A Match Made in Hell

by Terri Garey

  "I have to end the séance first," Kelly said.

  "Um, excuse me, but in case you haven't noticed, it's over." I rose from my chair.

  "Hardly," said Psycho Barbie, emerging from the shadows. "Your stupid sister has given me an opportunity. I'd be a fool not to take it."

  The cat who'd been lying on the table jumped up with a hiss.

  "Good kitty," I said weakly, certain my heart would never bear the strain. "Sic her."

  The cowardly beast jumped down off the table and slunk away.

  "What—" Kelly took one look at my face and shut up, mid-sentence. At least I thought that's what happened, until I realized that not only was Kelly not talking, she wasn't moving.

  Fucking with time and dimension is only one of the many perks of my job. Sammy's comment popped into my head, and sent a chill down my spine.

  "You were warned, little goth girl," Barbie said spitefully. "You think you're so cute and stylish, don't you, with that pink hair and that 'out there' style." I didn't like the way she was smirking at me. "You look like an idiot. A reject from an old eighties video." Then she laughed, a tinkly, nasty laugh that made the back of my neck prickle. "Is that a flock of sea gulls in your hair or did you just forget to brush it?"

  I opened my mouth with a scathing retort, but managed only, "Get away from us."

  "I think not. Your sister's little ritual has made me stronger," she said. "This is going to be fun."

  And while I watched, Psycho Barbie's face became mine. Her perfectly coiffed blond hair became dark, pink-streaked, and spiky. Her chic black dress became a short denim jacket over a ruffled poet shirt, her pearls a funky necklace I'd picked up at a garage sale last year.

  "What kind of thing is that to say, Nicki?" Kelly's voice startled me.

  I turned to answer, but she wasn't looking at me—she was looking at Barbie. "Your hair doesn't look so hot at the moment either."

  Oh, shit. Kelly thinks Barbie is me.

  "At least I have a sense of style," Barbie said snottily, using my voice. "You look as drab as a potato farmer. Always do. They make other shoes besides Birkeristocks, you know."

  Kelly's chin went up. "What's your problem?"

  I tried to tell her, but it was no use—my mouth was moving but nothing came out. When I tried to grab Kelly's shoulder, my hand went right through her.

  With a rising sense of horror, I realized that I'd become like the ghosts who came to me for help—nobody could see or hear me.

  "My problem?" The plastic surgery queen was enjoying herself, I could tell. "You're my problem. Everything was fine until you showed up." Barbie clasped her hands theatrically in front of her and said mockingly, "Oooh, poor me, I've been in a car accident." Her fake falsetto was evidently supposed to mimic Kelly's voice. "Take care of me, Nicki; save me, Joe! My mommy's dead. Boo-hoo, I want my mommy."

  Kelly's gasp tore my heart.

  "You think I don't know what you're up to, Kelly?" The horrible creature who looked just like me dropped the mocking falsetto, but kept talking. "You came to Atlanta hoping Joe would take you back, didn't you?" It smiled an ugly smile. "You must've been royally pissed when you found out we'd been sleeping together. He said I was better than you, by the way."

  "Bitch," Kelly said. Tears glittered in her eyes, but didn't fall.

  Barbie/Nicki gave a careless shrug. "The truth hurts." She trailed a finger over the Ouija board, still on the table. "And here's another truth for you. Joe told me he was still married to my sister, but I didn't care. I slept with him anyway. Seduced him, in fact. But after what happened tonight, I'm sick of him and his goody-goody ways. You can have him back—he's all yours." Slyly, Barbie added, "Hope you don't mind sloppy seconds."

  The door at the top of the stairs creaked open, and there stood Joe, silhouetted in the light that spilled in from the florist shop.

  "That's what I am to you?" The raw hurt in his voice bit like a knife into my heart. I tried to speak but it was useless and he didn't see me. He saw only the creature he thought was me.

  Then the creature laughed, and I knew it had won.

  "You knew what I was like when we started, Joe. I warned you, that day in the coffee shop," it said.

  That's right—I had warned him.

  Are you trying to tell me you'll break my heart? he'd asked.

