You’re the One That I Haunt Page 8

  Evan turned and gave me an eye roll, then said to the woman who’d spoken, “I told you, Nicki is not a psychic. We sell clothes and accessories, not snake oil.”

  The woman gave Evan a dirty look, then ignored him. “Greetings from the Goddess, Nicki Styx. We have come to bask in your bright blessings.”

  “Look at her aura,” another one of the women exclaimed, “such a glorious shade of yellow!”

  Further proof of the bug thing, if you ask me.

  Evan gave a snort of laughter, covering his mouth quickly with a hand. “Oh, please,” he muttered.

  The “aura woman” looked at him. “Careful, dear—your rainbow is showing.”

  “I should hope so,” Evan snipped.

  I didn’t know whether to run or to burst out laughing, so I settled for, “Um…can I help you?”

  “We’re the Sisters of Circe.”

  I’d heard of the Sisters of Mercy—they were one of my favorite goth bands. But since the group of chubby, aging women looked nothing like rockers, nurses, or prostitutes, I asked, “Sisters of what?”

  “Circe. Sir-see.” The woman who was doing most of the talking looked impatient. “A powerful sorceress of the ancient Greeks.”

  “The Greeks?” Evan brightened. “Finally, something I know something about.”

  A third woman spoke up, giving Evan a pointed look. “Could we speak to you privately, Miss Styx?”

  “Anything you have to say can be said in front of my partner, ladies.” I stepped up and stood next to Evan, shoulder to shoulder, as much to show support as to gain it. “I believe he’s already told you that unless you’re here to buy something, you’re wasting your time.”

  The women—six in all—shot each other a few anxious looks. Then the woman who seemed to be their leader—fiftysomething, no makeup, long gray hair that could have used a brush—gave a decisive nod. “So mote it be.”

  “So mote it be,” the other five repeated in unison.

  Evan and I exchanged a glance of our own.

  “My name is Shadow Starhawk,” the gray-haired woman said, “and we would like to talk to you about the manyfold benefits of the Wiccan way.”

  “Shadow Starhawk?” I repeated, uncertain as to whether I’d heard her correctly.

  “Shadow is my craft name,” she said slowly, as though speaking to an idiot. “To the mundanes I’m known as Sally Smith.”

  “Of course you are,” I said faintly, more convinced than ever that this was not my day. “What was I thinking?”

  Sally ignored my sarcasm. “Sister Ravenwood saw you on the news the other night and has divined that you would be an excellent addition to our circle. Talents such as yours are hard to find.”

  Enough was enough.

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I have no interest in joining your”—I waved my hand vaguely in the air—“circle, or whatever. I’m a businesswoman, plain and simple, and I have work to do, so if you’ll excuse me…”

  “Ah.” Sally smiled. “I applaud your commercial instincts. A woman must survive, after all. Men are so”—she flicked Evan a slightly contemptuous glance—“fickle.”

  Evan bristled, but I put a hand on his arm. We’d long ago agreed that the customer was always right, even if the customer was a raving lunatic.

  “I can’t help you,” I said bluntly, “and I think you need to leave.”

  Sally’s eyebrows shot sky high, though I found it hard to believe I was the first person ever to reject her. “You don’t understand. We’re here to help you channel your talents into something much more lucrative than running a secondhand clothing store.”

  I wasn’t sure if it was the word “channel” or the word “secondhand” that did it, but my temper ignited.

  “Get the hell out of here!” I shouted. “And take your broomsticks with you!”

  “Well”—Sally took an involuntary step backward, and huffed—“I never!”

  “Obviously not,” Evan chimed in pointedly. “Now go before I call security on your wrinkled old asses.”

  There was a collective gasp from the six women, then deathly silence.

  “I don’t think you know who you’re dealing with here.” Sally had a mean look in her eye. She glanced around at the women who flanked her, and said shortly, “Let me speak to her alone.”

  None of them said a word, though I saw a couple of worried looks exchanged. Slowly, they backed away, moving in a small knot toward the clothing racks to give us some privacy.

  Evan, however, didn’t budge.

