Water of Souls Page 15

  Now, he does hug me. For a brief moment, there are two couples in the mourning room existing in the same space yet also on different continents. None of us are embarrassed. Then, I cough, realizing that we’ve all forgotten the world around us. “Well, boys, we’re kicking you out.”

  “Guess that’s our cue, Dean.” Kyle kisses me quickly, our lips only brushing for a moment.

  “See you tomorrow then?” Mei is still hugging Dean, whispering against his plaid shirt.

  “After the funeral’s over, sure.” He looks at me. “Mind if she meets me here again?”

  “Nope. Feel free to make this your meeting place whenever. Although, I think you should come clean with her parents sooner rather than later.”

  “Later.” Mei quipped. “Definitely later. When I have the first and last month’s rent for an apartment saved up.”

  “You really think they’ll kick you out?” I can’t hide the surprise in my voice.

  “Tori, you don’t know how serious my parents are about our culture. I’m expected to live the American dream, make something of myself, but also marry a good Chinese boy and carry on every tradition in the ‘how to be Chinese’ handbook. As soon as I admit to them that Dean is something more than a friend, then I start a new life. One that will, more than likely, not include them.”

  “Even if it causes a rift, Mei, it’ll heal. Your parents love you.”

  “Yeah, maybe.” She’s frowning, but in seconds the frown is replaced by a smile. “Anyways, you boys get out of here. We’ve got ice cream to eat and gossip to gab.”

  It takes another twenty minutes of goodbyes to actually get Kyle and Dean on the road. Mei and I wave from the porch.

  As we’re locking up the front of the house and walking towards the inner stairs to my apartment, we’re both silent. Maybe because we’re both coming down from boyfriend highs. I speak first. “You know, Mei, if your parents ever do kick you out or you need a place to live, you could stay here for a while. I don’t have an extra room, but we could make it work.”

  Mei doesn’t say anything and I’m in front of her so I can’t see her face. She still doesn’t say anything as I grab my things off the first step and start ascending. She doesn’t say anything at all. When we’re into the apartment with the lights on, I can finally see her expression.

  She’s crying. Like full blown, snot coming out of her nose, crying. Yet she’s making no noise. Which is very, very odd. “Um, Mei...” I’m not sure what to say and I don’t understand why she’s acting like her dog just died. “What’s wrong?”

  Finally, she makes a sound. It’s something like a scream-sob, a string of unintelligible words and with each utterance, her body shakes even harder.

  “Mei, calm down. What can I do?” Nervously, I walk a little away from her, thinking maybe I can get her a glass of water from the kitchen.

  My moving away seems to trigger something in her and she runs toward me and wraps her arms around my neck. I’m taller than she is and I’m suddenly aware of how it must feel to Kyle when I hug him. She’s close enough now that I can make out the words when she speaks again. “Oh,” sniff, “Tori,” sniff, “I’ve never had a friend like you. You’re,” shaky sob, “absolutely the best ever.”

  Surprised, I pat her on the back awkwardly. “You are too, Mei. Now please stop crying. Can I get you something?”

  “I mentioned ice cream earlier and I really, really hope you have some.” She’s almost speaking normally now. And she really needs a tissue.

  “Well,” I think forlornly of the ice cream I had tossed to make room for all the fish from Leslie. “I’m actually out.”

  “Cookies?”

  “Diet.” I respond, grumpily. “Even the ice cream was low-cal.”

  “Yuck.” Mei sticks out her tongue and then walks past me to where the tissues are; she grabs a few and dabs her eyes, then blows her nose. She’s one of those people that sounds so delicate and tiny when she speaks, but when she blows her nose—watch out. She sounds like an elephant. It had taken some getting used to.

  When she lowers the used tissues, her nose is bleeding. “Crap. This happens sometimes. Sorry.” She tosses her used tissues in the trash and then she takes another handful to shove against her nose.

  “Want some tampons?” It sounds like an odd thing to offer, but seriously—those things are amazing to soak up the blood and stem a nosebleed. Just unwrap, pop it up the nostril, and voila!

