorry, dammit!" Kelly's voice rose. "I was driving the car when she died, and I need to tell her I'm sorry. Don't you get it?"

  I drew a deep breath. Here was the heart of the problem, the true reason we were in Savannah. My therapist would be so proud. "It was an accident, Kelly. It wasn't your fault."

  Her face twisted. "Easy for you to say. You weren't there."

  "No, but I've seen Peaches, talked to her. She doesn't blame you."

  Kelly looked away, swiping angrily at her eyes. She still clutched the mirror. "You've seen her—good for you. I haven't seen her. Not yet, anyway." She drew a deep breath, then looked at the mirror in her lap, tracing the bronze curves on the handle with a finger. "Besides, what does it hurt?"

  I sighed. Opening yourself to the spirit world was not a good idea.

  I'd never told Kelly everything that happened with Caprice and Granny Julep. I didn't like to think about it, mostly, and liked talking about it even less. The fear was fading, but the hard lessons I learned were not, and I preferred it that way. "A powerful voodoo woman warned me against inviting the spirits in, and she was right." Granny Julep might have tricked me and tried to turn me into a zombie, but she'd never lied to me. "She said that just because spirits are drawn to your energy doesn't mean you have to give it to them. Not all spirits are good spirits."

  Kelly made an exasperated sound, rolling her eyes.

  This was my own fault. I didn't have the courage to say Caprice's name aloud, particularly in this house, so my telling of that story would have to wait for another day.

  Instead of taking the blame for Kelly's ignorance, however, I said sourly, "You've spent way too much time watching Ghosthunters on the Sci-Fi channel. Dealing with spirits is not the glamorous job it seems." I was being sarcastic, of course—hanging around with nerds in dark houses at two o'clock in the morning was hardly my idea of glamorous. "Take, for instance, the nasty spirit I just met in the courtyard."

  Kelly's eyes got big. She finally put the mirror aside, laying it facedown on the bed.

  "Keith Morgan's girlfriend is here, in this house, and she's pissed."

  "What did she do? What did she say?" Kelly seemed more fascinated than scared, the big dummy.

  "She's really mad at you for telling her boyfriend's wife about the money." I wasn't above blaming everything on Kelly if it got her to move her butt. "She wanted him in Hell, with her, and you messed up her plans." I sighed, shaking my head. "I guess she followed us here."

  "I was just trying to help," Kelly said. Finally, she looked a little nervous. "What was I supposed to do, ignore a dead man's last wish?"

  "She's mad at me, too," I admitted reluctantly. Barbie's face flashed into my mind's eye, twisted with anger over Keith Morgan and the role Kelly and I played in his passing. Why had she shown up now? Here?

  I'd known from the beginning that this house was trouble. The fact that Barbie felt "at home" here was a very bad sign as far as I was concerned. "I really think we need to leave."

  "Poor woman." Kelly shook her head sadly, ignoring my last comment.

  "Poor woman? She's a cobra." A well-dressed, well-kept cobra. Beautiful from a distance, vicious up close. "Whatever pity you're feeling, save it for someone who deserves it."

  "Don't you see, Nicki?" Kelly's butt was stuck to the bed, and I was ready to leave it there. "We can't ignore this poor soul. We have to do something."

  "Do what, exactly?" My temper was rising. "She's dead, she's pissed, and she's out to get us."

  "Nicki, could you just calm down and think for a second? What could she possibly do to us? She's dead. A lost soul in need of our help. We have to free her from the earthly plane."

  The earthly plane?

  "Are you crazy?" I asked. "Because you're starting to sound it."

  "You need to talk to her."

  "I did talk to her!"

  "You need to talk to her again," Kelly insisted. "She's confused. Her anger is clouding her judgment. You need to explain that s
he's dead now, that she needs to cross over."

  I rolled my eyes, exasperated. "I told her that."

  "Maybe you didn't do it right."

  My mouth fell open. "Didn't do it right? Is there some secret, special way to tell somebody they're dead?" I was being completely sarcastic. "Gee, I'm sorry. Somebody obviously forgot to give me the course material. Maybe I should take a class on the Internet—'How to Talk to the Dead in Five Easy Lessons.' Smoke and mirrors extra."

  Kelly ignored me and kept talking. "Her spirit needs to be put to rest, and I can't do it. I only see male spirits, remember?"

  "And the point is?" Besides you being an idiot?

