Chapter 9 #2
“I do still have some decency.”
“Do you?” I raise an eyebrow.
There’s the deafening scrape of metal on metal as the door slides open inch by inch.
The strain of the steel and the resistance of the track indicate it hasn’t opened in at least a decade.
Maybe Trip’s grandfather was the last person to visit Ruby.
It’s hard to imagine him here, among the cobwebs and rusty old furniture, looking like an older version of Trip in a three-piece suit and trying not to get dust on his Italian loafers.
A hand with long, cherry-red nails wraps itself around the side of the thick metal panel and pulls. I grab the handle and throw my whole weight into it.
“You not being able to help? Not one of the perks,” I grunt.
“Not from where I’m standing.”
I hinge at the waist, gripping the handle with all my might. Finally, something in the track rights itself, and the metal begins to glide with less resistance.
The manicured hands helping me pull the door give way to round strong arms bedecked with bangles, a fuchsia-and-gold caftan, a copper face painted with kohl eyeliner and lipstick to match her fingernails.
Her hazel eyes, narrowed as she looks at us, immediately give the impression of someone knowing and wise, though she’s much younger than I expected.
I delight in seeing that her hair is just as wild and curly as mine.
“Ruby Darwish.” She extends a palm and her bangles clink together.
“Libby Lakoski. Sorry to intrude—”
She extends her hand to my left. To Trip. Oh.
He shuffles his feet awkwardly but recovers, keeping his arms crossed. “Trip Coldwell,” he says in the voice of someone who does business deals in his sleep.
“Coldwell,” she murmurs, drawing her palm back. “Ah, yes.”
Holy shit. Ruby can also see him. Interact with him. She must have the sight too. I fight against all the questions bubbling to the surface. How does it work? Do we have the same genetic anomaly, were we exposed to some kind radioactive chemical as children?
Not the time, Libby.
I clear my throat. “I think you might have been visited by Trip’s grandfather in the past?” This would’ve been…” I turn to Trip.
“Decades ago.” There’s a barely perceptible tic in his jaw.
Ruby smiles without showing any teeth. “Come in, come in.”
The space behind the large metal door is unlike any other in the rest of the building.
Floor pillows in burgundy, marigold, and emerald are placed in various positions on the floor.
Below them, ornamental rugs fight each other for the greatest square footage.
Nothing particularly matches. It’s like a store was running a five-for-one special on jewel tones and patterns.
But given the barrenness of the industrial building, it’s delightful.
Sheer fabrics are draped at various angles, dividing the room into private corners.
In fact, they’re the only thing dividing it at all.
Ruby leads us through several of the sheer fabric dividers to the back of the space. Floor-to-ceiling windows cast a magical glow on the rainbow of colors. Scents of nutmeg and allspice—things that I usually associate with the holiday season—drift throughout.
“Tea?” Ruby asks. She sits cross-legged on the floor and indicates a kettle and hot plate several feet away.
“I’m fine, thanks.” I follow her lead, lowering to a violet cushion on the floor.
Trip stays standing.
“I remember your grandfather. We worked together for many years.” Ruby looks out the window, back to us.
“Well, that should make this easy, then.” Trip folds his arms across his chest.
I glare at him. The last thing we need to do is rush her or piss her off.
“He was looking for an answer? To the curse that’s on his family,” I prompt with a gentle smile.
“A decades-old curse.” She presses her palm to the window. “One that tore apart two friends, two families. A cut that needs to be repaired should you hope to live.”
“What did you tell him?” I ask. “When he came looking for answers.”
“My memory is foggy, but I remember he paid handsomely for the information.” She stands, her caftan sweeping across the floor, and narrows her eyes at us.
Oh, right. I reach into my wallet and pull out a depressing, crumpled twenty.
Trip looks at it like it’s a used piece of toilet paper. “I can pay. If your solution works. Name your price. I’ll work out a way for Libby to transfer the funds.”
“For the reading I will also require something you possess.”
Trip scoffs. “What is it with these things and needing my jewelry?”
“Not a trinket. An essence. Your grandfather gave his blood. I think in your case, some of your spirit will do.”
“Some of my…?”
From a wooden trunk she lifts a pair of long, sharp, silver shears. The sun from the windows bounces off them, nearly blinding.
“Do you consent?” Ruby asks.
“Uh.” Trip’s eyes dart to me.
I’m terrified, but I give him a small, reassuring nod. He swallows thickly, but nods in return.
“I do.”
Ruby moves toward him, the shears unbalanced in her miniature hand. There’s a sharp zing as she snaps them open, and Trip backs up several feet.
“Just what, uh, exactly am I consenting to? Is this going to hurt?”
“No more than a pinch. Would you mind bending down?”
Trip leans his body forward inch by inch, as though an invisible force is restraining him in the opposite direction.
“There, there.” Ruby reaches toward him with her empty hand and rests it on his shoulder.
Trip looks at it in amazement. “I can feel that.”
“Oh, don’t look so surprised. Now, this could sting a little.”
Trip’s eyes widen as she raises the shears to his head.