  “No, it’ll stop in a minute.” That’s girls for you. We all know how feminine products can multitask. Once, I used an overnight pad with wings to press against a cut on my side. A little medical tape later and I’d had a proper bandage. Mei pulls the tissues away from her nose after a minute or so and I see she’s right; the blood has already slowed to a trickle. Wait, the blood.

  Mei holds the tissues to her nose once more, but only for a brief moment, and then she pats around her nostrils to get any flecks of red. Quickly, I move forward. “Here, let me go ahead and empty the trash. It was getting kind of full.”

  “I can take it out for you? I mean, I’m the one throwing in bloody tissues.” She leans down as if to take out the white trash bag from the metal canister.

  “Nope. My house, you’re the guest. I’ll get it.” I pull out the trash bag before she can toss in the bloody tissues. When I turn to walk away, she stops me.

  “Here, forgot these.” She’s moving towards me, the tissues wadded tightly in her hands. “Can you open the bag for me?”

  “Just give them to me.” I force a laugh that I hope sounds casual. “I work with stranger blood and guts for a living. I can handle a little of yours.”

  Mei hesitates, but she eventually hands me the crimson tissues. “Sorry, it’s sort of gross.”

  “Really, Mei. Don’t worry about it. Embalmer, remember.” I smile and she nods. “Be right back. I’m going to run this outside.”

  Before I’m even out the door, Mei’s walked over to the sofa and settled herself down against the cushions. She makes short work of finding the remote buried beneath my throw pillows.

  There’s a second furnace behind the freestanding garage. It’s not quite set up like the crematory indoors and I only fire it up when I’ve accumulated enough trash to warrant the work. I could pay for the city trash service, but I don’t. Why pay the thirty bucks a month when I can burn everything? Except the recycling. I’m good about that—trucking it out to the center once a month.

  It’s weird, actually, to have the large ‘burn the witch’ oven sat under an outcropping of roof behind the garage. It’s something Grandmother Sophia had put in. Maybe she didn’t want to pay to have her trash hauled off either.

  “God,” this is going to be gross. I’ve tossed the bag of kitchen refuse into the large black bin and I’m staring down at Mei’s tissues, trying not to be sick on my stomach. Liam said it wouldn’t take much. Just the smallest drop.

  Hopefully blood already drying on tissue counts.

  I tear off a small piece, one that’s completely colored red-going-brown and I open my mouth, stick out my tongue, and close my eyes. Shit, shit, shit. This is so gross.

  But it’s more the idea of what I’m doing than the actual taste that ends up being gross. The paper dissolves quickly, leaving behind a metallic earthiness. It’s almost what I imagine copper would taste like. I open my eyes as my mouth begins to buzz with an odd sensation like I have my teeth clamped around a hive of bees.

  The feeling grows down my throat and into my belly. It warms me, hotter and hotter, until I’m on fire.

  And then I am lunged into Mei’s life.

  Not just her now, but her forever.

  I see her as a child, crawling beneath a large table, hiding from her mother.

  I see her as a teenager, huddled over books in the library. I remember her then—so shy and difficult to befriend.

  I see her now, dating Dean and flushed with happiness.

  I see her older, married with a child at her breast. No Dean
in sight.

  And then she is a grandmother.

  And then I see her grave.

  My eyes flash open as if a spark of electricity has bid them to awake. I’m alone behind the garage, but I’m also not. I feel Mei, sitting on my sofa watching TV. She’s got her cellphone against her knee. I can feel the heat of it against my own body. She’s smiling as it vibrates. Dean is texting again. She’s safe.

  It’ll overwhelm you, if you allow. Liam’s voice seeps into my mind, changing the vision of Mei. It blurs until it is less clear. I can still feel her, but not as strongly. You have to control it, bury her down so that her consciousness doesn’t overwhelm your own.

  How? I feel myself fading in and out, wanting to pick through Mei’s life until her memories are as strong a presence within me as my own. How do I control this?

  Feel her aura and change it. Make it a seed, small and hopeful, and plant it in an unused corner of your mind. It will be there, whenever you need to check on her.

