A Match Made in Hell

by Terri Garey

"Nobody said we couldn't." Kelly's logic might have been technically correct, but I doubted it would fly in a court of law. "But maybe we should keep the lights off, so we don't draw any unnecessary attention from the neighbors."

  "Let's just look around and get this over with, okay?" Breaking and entering was one thing, wandering around in the dark was another. Who knew what kind of spooks hung around flower shops?

  "Bijou? Peaches? Are you here?" Kelly was going for the direct approach this time. "What can we do to help you?"

  A noise broke the silence, making us both jump. The hair on my arms rose as a door at the far end of the room creaked slowly open. Beyond lay darkness.

  "Umm…" I slid my eyes toward Kelly. "Let's go back and wake Joe."

  "Don't be silly," she said, though she looked as scared as I was. "We're finally getting somewhere."

  Something touched my hand, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. But it was only Kelly, threading her fingers through mine. "The two Musketeers, right?"

  Crap. That's what I got for watching old movies.

  As I tightened my fingers, returning her squeeze, another old movie flashed into my head. Chain-saw massacres had never been my idea of great chick flicks.

  Together, Kelly and I moved slowly toward the door. As we got closer, a brick wall with a handrail came into view, then steps, leading downward.

  "Ever heard 'I Don't Wanna Go Down to the Basement' by the Ramones?" My lame attempt at a joke wasn't actually a joke—I really didn't wanna go down there. "Geniuses. The Ramones were musical geniuses."

  "Here's another light switch." Kelly flicked it on, then let go of my hand. "I'll go first." She started down the stairs, carefully holding the handrail. My palm was sweaty, so I rubbed it on my jeans before following her down.

  Half a dozen, maybe eight steps, and we were in a small room—more of a ground level space beneath the front porch than a basement. Bookshelves lined two walls, and a round table with six chairs took up most of one corner. Worn Oriental carpets covered the floor. Instead of posters or pictures, swaths of purple and blue velvet were draped artistically over bronze sconces mounted on the walls. The air was strong with the lingering scent of incense. I would've admired the dramatic flair of the room except for one thing: the Ouija board sitting in the center of the black silk tablecloth.

  "Wow," Kelly breathed. "Look at all these books." She moved to the nearest bookshelf and ran her hands over the titles. "Embrace the Night: a Guide to Rituals, Spells and Hexes … Drums and Shadows: the Elements of Life, the Fundamentals of Death."

  The hair on the back of my neck prickled. I whipped around, but there was no one there.

  "Lucid Dreaming … Omens and their Meanings, Past and Present… Candle Magic." Kelly was fascinated, but I wished she'd shut up. "Look at this one: Daughters of the Moon—the Complete Guide to Tarot."

  This was the lair of a fortune-teller. A palm-reading, tarot-card-spreading, talk-to-your-dead-loved-ones-for-twenty-five-dollars Madame Zelda. The only thing missing was the crystal ball.

  What a nightmare.

  Someone in our family had been the equivalent of somebody's loony old maiden aunt, reading tea leaves and telling fortunes in the basement.

  Kelly pulled out the tarot book and laid it on the table, ignoring the Ouija board for the time being.

  I tried to do the same thing, because the board creeped me out. The planchette, a triangular piece of wood, was like a dark eye pointed straight to my heart.

  "'Rider-Waite deck,'" Kelly read aloud as she skimmed, "'seventy-eight cards, major arcana'… Here it is…" She tapped a finger on the page. "… the Tower."

  I tore my gaze from the Ouija board to look at the illustration of the card Kelly carried in her back pocket. A gray tower on a black background, lighting-seared, the night sky raining people and fire.

  "'False concepts, denial… one of the clearest cards when it comes to meaning,'" Kelly read. Her face darkened. '"Earthly destruction or death of conviction, a war between the structures of lies and the lightning flash of truth. This card is a warning to the person being read for. Their world is about to be shaken up, their eyes opened, but there are none so blind as they who will not see.'"

  There was a lot more to read, but Kelly flipped, frowning, back to the index. '"The Chariot. Page eighty-nine.'" She found the page, and there was my card, bright yellow and blue, a golden prince being pulled by two sphinxes—one black and one white.