  "You need to cross this spirit over. It's the only way to get her to leave us alone." She said that a bit too hopefully. "The very least you can do is try."

  What the hell? "Do I look like an idiot to you? She threatened me, she threatened you. She followed us all the way to Savannah with revenge on her mind." Then it hit me. "I get it now—you're on some cockeyed quest to be the Peace Corps volunteer of the psychic world, aren't you?"

  Kelly's lip twitched in the beginnings of a smile, but I wasn't trying to be funny.

  "And if not this spirit, some other spirit. You're hoping to see a ghost. You're dying to see a ghost. You think all this psychic stuff is cool, and that we"—I moved my hand back and forth between us to emphasis my point—"we are special." I gave a snort. "We're freaks, that's all."

  Kelly glared at me, defiant. "You told me to wave my freak flag higher, Nicki, and you just said it—we're freaks. 'Cut loose, be yourself,' you said."

  She had me there. That's the problem with giving advice—you're too often expected to take it. I turned to the window, snatching aside the curtains and raising the sash, letting fresh air flood the room. An oak tree stood outside the window, still green despite the cool weather, draped with Spanish moss.

  Kelly stood up. "You've got a chance to do something good here, Nicki, and all you're thinking about is yourself. What do you think Peaches would've wanted us to do?"

  I could honestly say, "I have no idea."

  But a teeny part of my mind said, If she were anything like Emily Styx, she probably would've wanted me to do the right thing. Dammit.

  Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.

  Kelly gave an exasperated sigh, shaking her head. "Please, Nicki. Help this poor woman find peace. What could possibly go wrong?"

  In my opinion, that particular phrase was one of the top ten things people said before all hell broke loose. Kinda like "Trust me" and "I'm sure there's no boogeyman in the basement."

  I threw up my hands and grabbed the curtains, staring morosely out at the oak tree.

  "Okay, we'll stay a few more hours. If she shows up again, fine—but if there's a boogeyman in the basement, you're on your own."

  Dinner at the Blue Dahlia was obviously an event. Late afternoon daylight was still streaming through the dining room windows, but candles were lit, both on the table and on the buffet that stood against one wall. Soft music played in the background, classical stuff that sounded like elevator music.

  Joe had made it back from the bed and breakfast just in time for us to join Leonard in the dining room—I hadn't had the time or the privacy to tell him about Psycho Barbie, or about Kelly's stunt with the scrying mirror.

  "Well, ladies, any progress?" Leonard had dressed for dinner, and was now wearing a dark green suit jacket, shiny with age. He'd even changed his tie, switching from the bow tie he'd had on earlier to a green and yellow striped one. Poor guy obviously needed a little help in the GQ department.

  "Not really," Kelly answered. "We've been looking for pictures, legal papers, that kind of thing, but no luck so far."

  "That reminds me," Leonard said, reaching inside his coat. He pulled two envelopes from his breast pocket and held them out. "These are yours. One for each of you. They were in the study, just as I thought."

  I made no move to take them, but Kelly immediately reached out a hand.

  Two white letter-sized envelopes, both blank on the outside.

  "Which one's for who?" she asked.

  Leonard shrugged. "I have no idea, my dear. Bijou said you'd know."

  Kelly and I glanced at each other, then back at the envelopes.

  "Ah, I think we'll open them later," she said. "If you don't mind."

  "Of course not." Leonard looked a little disappointed, but he seemed relieved to have that obligation dealt with. "In the meantime, may I offer you a glass of wine?"

  "Red for me," I said automatically. I had a feeling my wimpy ticker would need all the help it could get tonight. It was times like this that I missed hard liquor… a shot of Glenlivet would really hit the spot.

  "For me as well," Joe said. There was a moment of awkward silence as Leonard poured. "Wonderful library," Joe offered, obviously making small talk. "Bijou must've been quite a reader. How big is this house, anyway?"

  "Seven bedrooms, three and a half baths." Leonard handed Joe and I our glasses, then offered one to Kelly. "Speaking of bedrooms, I thought one of you might enjoy the Delft Room."

  I shot Kelly a warning look. I had no intention of staying at the Blue Dahlia overnight.

  "The Delft Room?" Kelly gave me a bland look that I took to mean be patient, but otherwise ignored my glare.

  "Most of the rooms have names, you see, based on the color scheme. Delft is a particular type of blue and white pottery that originated in Holland." Leonard ushered us toward the table.