  Sally ignored him. She kept her voice low, obviously not wanting her friends to overhear. “Opportunity is knocking, girl. There is power to be had in the workings of the craft, yours for the taking. Don’t underestimate me, or what I’m offering.”

  I stared at her for a moment, an extreme sense of dislike snaking its way down my spine.

  “Why would you offer anything to me?” I asked her coldly. “I don’t even know you.”

  She gave me a nasty little smile. More like a sneer, really. “Maybe the Devil made me do it.”

  If this woman and her band of mystical misfits was Sammy’s idea of a way to tempt me over to the dark side, he wasn’t as smart as I thought he was.

  “You’re strong,” she murmured, “but I can make you stronger. Insult me again, however, and I’ll make your life a living hell.”

  I’d never responded well to threats, and I wasn’t about to start now. I leaned over the counter, going toe-to-toe and eye to eye with the old witch.

  “Bring it on, Hagatha. Being turned into a toad is the least of my worries.”

  She tried to stare me down, but I knew I’d won when she turned away, shooing the other five women toward the door. “I won’t forget this. You’ve made enemies of the wrong people.”

  To which I replied, very succinctly, with one word.

  “Ribbit.”

  As soon as the bell above the door tinkled behind them, I looked at Evan, still steaming. His mouth was open, but he didn’t say a word.

  Then his lip started to twitch, and before I knew it, we were both laughing so hard we had to grab on to the counter for support.

  “Ribbit?” he gasped, between gales of laughter. “Ribbit?”

  The day got a little better after a few nice sales; a couple of giggly high-school girls were going to be wearing vintage gowns to their high school’s Spring Fling, and a guy with a sparse gray ponytail bought an expensive pair of Tony Lama wingtip boots and a half dozen tie-dye T-shirts.

  I did my best to ignore the steady stream of customers who came and went across the street at Divinyls, but I caught Evan glancing anxiously out the front window a time or two when he thought I wasn’t looking.

  No sign of Sammy, thank goodness. I fingered the tiny gold cross around my neck frequently, not really believing it was having any protective effect, but comforted anyway.

  “We should have a vintage lingerie section,” I said idly to Evan, when we finally had a lull. “Some of those long slips over in the formal section would make great nightgowns.”

  Evan wrinkled his nose. “I don’t know, Nicki—I’ve never been crazy about the idea of selling other people’s old underwear.”

  “Undergarments,” I corrected. “No bras or panties, of course, but slips? I don’t see why not. We women know how to take care of our delicates.”

  “I’ll resist the obvious reply to that comment,” Evan said archly.

  I giggled a little, knowing how hard it was for Evan to resist a chance to say something naughty.

  “You not only look like a chipmunk, you sound like one, too.” The woman’s voice was all too familiar.

  I froze, my arms full of clothes and my back to Evan.

  “What’s the matter, Chubby Cheeks? Cat got your tongue?”

  Very slowly, I finished racking some shirts that had been left in one of the dressing rooms, and turned around, scanning the store for Crystal.

  I didn’t see her.

  Not want
ing to scare Evan, I kept my mouth shut.

  “That skirt makes you look like a whore,” Crystal said, “and fishnet stockings with combat boots are so last week. Is that the best you could come up with today, Little Miss Goth Wannabe?”

  Okay, now she was pissing me off.

  “Evan, would you mind checking the storeroom and seeing if we have any more tie-dye? That guy with the ponytail pretty much emptied us out.”

  “Who would’ve thought a bunch of drugged-out hippies like the Grateful Dead would single-handedly spawn a decades-long fashion trend.” Evan gave a disapproving sniff, muttering to himself as he went in the back. “And those ties by Jerry Garcia…please. Talk about irony. Turn on and tune out—here’s a symbol of corporate America to wear while you’re trippin’.”

  Evan had never been a “Deadhead.”

  Wish I could say the same.

  “Okay, Crystal, where are you?” The store seemed empty, but I knew she was here. “What do you want?”

  “I want to be alive again,” Crystal said, “but I’ll settle for making your boyfriend wish he was dead.”