  "'One of the most complex cards to define… implies war, a struggle, obstacles overcome by control and confidence.'" Kelly raised her head. "'A balance of fate, a union of opposites, a harnessing of inner power. A sign that conviction will lead to victory, but a reminder that victory is not the end, it is only the beginning.'"

  I drew in a deep breath, feeling anything but controlled and confident. As for victory… huh. This whole scene was way too freaky for me. Here we were, in the middle of the night, in a secret room in a spooky old house—spell books on the walls and a Ouija board on the table, reading about tarot cards.

  "Well, aren't you the lucky one." Kelly eyed me thoughtfully. "Again." There was no mistaking the edge of bitterness in her voice. "I get death and destruction, you get victory and control."

  "Neither of us knew what was in those envelopes, Kelly. You could've chosen that card as easily as me."

  She didn't answer, merely returned her gaze to the book.

  "Let's see about the third card. The Devil." She flipped to another page, and there he was—a horned, winged demon crouching on a pedestal, torch burning in one hand, chained slaves at his feet. "'A potent card, representing passion and abandon, obsession and greed.'" Her voice lowered, turned thoughtful. "The Goat-god is a creature of great power, reveling in temptation and joyful excess. This card is a warning of enslavement, yet a reminder that chains are freely worn.'"

  "Lovely." I looked around at all the books, rubbing my arms briskly. "Now I understand everything." I was being completely sarcastic, of course. "Don't know why I didn't get it before."

  Knowing what the cards represented in the "ether of the universe" didn't help with the specifics of the here and now. I already knew there was a war, and I already knew the Devil could be very tempting… particularly when he wore faded jeans and a vintage bomber jacket.

  What I didn't know was what to do about it, and I didn't know how to keep him away from my sister—who was acting pissy again just because my card was better than hers.

  "You wanna know what I think? I think these tarot cards are just a way for Sammy to mess with our heads." I was more than ready to head home to Atlanta. If we drove straight through, we'd be there long before dawn. "And this house? This wild goose chase search for we-don't-even-know-what? What's the point of all this?" I gestured toward the fabric-draped brick walls, the books on Wicca and witchcraft, the Ouija board. "Family ties? Personal effects? Peaches and Bijou left us nothing but trouble." I saw the way Kelly's chin lifted, and my heart sank, literally, with a brief swooping sensation. It steadied, resuming an even beat, and I ignored it, as I had so many times before.

  "Is this what you were hoping for, Kelly? Relatives who told fortunes for a living and a creaky old house full of ghosts?"

  "No." She was very calm. "This is better than I'd hoped for."

  "Are you kidding me?" In that instant everything clicked: this fascination Kelly had for the paranormal could be her downfall. Her curiosity, her eagerness to do good in the world, could lead her in the wrong direction, as it had with Caprice and her voodoo.

  Good intentions aren't always enough, and haloes can get tarnished pretty easily.

  "We've been given a gift," Kelly said. "We should find out everything we can about it. Develop it, use it. Maybe we can help the living as well as the dead."

  There are none so blind as they who will not see.

  "Listen, Kelly, I've helped a few spirits pass over, and I'll do it again whenever I'm asked." Because they won't leave me alone otherwise. "The point is, there's no ne
ed to go looking for trouble… trouble will find you."

  "That's the problem, Nicki"—her voice was rising—"you see the spirits of the dead as trouble, and I see them as opportunities."

  "That about says it all, doesn't it?" I was getting more frustrated by the second. "I say yes, you say no. I like something, you hate it."

  "That's not always true." She closed the tarot book with a thump. "We both like Joe."

  I couldn't help but notice the present tense, and just like that my temper snapped.

  "Dammit! I knew it! You want him back!" The bland look on her face made me wanna slap her. "You said you were okay with the divorce, but you're not, are you? Tell the truth, dammit!"

  "You are so paranoid," Kelly said mildly. "Are you always this jealous, or is it just me?" She dismissed me with a wave of her hand, turning back to the row of books. "I'm taking some of these books upstairs to read tonight," she murmured. "This stuff is fascinating."

  "No, it isn't!" I snapped. "It's evil, and it's stupid, and it's bad news. Put that book down and let's get out of here."