  I do what he says. I gather everything about Mei into one small seed-shaped space and I tuck it away. When it’s no longer front and center, I take a deep breath. Mei’s still there and if I think of her I can bring her entire life to the surface. I can taste her blood.

  Thanks, Liam.

  “You’re welcome.”

  I spin around, dropping the remnants of the tissues onto the ground. Liam walks forward, in his full human guise, and bends down to retrieve them.

  “Blood’s powerful. Even when it touches the Earth, even when it has dried, it is powerful.” He stands back up and walks over to the large, unlit furnace. The heavy door cries as he opens it slowly, the hinges badly in need of lubrication. He tosses in the tissues. “You should treat it with more care.”

  “I know that,” I say the words defensively. “You just startled me.”

  “Did I?” Liam’s in front of me in a rush of wind, letting his fae side show. “I didn’t mean to.”

  “Of course you did,” I scoff, taking a step back. He steps forward. I step back. We dance until my body hits the back of the garage. “Liam, back up.”

  His right arm snakes over my shoulder and his palm presses against the wall behind me. His left hand raises and strokes my hair away from my face. “You’re so beautiful, Victoria.”

  His touch sends shockwaves up and down my body. I feel my power rising in response. It only takes seconds for me to become the white-haired, shimmering fae Blood Queen. “I’m not comfortable, Liam.”

  Liam searches my eyes and I can tell that he doesn’t like what he sees. I’m trying to show in my face that I don’t want his advances, but it’s hard, because deep down I do. God, I do. And it’s not fair to Kyle. It’s not fair to anybody.

  “Love is sometimes unfair.” He leans forward and I speak quickly, hoping to stay his advance.

  “I’m with Kyle, Liam. I love Kyle.”

  “So you keep telling me.” He inches closer until his lips are hovering so close to mine that I can imagine their touch. I can imagine what it’s like to kiss him.

  Electric. Unstoppable. The kind of kiss you don’t come back from. “I love Kyle, Liam.” I press my palms against his body and I push him away. “And I want you to leave.”

  “I’ve given up my entire world for you.” Liam’s his full human self again, not a hint of the fae showing. “I’m a traitor to my kind. To my court. To my prince.”

  I pull my power back, feeling my hair shifting from pale to dark. When the glow is gone, my skin no longer vibrates. “I didn’t ask you to do that, Liam. I wouldn’t have asked you to do that.”

  “I know how the court works, Victoria, I can help you. You don’t have to marry Prince Oran. We can change things together.”

  “Liam, do you know what that sounds like?” I wait for him to say something, but he doesn’t. “It sounds like you’re bribing me. Hey, be with me instead, I can keep you from being forced into a marriage.”

  “That’s not what I meant, Victoria.” But he’s backed away, something like realization sprouting on his face. “I’m sorry that’s how it sounded.”

  “That is how it sounded, Liam. I don’t care what fae tradition says. I won’t marry someone I don’t love. Period. For fuck’s sake, what if it was the black court’s turn? The Black Prince is my damn half-brother. Would the fae be cool with that? Hey, Blood Queen, just marry your brother and procreate. No big deal. We don’t have laws against incest.”

  “Victoria...” Liam’s voice trails off.

  “Just go, Liam. Honestly. I can’t deal with this shit right now. I want to go back upstairs, hang out with Mei, and forget this conversation completely.”

  Turning away from him, I straighten my shoulders and I tell myself not to look back. But I do. Of course I do.

  And it’s a little blessing that Liam’s already disappeared when I do risk a glance behind.

  Chapter Seventeen

  I have to rush to change before Terrance pulls up in front of the Victorian.

  Some of the family members had come back after the graveside service, wanting to go over the bill. On the day of the service. They thought I was overcharging them, even with the itemization in front of them whilst I sat behind the desk trying not to seem impatient—even though I was actually impatient, because it was Wednesday and I had a date with Bonneau’s Chief of Police and a potential taxidermist turned serial killer.

  And most people only look forward to hump day because it means the work week is half over. Guess I’m just lucky like that.