  I turned and saw her standing next to the Marilyn Monroe mannequin. Bad choice, because the comparison was startling. Marilyn’s generous curves (achieved with the help of a padded bra and overstuffed panty hose) made Crystal’s scrawniness even more apparent.

  “There was nothing Joe could do.” I kept my voice calm, matter-of-fact. “He told me all about it. You were—”How did one put this?“—gone before you reached the E.R.”

  “That’s bullshit,” Crystal sneered. “I was fully conscious the whole time. I watched him take one look at me and shake his head, like I wasn’t worth saving. He just let me lie there. Then some stupid nurse pulled a sheet over my head, and everything went dark.”

  A shiver crept down my spine. I’d had a similar experience once, in that same E.R., right down to the sheet being pulled over my head. But there’d been no dark for me. Instead, there’d been a tunnel with a bright light at the end, and an incredible experience that had changed me forever.

  As calmly as I could, I tried to help Crystal understand. “You were already dead, Crystal. You saw what was going on because your soul was still there, confused about what was happening to you. There was nothing anyone could have done.”

  She stared at me, arms at her sides. “You’re even more stupid than you look,” she said. “My master was right about you.”

  I didn’t know whether to be creeped out or just plain insulted. “Your master said I was stupid?”

  Crystal gave me an ugly smile, all bright red gums and yellow teeth. “He said you were stubborn. I’m the one who thinks you’re stupid.”

  Bitch.

  “Look, Crystal—”

  I’d gotten no further than that when Evan came back, arms full of tie-dye.

  “This stuff is hideous,” he said, “but it sure sells well.”

  One look at my face stopped him in his tracks.

  “Uh-oh. Maybe I’ll just go, um…” Evan trailed off, while I nodded an affirmative. He backtracked so quickly I almost laughed, except I didn’t feel like laughing.

  When I heard the door to the back office close behind him, I breathed a little easier.

  But then the front door opened, bell tinkling, and my heart sank.

  It was a woman, middle-aged and overweight, lank brown hair drawn into a messy knot on top of her head.

  “Mama,” Crystal whispered, and my heart sank even further.

  The woman’s face showed evidence of a hard life. She had the look of someone who’d never had more than two cents to rub together and never expected to. Her clothes were clean, but worn; too-tight jeans and a stretchy pullover top, old sneakers that had seen better days.

  “Are you Nicki Styx?” A smoker’s voice, raspy and gruff.

  “Yes,” I said. “And you must be Crystal’s mother.” No sense beating around the bush.

  Her eyes gleamed with suspicion. “How’d you know that?”

  Without meaning to, I glanced toward Crystal. The spot where she’d been standing was empty.

  “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. Now what can I do for you?”

  The woman tightened her grip on the shoulder strap of her purse, bringing a chubby arm across her belly to hold on to the bag with both hands. “I’m Tina Cowart. I wanna know if what you said about my girl was true.”

  I needed to tread carefully here. “Dr. Bascombe didn’t kill your daughter, Ms. Cowart. I was talking crazy, and some guy filming a commercial caught it on tape. That’s all.”

  “That doctor—he’s your boyfriend, ain’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “So you’d lie for him, wouldn’t you?”

  I shook my head in frustration. “I’m not lying, Ms. Cowart. Joe told me what happened, and I believe him.”

  She looked at me, stone-faced.

  “Maybe you should talk to him yourself.”

  “Lawyer won’t let me,” she said. “So I’m talkin’ to you.”

  I refrained from pointing out that her lawyer was an ambulance-chasing scumbag. I’d seen his commercials—guys like him preyed on people like Tina Cowart. “Crystal was so thin—and her teeth…You had to know she was having problems before she ever went to the hospital.”

  Tina’s lip quivered, just a tiny bit.

  I didn’t want to hurt anybody’s feelings, but the truth needed to be said.

  “How would you know? Boyfriend tell you that, too?”

  Despite Tina’s hostility, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for her. She had just lost her daughter.

  “Look, I know Crystal was anorexic. And I know girls like that usually have deeper problems than how much they weigh.”