  Kelly looked at me like I'd sprouted horns, which at the moment wouldn't have surprised me. "Don't tell me what to do," she said. "You're always trying to tell me what to do."

  "And you never do it!" I was completely out of patience, and quite frankly, nervous as a cat in that basement. Fear made me cranky. "I'd have better luck talking to these brick walls."

  "Why don't you, then?"

  She turned to the bookshelves and pulled out another book, entitled Necromancy.

  "Unlike me, they might actually care what you have to say."

  * * *

  CHAPTER 15

  I stormed up the stairs and through the empty shop, not caring if Kelly stayed down in the basement by herself. If she was so fascinated with all that mystical mumbo-jumbo, she could have it. I wanted no part of this house or that lifestyle—Madame Zelda I was not.

  When I reached the front door, I wrenched it open and stepped out on the porch, in a hurry to get back to the main house and pack my things. A dark figure moved from the shadows, and my heart skipped a beat.

  "Joe! What are you doing out here?" I could've killed him for scaring me like that, but I was so relieved to see him it didn't matter.

  He moved toward the front steps as if I hadn't spoken. The overhead porch light caught him, and I saw his face, dark as a thundercloud. He was carrying his overnight bag.

  "Joe! Where are you going?"

  He paused, turning. The look he gave me was coldly furious, sending a shaft of icy fear into my stomach.

  "What is it now, Nicki? More lies? More bullshit?"

  His voice was so harsh, so raw—the tone stunned me so much I could hardly focus on what he was saying. "What? What are you talking about? What's wrong?" I took a few steps toward him, not even realizing I'd moved until he swung away from me and went the rest of the way down the steps.

  "I should've known better than to get involved with a girl like you," he said bitterly, shocking me to stillness. "You warned me, and boy, were you ever right." He stopped in the driveway, giving me a tight, sarcastic smile. "Ghouls just wanna have fun, right? Guess that's the biggest difference between you and Kelly."

  A punch to the stomach couldn't possibly have hurt more. The wood of the porch rail beneath my hand was all that kept me upright. That, and my immediate flare of rage.

  "What the hell kind of thing is that to say?" I leaned all my weight on the porch railing. "What are you talking about?"

  "I saw you kissing him!" Joe roared. "Don't act like it didn't happen!"

  Dumbfounded, I yelled right back. "Kissing who?"

  "Your ghost-busting goth boy!" Joe was furious. "In the kitchen, just now!"

  "I'm not a goth," Spider said, stepping out the front door, "and I ain't a boy either. Or do we need to go another round to prove it?" He reached up and swiped a knuckle across his mouth, leaving a dark streak at one corner. Blood.

  I had to be in the middle of a bad dream. Spider was glaring at Joe, and Joe was glaring at him, and then they were both glaring at me.

  Spider shook his head. "I tried to tell him it wasn't my idea, Nicki. I just came back to get my pendulum, but when a pretty girl throws herself at me the way you did…" He shrugged. "I'm only human."

  A cold chill went down my spine. He was human, wasn't he?

  "I never kissed you," I gasped. "Why would you lie about something like that?"

  "I saw you, not two minutes ago!" Joe roared again. A dog started barking in the distance—the entire neighborhood was probably awake by now. "I walked in the kitchen and caught you red-handed." The porch light showed me an ugly sneer. It looked out of place on Joe's face. "You looked me right in the eye before you ran out the door."

  "You kissed Spider?" Kelly's voice came from behind me as she stepped from the door of the floral shop.

  "No!" I snapped. "I didn't kiss anybody. It wasn't me."

  It wasn't me. And with a mental click another piece of the puzzle snapped into place.

  Psycho Barbie. She'd turned herself into me back in the ladies' room of Forest Lawn Mortuary, wearing that Mark Bouwer dress and tempting me with fame, fortune, and fashion designers. If she wanted to make my life a living hell, this was a great way to do it.

  "It wasn't me!" I repeated, loudly. "It was her—the ghost I was telling you about. Keith Morgan's girlfriend."

  The look Joe sent me was withering, and my heart sank. "It's a little late to play the ghost card, Nicki." He flicked a contemptuous gaze over Spider. "I'm not coming to your rescue anymore. You've got yourself a new boy toy now."

