Chapter 10 #2
“Uh-huh,” I say slowly, not really sure how I’m supposed to respond.
“But after a while, I got a bit bored and found I really missed Tristan even though we hadn’t known each other long. Then I found out some stuff that I can’t tell you about, celestial NDA and all that. But let’s just say, I was invited back to Earth to become a spirit guide.”
“Invited?”
“Okay,” she huffs and rolls her eyes. “So, I wouldn’t take no for an answer. I’m very personally invested in Tristan’s well-being, and I can be very persuasive when I need to be.”
“I’ll bet.”
“I was just supposed to come back down here, hang out with my little ghost whisperer, be a fabulously attired spiritual sidekick, and help him to help others solve their unfinished business so they can cross into the light.”
“I’m guessing getting wedged into his body wasn’t in the job description.”
Dusty scoffs. “No, that really was an accident, and the suits were pretty miffed about that, lemme tell you. They tried to send me on a corporeal safety and accidental possession awareness course.”
I’m beginning to wonder if I’m actually hallucinating this entire conversation, but Dusty just continues on blithely as if I’m not contemplating my own sanity.
“They were pissed, with a capital P. Now all this weird stuff is going on, and they are being very tight-lipped upstairs.”
“Weird?” I blink. “Weirder than a ghost being sent on a corporeal safety and accidental possession awareness course?”
“Oh, I didn’t stay for that. Yawn.” She waves her hand. “I climbed out of the window as soon as they weren’t looking. No, I mean the storm. It’s not natural. There’s something other behind it. Now Tristan’s laid up with the flu and Danny got squished when a tree fell on his car.”
“What?” I reply in concern, I only met the man for five minutes, but I certainly don’t want anything bad to happen to him. “Is he all right?”
“He’s okay, a broken leg and a host of minor injuries, but it could’ve been a lot worse,” Dusty frowns and bites her lip. “But whatever is going on with this supernatural storm has the suits upstairs sweating. It’s like they know something they’re not telling me.”
“What makes you say that?”
“They told me to make sure you stay close to Tristan.”
“Me?” My eyes widen. “Why me?”
“Are you kidding? I’ve seen what you can do.” She rubs her hands together vigorously and then mimes shocking herself with a defibrillator.
“Charming,” I mutter.
“Whatever their reasoning is, you’ve got some serious magical mojo going on, and I want you on Team Tris.”
I stare at her. “This isn’t the bloody Hunger Games.”
She grins. “Will you stop by and see him?”
“Right now?”
“Well, I suggest you change out of those pjs before you damage someone’s retinas.”
I eye her bubblegum-pink latex outfit. “You don’t strike me as someone who has an aversion to ostentatious colours.”
“You’d be right.” She winks. “But you don’t strike me as someone who likes anyone to see him looking anything less than perfectly attired.”
“Am I that obvious?”
She gives me another smile, but this one is softer somehow. “Nothing wrong with that, my little gingersnap.”
“I wondered how long it would take to get to the ginger analogies.”
“So, will you?”
“Will I what?”
“Go and see Tristan,” she says.
I hesitate, but then hadn’t I been thinking about that earlier? About how it would be good to have someone to talk to about everything who actually understands and doesn’t think I’m crazy.
“Why now?”
“I don’t know. I just have this strange feeling something important is about to happen and I need to be somewhere else. I’d feel better if I’ve got a kick-ass witch watching him.”
“So I’m babysitting?” I reply dryly, even though being called a kick-ass witch gives me a little—I don’t want to say thrill exactly, but there is a part of me that finds it quite gratifying. And they haven’t even seen a fraction of what I can actually do.
“Not babysitting and for god’s sake, don’t tell Tristan I sent you.”
I huff out a breath. “Maybe.”
“Careful with that enthusiasm, Cherry Bakewell, you’ll hurt yourself.”
“Why does he put up with you?”
“Because of my charming personality and my fantastic singing voice. Would you–”
“No.”
“Fine, but you don’t know what you’re missing out on. I do an excellent Streisand.”
“I’m sure you do,” I respond. “Where are you going anyway? Got the window of another spirit health and safety course to climb out of?”
Her lips twitch. “I’m going to see Bruce.”
My brow rises? “Bruce?”
“He died back in the eighties, used to play rugby.” She hums happily. “He wears the tiniest shorts and holy disco balls, those thighs!”
“He’s your boyfriend?”
She looks highly scandalised. “No. Who said boyfriend? He’s-he’s a friend, who just so happens to have very powerful thighs, a gorgeous cock, and a very, very talented mouth.”