  “Girls like that? You don’t know nuthin’ about my girl! My Crystal was gonna be a model; she was gonna be somebody!” Tina was getting angrier by the minute. “She was the prettiest girl in her ninth-grade class! All the boys was after her.”

  Oh, man. Unless I missed my guess, ninth grade for Crystal Cowart had been a long time ago.

  “I’m sorry for your loss, Ms. Cowart.” What else was there to say?

  She glared at me for a second, then looked away. Her hands flexed uneasily on her purse, as though I were about to snatch it from her. “I come here to find out if what you said about my Crystal was true,” she repeated. “Was she talking to you or what?”

  I’d thought she wanted support for her lawsuit, but it was apparently more personal than that.

  “I…I’d been drinking. I didn’t know what I was saying.”

  “I done my share of drinkin’,” Tina said flatly. “And you didn’t look drunk to me. Didn’t sound it, neither.” She looked around the store, assessing it with a world-weary eye. “I don’t normally hold with no psychic mumbo jumbo, but if my daughter has something to say, I’d sure like to hear it.”

  I had a hard time meeting her gaze, so I turned and walked away, putting the counter between us.

  “It was that ‘fatty’ thing you said.” Tina hadn’t budged from her spot by the door. “‘Fatty, fat, fat, fat.’ That’s what Crystal used to say…”

  She trailed off, but given her hefty size, I knew the rest of that sentence was “…to me.”

  “I’m sorry. I can’t help you.” I seemed to be saying that a lot today.

  “I loved her, you know.” Tina took a step forward. “Her and me didn’t always see eye to eye, but she was my child. I want her to know I loved her.”

  Despite my desire to stay out of it, my heart twisted. “I’m sure she knows, Ms. Cowart.”

  “Mama.” Crystal’s whisper swirled in the air, giving me the shivers.

  For a moment, I wondered if Tina Cowart had heard her; her eyes narrowed as she stared at me.

  “Did you ever meet my Crystal?”

  The question took me by surprise. “No,” I lied.

  She cocked her head. “Then how come you know about her teeth?”

  Before I could make up
another lie to cover myself, a wave of weakness swept over me, sickeningly familiar.

  “You can’t win, Chubby Cheeks,” Crystal said, from inside my head. “And no stupid little gold cross is gonna help you.”

  Horrified, I tried to turn, to run, before it was too late, but my feet seemed frozen to the floor, and all I could manage was a half turn of my head.

  There, in the street outside my display window, stood Sammy.

  He was staring right at me, and he was smiling.

  “What’s the matter with you?” Tina’s voice seemed to come from far away.

  Concentrate, Styx, concentrate.

  But it was no use. Sammy threw back his blond head and laughed, and I was lost.

  “You never loved me, Mama,” I said, through clenched teeth. “All you ever cared about was where your next drink was coming from.” I would normally never say something so mean, but the words kept coming. “Love your beer, don’t you? That’s one of the reasons you’re so fat…and why your last loser boyfriend dumped you.”

  My head jerked to the right, so I was facing Tina Cowart directly. “You make me sick.”

  Tina’s face was white as a sheet. “Crystal?” Her lower lip trembled. “Is that you, baby?”

  Oh, man—if insults were what passed for affection between Crystal and her mother, they deserved all the pity they could get.

  “Don’t feel sorry for me, you little bitch.” Crystal was evidently reading my mind while she swirled around in there, and my thoughts made her furious.

  I tried to focus, to feel nothing—no pity, no anger, no panic. Only a single-minded effort to get rid of Crystal’s invasion. My body was frozen in place, but my mind was still my own.

  And I was going to keep it that way.

  “I have my master to help me, Chubby Cheeks…what do you have?” Crystal’s mental taunting was edged with desperation, and I took hope from it.

  Tina Cowart took a step closer, throat working. The look on her face was difficult to describe. “Crystal? Are you in there?”

  Trying even harder to concentrate, I forced my eyes to close. Almost immediately, I received a mental image of the Light…pure, white…blindingly so. I drank it in, bathed in it, and felt my strength returning.