  And then he turned and walked out of the glow of the porch light and into the darkness.

  "Joe!" Kelly brushed past me. "Where are you going?"

  No answer, just the crunch of gravel beneath his feet, getting fainter as I listened.

  "What's going on?" Kelly shot Spider and me both a bewildered look. She saw the blood on Spider's lip. "You're hurt!"

  "It's nothing," Spider said. He gave me a sour glance, as if I were somehow to blame for everything "A major misunderstanding, that's all."

  I couldn't take it. Tears threatened, and I fled before they could spill. I wanted to run after Joe, but pride wouldn't let me—he'd said some really ugly things.

  And he hadn't believed me.

  Into the house, up the stairs, down the hall, past the shadowed corners that would've frightened me ten minutes ago, to the room I'd chosen earlier in the day. I flipped on the light and slammed the door behind me, sagging against it.

  "I warned you," Psycho Barbie said. She was lying in the middle of my bed, back against the pillows.

  Or rather I was laying in the middle of my bed, back against the pillows.

  The person laying there was my exact twin, and she sure as hell wasn't Kelly.

  "Leave me alone!" I shrieked, completely out of patience. "Get out of my room! Get out of my life!" If I'd had anything in my hands I would've thrown it at her.

  "Your eyeliner is running," she said spitefully. "You look like a raccoon."

  I couldn't help it—I threw myself at her, landing belly down on the bed, a face full of pillows. She wasn't there, of course. Her mocking laughter came from behind me now.

  "Stupid girl. Like taking candy from a baby."

  I flopped over on the bed, propping myself on my elbows.

  Psycho Barbie morphed back into looking like herself, her "cold blond bitch" exterior a better fit than mine would ever be.

  I took a moment to get my anger under control. My heart was tripping double time, and that wasn't good. I wasn't going to let her win by giving me a heart attack.

  "My mascara may be running, but your crow's-feet are showing," I returned spitefully. "No time for a touch-up with the plastic surgeon before you died?" If I couldn't hurt her physically, I'd use the only method at my disposal.

  Her vanity.

  By the narrowing of her eyes, it was apparent Barbie didn't like that
method.

  Score one for Styx.

  "And those shoes are so last year," I lied. "Emilio Pucci is the new Jimmy Choo. Stilettos are for whores and paid escorts." I gave her a tight smile, feeling better already. "Oh, wait—that's what you are, aren't you? A paid escort?" I sat up, facing her. "Or were. You're dead now, remember?"

  Normally I'd never be so mean, but she'd just cost me the best boyfriend I ever had.

  I hated her.

  "You're just pissed because your boyfriend dumped you," I said viciously. "In the end, he chose his wife over you, and you just can't stand it, can you?" I was past caring if my words hurt. Dead or alive, Psycho Barbie was a first-rate bitch, and I had no power over her except my words.

  "Keith Morgan was never going to marry you—you're an icicle, an expensive piece of arm candy, that's all. Why don't you go away and leave me alone?" . Her face twisted with rage. She opened her mouth to spit forth some venom of her own, then paused, staring at a point behind me.

  I turned, and saw us both reflected in a mirror above the dresser.

  There I was, dark hair and blue jacket, vivid pink in my hair and streaks of black beneath my eyes; and there was Barbie, blond hair coiled in an updo, makeup flawlessly applied.

  "That's not true," she whispered, distracted by her own reflection. "He loved me. And now I'll always be young, I'll always be beautiful."

  And with a splintered crack, the mirror shattered.

  I flinched, expecting glass to fly, but the frame held. The once beautiful antique mirror now looked like a glass crazy quilt. Open-mouthed, I looked from it to Barbie, and what I saw in her face really scared me.

  Before I had time to say a word, my Louis Vuitton overnight bag flew across the room, hitting the wall with a loud thud. "Dammit!" The suddenness of it shocked me, but I was still more angry than frightened. It fell open on the floor, spilling its contents all over the rose-patterned rug. I'd chosen the "Scarlett O'Hara" room for its deep crimson walls and cool antique four-poster bed, but I would've seen red anyway. My cosmetics bag was open, mascara and lipstick scattered atop the jumbled clothes I'd packed so carefully back home, shampoo already seeping onto my favorite pair of jeans.