  "It sounds lovely." Kelly smiled at the old man, encouraging him to talk.

  Leonard pulled out her chair, a true Southern gentleman. He beamed like a university professor about to embark on a lecture about his favorite subject. "I'll show it to you right after dinner. It's a charming room, though a bit small… oh, what am I saying? We have four other bedrooms on the second floor—you must take your pick." He held my chair also. "I'm quite sure my darling Bijou would've wanted you to be comfortable."

  Joe spoke up. "That's very kind of you, Leonard, but we've already arranged rooms at the Cabot House."

  "The Cabot House?" Leonard's bushy brows shot toward the ceiling. "Whyever would you want to stay there? I have it on good authority that the owner rarely changes the linens. Besides, we have empty rooms just going to waste right here." The poor old guy looked so earnest, so hopeful. "Oh, do say you'll stay."

  "I don't see why we can't stay here." Kelly's objection made me want to strangle her. "It would save us some money, and there's obviously plenty of room. No one seems to mind."

  "Huh," came Odessa's voice. She waddled in with a soup tureen, placed it on the table with a thump, and waddled out the way she came.

  "You mustn't mind Odessa," Leonard said, going red. "She knows my darling Bijou would have extended you every hospitality." He raised his voice here, so Odessa could hear it if she cared to, then lowered it again. "The poor dear is just protective of the old place, a bit set in her ways. A creature of habit, don't you know."

  Creature, yes. Poor dear, my ass.

  "I so wish you'd stay." Leonard looked a bit flushed, which was not a good match with his green and yellow tie. He shot a guilty glance toward the kitchen and leaned in, all but whispering, "My darling Bijou would be so disappointed if you allowed Odessa's rudeness to drive you away. It's a lovely old house, with plenty of room. Odessa is all bark and no bite." He straightened, speaking in a normal tone again. "Save the money for the bed and breakfast and buy yourself something nice with it instead."

  Kelly smiled and nodded as if it were settled. Joe met my eyes, questioning, but those damn Southern manners of mine had already kicked in, and it would have been impolite to argue over dinner. Kelly had me at a disadvantage, and she knew it.

  Odessa came and went, bearing platters of food and tons of bad attitude. I had to hand it to her on the food, though… the roast beef looked tender and juicy, the mashed potatoes fluffy, the vegetables steaming.

  "This looks de
licious," I said, suddenly dying for a biscuit.

  Maybe I could kill the creature with kindness.

  "Huh," she answered, and moved the biscuits closer to Joe before slapping down a gravy boat.

  Leonard took a seat across the table from Kelly. The chair at the head of the table stayed empty.

  "Looks wonderful as always, Odessa." Leonard rubbed his hands together and eyed the roast beef. "I can't wait to see what you've made for dessert."

  "You know what I made for dessert," she grumbled. "I had to smack yo' fingers outta that pie all afternoon."

  Leonard shoved his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, unfazed by her grouchiness. "It's your own fault. You know how I love apple pie."

  "You love any kind of pie," she shot back. "You 'bout to split the seams on them trousers as it is."

  "Aren't you going to sit down and eat with us, Odessa?" Kelly asked.

  "I eat in the kitchen," Odessa said. "The dining room is for guests." She removed the lid from a steaming tureen of soup and waddled from the room.

  "I thought you said Bijou and Odessa were friends, Leonard." Kelly was frowning. "Didn't they take meals together?"

  Leonard looked uncomfortable. "Sometimes. But only in the kitchen."

  Mystified, I raised an eyebrow.

  "This is Savannah, my dears." He shrugged, bald head gleaming. "What can I say?"

  "But this is the twenty-first century," Kelly said, obviously shocked, "not the pre-Civil War era."

  A big bite of mashed potatoes kept Leonard from answering too quickly. Then he said, "I think you'll find that in Savannah, the past is very much alive." He took a sip of wine to wash down the potatoes. "In more ways than one."

  Great.

  Exactly what I was afraid of.

  When it came to the past, I was tired of poking around trying to figure it out. I'd rather have some direct answers to some direct questions, and move on. Manners dictated I be polite, but nothing prohibited my being direct.

  "So Leonard," I said, "tell us about Bijou and Peaches. Why didn't Peaches tell us about this house, about Bijou? And why was it so important to Bijou that we come to Savannah?"