Now I’m blushing. “Okay. If you say so.”
“I won’t be long. I’m just going to head to the bookshop for a while and ask him–”
“Bookshop?” I say abruptly, and my stomach clenches. I don’t know why; there are thousands of bookshops in London. Surely it can’t be…
“He haunts a bookshop in Whitechapel. It sells occult books and curiosities or something. Tris has sort of made friends with the gin-swilling old fraud who runs it.”
“Fraud?”
“Madame Viv,” she carries on, unaware of my inner turmoil. “Tris has got a soft spot for her. Don’t know why though, considering she fleeced him out of fifty quid for a fake reading the first time we met her.”
Her mouth continues moving, but I don’t hear any of the words.
My mouth is dry and there’s a high-pitched buzzing in my ears.
How can someone I met completely by random chance know my mother—not only know her but be friends with her.
Although I suppose it’s not completely random.
After all, I did collide with Tristan at the end of the alley leading to the bookshop.
This could be an opportunity. If I’m not ready to meet her face-to-face yet, perhaps I can mine some information from Tristan in a kind of casual way.
It’s not like he needs to know what our connection is.
But if he’s supernaturally gifted and his ghostly sidekick is sleeping with one of the ghosts haunting the bookshop, maybe they can tell me more about what’s going on with my mother and with the building itself.
“I’ll do it,” I say, abruptly breaking Dusty from the middle of a tirade.
“Do what?” She blinks.
“Go and see Tristan.”
“Oh,” she says slowly, as if she’s forgotten the request she made before she went on a conversational tangent about the woman who happens to be my birth mother…and apparently a con artist.
I try really hard not to think about it. I’m here for answers. Doesn’t mean I have to like the woman.
“Okay.” Dusty grins. “Well then, I’ll leave you to get dressed. Just remember, don’t–”
“Don’t tell Tristan I’ve seen you, yeah, yeah.”
“I owe you one, Tequila Sunrise.” She blows me a cheeky kiss and then disappears right before my eyes.
Once again alone in my pokey little flat, I release the breath I didn’t realise I was holding, and I can’t help thinking…
This is a bad idea.
It’s getting dark and is much later than I intended by the time I actually find myself standing at the door of a flat in Hackney.
Knocking loudly, I barely wait a couple of seconds before ringing the bell.
It may come across as a little impatient, but the truth is, I’m about two seconds away from making a run for it.
Nerves swirl in my stomach and my fists clench at my side. I’m trying to think of what to say when the door opens. My eyes widen and my mouth falls open.
“What the bloody hell?” I exclaim loudly before I can censor myself.
There’s a man…woman…person standing there, looking at me expectantly.
He…she—they? I’m very confused—is wearing a nude, sparkly bodysuit with a tiny crystal bikini, but holy hell, the feathers.
Soooo many feathers. She, I decide until told otherwise, is dressed like a Las Vegas showgirl and is, quite frankly, stunning.
“Yes, can I help you?” Her eyes narrow as she studies me, and I’m utterly mesmerised at the sheer amount of feathers.
“Uh, could I please see Tristan?”
“Do you have an appointment?”
“Um.”
“Just kidding.” She laughs. “Come in.”
I trail after her, staring at the swaying tail feathers in confusion as she heads into the flat.
“Red here says he knows you,” she says as we enter the kitchen.
“It’s Harrison, not Red,” I say stiffly, my cheeks feeling flushed. “Do you usually answer the door dressed like that?”
“No,” she says innocently, then smirks, and there’s something about that smile that reminds me of Dusty. “Usually, I’m dressed as a French maid unless Tristan and Danny want me to clean naked. Then I’m totally in the buff.”
“Chan,” Tristan admonishes, and I turn to face him, taking in his pale face, the dark shadows under his eyes, and his reddened nose.
Wow, he really doesn’t look very well. “Harrison, this is Chan,” Tristan introduces us.
“Chan is a friend. She performs at a drag club in Shoreditch and came straight from a rehearsal to check on me and Danny.”
“Harrison.” Chan’s eyes narrow. “Aren’t you the one who—” She breaks off mid-sentence when Tristan’s eyes widen in warning and he shakes his head.
“Uh…never mind,” Chan concludes, and shoots a smile at me. “Coffee?”
“No, thank you,” I reply, feeling all kinds of awkward.
Tristan is smiling a little too brightly at me as his boyfriend Danny stares at him in curiosity, and I’m going to hazard a guess that Tristan still hasn’t told him about the whole body-sharing incident with his dead friend.
“So, Harrison, what brings you by?” Tristan asks.
I, uh.