  You can keep your heart, I'd answered flippantly. It's not the part of your anatomy I'm interested in.

  But that was before I knew what real love meant.

  Joe paused at the top of the stairs, as though he had something else to say.

  Or maybe he just wanted me to take one more long, last look at something I'd never have again.

  Then the door slammed shut, creating a draft that almost blew out the candles.

  Kelly took off up the stairs, swearing at me over her shoulder as she brushed past. "Dammit, Nicki. What the hell is wrong with you?"

  And then I was alone in the basement with Psycho Barbie, candlelight flickering on the madness in her eyes.

  Or maybe it was just a reflection of the tears in mine. "End the séance," came a whisper. "End the séance, Nicki."

  I looked around wildly, wondering who else was in the basement.

  "She's just a spirit, she has no substance. Send her away."

  It was a woman's voice, raspy and low. I didn't recognize it.

  "You're stronger than she is, even with the help of her master. Send her away."

  The basement was dark, and I saw no one except Psycho Barbie, who morphed before my eyes back into her sleek blond self. The smirk on her perfectly made-up face made me itch to slap her.

  "Focus, Nicki, focus. Speak the words and end the séance," came the raspy whisper.

  The words? What words?

  Hell, I'd make something up.

  I cleared my throat, thrilled to find my voice working again. "Go away. The séance is over."

  Psycho Barbie laughed again, mockingly.

  "Your anger makes her stronger, Nicki. She's feeding on it."

  I ceased to care who or where the whispers were coming from. Somebody wanted to help me, and I could use all the help I could get.

  Doing my best to get a grip, I said shakily to Barbie, "I… I command you to leave." Truly improvising, I added, "I banish thee!" Who knows? Biblical language always seemed to work in horror movies.

  Psycho Barbie's laughter faded. The flash of hatred in her eyes could've sparked a forest fire.

  Emboldened, I went on. "I banish thee, O Spirit, and command you to go."

  "In peace," came a whisper from the shadows.

  "In peace," I added hastily. "I banish thee, O Spirit, and command you to go in peace."

  Barbie's face got even uglier.

  "May the peace of the Light be upon you." I was babbling now, grasping at vague memories of exorcist movies. "And the Force be with you."

  The table between us started to shake, causing the candles to flicker.

  "In the name of the Being Behind the Light"—I wasn't going to be hypocritical enough to claim I knew exactly who—or what—the Being was—"I command you to go in peace." Besides, who knew what would happen if I chose the wrong name?

  Psycho Barbie opened her mouth and hissed at me like the cobra she was.

  At least I thought the noise came from her, until the stupid tabby cat leapt up onto the table again. I was ready to strangle it until I realized it was hissing at Psycho Barbie, facing her down just like I was.

  Good kitty. Sic her.

  Barbie didn't like the cat. Her attention shifted from me to it, eyes slitted with rage.

  My heart was pounding, and I willed it to slow down, welcoming the brief opportunity to get my fear and anger under control. If Barbie was feeding on my negative emotions, I needed to close the buffet.

  "Go," I said, as calmly as I could. "Go back to wherever you came from, and stay there. You don't belong here."

  "That's what they told me at the country club," Barbie said nastily.

&n
bsp; Surprisingly, I felt a pang of pity. She must've lived a very isolated life—the rich man's mistress, kept in the shadows while her lover lived his life among society's elite. A status symbol to the men, scorned and despised by the women.

  "That must've hurt your feelings."

  "Like you care," she scoffed, but her voice lacked its usual edge of spitefulness.

  Encouraged, I tried even harder to let go of my anger. I needed to generate good feelings, not bad ones. Knowing Psycho Barbie's biggest weakness was her vanity, I decided once again to use it. "Those people were just jealous because you're so beautiful."

  Her face changed, some of the anger leaving it. "I am beautiful, aren't I?"

  "You had everything those rich married women wanted," I went on. "Young, pretty, a wealthy boyfriend… all the perks of the good life without the responsibilities of kids and a mortgage." I'd seen enough HBO movies to improvise. "Pure jealousy, that's all."

  "Those rich bitches were no better than me," Barbie said. "What made them think they were? Just because they were married didn't make them saints. They whored themselves for money, just like me." Her cynicism held a note of pain.