  After trying to work every single angle they could to get me to lower my charges, the family finally gave up.

  In the end, I think what was really going on was that shipping the body had cost the family an arm and a leg and they were trying to get a few pennies back by challenging my bill. I hadn’t given an inch though. My prices are always transparent and fair. And I don’t let myself get taken advantage of... anymore. When I’d first started running the business, it hadn’t taken much for me to lower a price. Tears went a long way back then. I got a reputation for being cheap, so much so that I almost went under that first year.

  Now the only tears that break me are those that belong to spirits. They deserve to cry.

  “How’d the funeral go?” Terrance asks, starting to drive again before I’m even buckled.

  “Business as usual.” The click of the seatbelt engaging seems to echo in my chest. There’s nothing nefarious about it, yet it fills me with dread. I don’t like it when I get feelings like that.

  “I was thinking the other night—it can’t possibly be business as usual for you. Not like it would be for other funeral directors. I mean, hell, how do you get bodies ready when...” he takes a hand off the steering wheel and rubs the back of his neck uncomfortably. So I help him out a little.

  “How do I embalm a body when the body’s spirit is still hanging around?”

  “Yeah. That.” Both of his hands are back on the steering wheel.

  “Most of the time, they don’t want to go back into their bodies. Maybe they were sick and don’t want to feel the decay. Maybe they were old and don’t want to feel the arthritis. Maybe they were murdered.” I shrug, like talking about the dead so casually is something I do all the time. “So they talk to me in spirit form. Now if they’re confused, don’t realize they’re dead, then they’re more likely to go back into their bodies by accident. Like the flesh memory of skin and bones is calling to them.” I take a deep breath, look down at my hands. “Sometimes, they know they’re dead and just want to come back. Those are ones that usually died healthy in some sort of accident. I can push them back out by force or help them to realize that they need to let go of their human life. And then I bind the bodies with a salt line and a spell.”

  “Salt line and a spell.” It’s not a question and Terrance murmurs something else under his breath that I can’t make out. His voice rises again. “Sounds like witch stuff.”

  “Shaman stuff, actually. Quite a different ball game. My g
randmother taught me.” I look out the window. We’ve passed through town already and are into a more rural section. Woods and more woods sometimes interrupted by a small, derelict house.

  “Shaman stuff.” Terrance says the words with a tone of detachment, as if he’s suddenly decided to start internalizing all the odd things he’s learned about me; like he’s just going to push them down into a pocket of his body where they can be ignored until he’s actually ready to deal.

  Thinking he’s pushing down the truth makes me uncomfortable and I find myself twiddling my thumbs and staring at the motion—the in and out weaving. Over and under. Under and over. It’s nearly hypnotizing. I know Terrance; I know how he faces up to reality and does the right thing. I just hope he’s not hiding from my reality because he’ll feel compelled to do the right thing... the right thing according to the law.

  I look up when the squad car slows and begins to turn. The driveway is dirt and gravel, but mostly dirt, like the road had been ‘paved’ decades ago and the stone has all but been strewn away from the many tires that have run the length of it. I wouldn’t think a taxidermist would get that much business.

  About halfway up the long drive is a crooked sign that needs a new paint job. It reads ‘Louis D. Taxidermy, owner Mordecai Jones’.

  When Terrance slowed to a complete stop, the tires squish and squelch in the muddy drive. It’s not snowing right now, but the clouds above are pregnant with the promise. There wasn’t another vehicle in sight and I wondered if our Mr. Jones was even here.

  “No car. Think he’s even here?”

  “Yeah, he’s here.” Terrance pushes open his door with a sigh, pulling a manila folder from its hiding place between his seat and the armrest. It’s thin and I want to know what it contains. I don’t ask though. “Mordecai’s always here and he always parks his truck out back.” Terrance stands and I’m staring at his holstered gun. It’s looking like a creature today, a creature of steel ready to shoot and kill. I don’t like it. I open my door and quickly get out. Terrance and I close our doors simultaneously, the thuds a dual sound that pops my ears.