  "Just jealous," I repeated. I had no doubt the married women of Buckhead Country Club viewed her as a threat. "But you don't have to worry about those women anymore. You don't even have to think about them."

  Her image flickered, wavered like the candle flame.

  The cat shifted into a sitting position, allowing its fur to settle. It stared intently at Barbie, tail twitching.

  "You must be tired," I said to the wavering image. I sure as hell was.

  "Speak the words, and send her away," came a whisper from the shadows. "Now, while she's weak."

  As firmly as I could, I ordered, "Go in peace." For good measure, I added, "Get some beauty sleep."

  Barbie looked confused, uncertain. And then lo and behold, she faded away until there was nothing left of her except the faint smell of Chanel No. 5.

  I slumped in relief, grabbing the edge of the table for support. The black velvet tablecloth was soft, well-worn.

  A small mew came from the cat. She rubbed herself against my arm, softer than any velvet, blessedly warm and alive.

  "Good kitty," I said weakly. "Good kitty."

  Then I looked around the basement for the source of the helpful whispers. "Hello?" The shadows were too dark. "Is anyone here?"

  Silence met my questions. Scooping up my new best friend, I carried the cat up the stairs to the light switch and flipped it on.

  The basement was empty. Nervously, I went down again, still carrying the cat, and blew out the candles. One last look around revealed nothing but books and purple draperies, and then I was so outta there.

  * * *

  CHAPTER 19

  Once outside, I put the cat down and let her run off into the night. Then I scooted across the front porch and let myself into the Blue Dahlia, unsure of what to do next.

  Find Joe? Find Kelly? And tell them what, exactly?

  I dashed away tears as I ran up the main stairs, glad all the lights were on. The door to the bedroom at the end of the hall was closed, but I doubted Joe was in there. I doubted he was still in the house at all.

  He hated me now, and so did Kelly.

  More tears threatened as I stood in the hallway, wavering. Kelly I could handle, somehow. I was pretty sure I'd be able convince her that Psycho Barbie had said those horrible things, not me. But if I somehow managed to make Joe believe I hadn't said or done the things he thought I had, I'd piss off the Devil himself, and he'd go after Kelly.

  Plus, I'd be breaking Kelly's heart.

  Which I'd apparently been breaking for some time now.

  But even if I didn't care about breaking Kelly's heart—she'd thrown Joe away first, after all—I'd be putting her in danger by pissing off Sammy, who wanted me to choose him.

  Choose him, save her. Choose her, lose him.

  Life sucked.

  Then the door at the end of the hallway opened.

  Without thinking, I ducked into my room, not wanting anyone to see a crybaby idiot standing in the middle of the hall.

  "You don't have to take orders from Nicki," Joe was saying to Kelly. "You're a grown woman. You can do what you want."

  Shamelessly, I stopped to listen, door still half open.

  "Just because Nicki knows how to work it doesn't mean she knows everything."

  How to "work it"?

  "She's hot, she's wild, she's enough to turn any guy's head. But Nicki's high maintenance. You've got depth of character, Kelly, real substance."

  High maintenance?

  "Don't underestimate yourself. Nicki's the kind of girl most guys just have fun with, but you're the kind of girl they marry."

  The sick feeling in the pit of my stomach made me wish I could turn back time to earlier that evening, when I naively thought Joe liked me just the way I was.

  I couldn't believe he was talking about me like this.

  How could I have been so stupid?

  I threw open the door, letting it hit the wall with a bang. "The kind of girl you have fun with?" My anger flared, white-hot. I'd been agonizing over them while they chatted over my lack of marriageable qualities?

  My gaze flicked scornfully past them to the open door of Joe's room. That was twice now I'd caught him and Kelly behind closed doors. An ugly suspicion made me say things even uglier. "Now I see why you were so quick to believe I'd cheated on you with Spider. Breaking up with me clears the way for you to get back with Kelly, doesn't it?"

  Joe's face reddened, and Kelly had the nerve to look shocked.

  "Funny you should mention Spider," Joe said. He was glaring at me, ignoring my question and its implication. "Kelly and I were just discussing him, and how she'd like to get to know him better."

  "That's not what I heard," I said sarcastically. "Maybe we 'high maintenance' types are hard of hearing."

  "You are high maintenance," Joe ground out.

  "And you're a liar," I shouted. "Fuck you, Joe!"

  And in the time-honored way of pissed-off women everywhere, I marched into my room and slammed the door as hard as I could, putting the seal on my relationship with Joe.

  It was better this way. Wasn't it?

  I heard footsteps, loud and heavy, go past my door. A few moments later another door slammed somewhere downstairs. The front door, maybe.

  I was so worked up that it took a moment to realize I wasn't alone.

  Sitting on my bed, ankles primly crossed, gloved hands in her lap, was my dead grandmother, Bijou Boudreaux.

  "Now you show up?" I swiped at my cheeks, angry at the tears, angry at the world, angry at the weirdness that was my life. "Now is not a good time."

  Bijou gave me a regretful smile. "There will never be a better one, dear. I'm truly sorry to visit while you're upset, but it's time for you to learn the truth." The ostrich plume on her black hat bobbed as she tilted her head.

  It was on the tip of my tongue to say something extremely disrespectful of my elders and totally unsuitable for little old ladies to hear. My head hurt, my heart was broken, and I knew my face was a wreck.

  But I looked at Bijou's expectant expression and thought about her waiting here, alone in this house, for God knows how long until her story was told.

  So I sagged back and let my shoulders hit the wall, sliding down until my butt hit the floor. "Let's hear it."

  "Thank you, dear." Bijou acknowledged my exquisite manners with a gracious wave of an ostrich plume. She was wearing a black cocktail dress, just as she had at the funeral, a study in formal mourning right down to her black silk gloves. A big jet pin, black and silver, pinned her scarf to one shoulder.

  I let my head fall back, staring at the ceiling while I blinked back tears, trying not to think about what had just happened. The ceiling had a faint crack, like a spiderweb, near the light fixture.

  Bijou patted the bed with a black-gloved hand, inviting me to sit next to her.
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  I knew I was being bitchy, but I couldn't seem to help myself. "I'm fine right here, thanks."

  Bijou actually smiled, the first one I'd seen yet. "You remind me so much of your mama. Nobody could tell her what to do either."

  "My mother's name was Emily Styx," I said. "And she was a sweetheart, thank you very much."

  The old woman's smile faded. "Were you happy, Nicki? Did Emily Styx hug you and tell you how special you were? Did she tuck you in at night and bake cookies with you and take care of you when you were sick?"

  A lump rose in my throat. She'd done that, and more.

  "Did she love you even when you did things you shouldn't have done, and did she forgive you when you said things you shouldn't have said?"

  Memories of my teenage years came flooding back. All that angst I tried to disguise under layers of black clothing and black eyeliner, all that youthful arrogance, all that gloomy "coolness." I was so goth I used to dot my i's with frowny faces.

  I don't know how either of my parents put up with it.

  "Did she stick by you in bad times, and laugh with you when times were good?"

  I swiped angrily at a tear that slid down my cheek. "Of course she did. What's that got to do with anything?"

  Bijou shifted her ample behind on the bed, refolding her hands in her lap. "You were the lucky one, Nicki. Kelly didn't have any of that."

  Bitterness rose in my throat. "So what if I had a happy childhood and Kelly didn't? Is that my fault?"

  I was tired of feeling guilty for things I had nothing to do with.

  "Poor Kelly," I said mockingly. "Poor little foster child. Nobody loved her, nobody hugged her… blah blah blah." My head was pounding, my heart torn in two, and nobody seemed to care about that, now did they? "I've tried to be a good sister to her, but she's got her own agenda."

  Bijou said nothing, and somehow that was worse than if she had. The expression on her face was one of pity, but it wasn't for Kelly, it was for me.

  I so did not need anyone's pity.

  "How about we just cut to the chase, hm? Why don't you just tell me what Kelly and I are doing here, and why?" I crossed my legs, Indian style, and leaned forward, elbows on my knees. "What's with the cat and mouse? What the hell is going on!"