1.8

After what happened with Violet, the world changed. The seasons did, that is, cursing us with long nights and making me hate the snow. It would be fine if I still lived in Pappy’s trailer, but now I had one of the largest properties in town.

Of course this wasn’t my first winter there. If pressed, I’d whine and deny and then admit that I did it all for Violet. And I never escaped the pit I told myself that I would escape: the trap of falling for one person entirely.

Violet was going to continue to live, or whatever her state of being was. I felt for her and her growing arguments with Olivia, but then I remembered it was in her blood. Was it supposed to matter anyways? It did, because Vega’s rottenness took generations to breed out. And it didn’t, because Violet liked to disprove that. She did not quarrel with me, even if we didn’t live together on speaking terms. She helped pay the bills.

If there was a Vega analog, it was me. But I also wanted it to be nobody. It wasn’t an inevitable dynamic, but things felt different one night.

It started with Pappy bringing home a puppy that his son’s dog had. We named her Karen, and on any other night, I’d be doting on Karen and making sure no one else did.

But instead, I was despondent. I walked through Malcolm’s studio to get to the backyard and watch the pool water. It hadn’t frozen over yet and I dipped my feet in. Snow started to fall and it was about to freeze over, but the rest of me was numb anyways. All I could do was wait for an entity to leave. Karen was five pounds and too little to scare them off.

 

In my weird life, I had never seen Death ride a horse. This one was a ghost, shimmering in a dusty bronze while ridden on by a mysterious, lithe figure. I had learned a lot about death’s servants and what they wore. The robe didn’t go out of style for the spectacle of it. Perhaps the skimpier outfits I knew them for were saved for private and I was a close friend privy to that.

They came for Pappy, not the love of my life once Violet entered the picture, but still the man who kept me here in the frozen north.

“It sucks, Spot was my first kiss in years,” I said to Malcolm. He ended up following me outside, which he almost never did without a lot of kicking and screaming and angry calls from Helen.

“Mine too.”

Says a lot about Helen! And to think I resigned myself to never having anything in common with Malcolm. If anything, he reminded me of Marco, right down to the blue hair.

It was hard not to think about Spot’s family and his little grandkids. The tragedy about growing up in Vega’s house was how small and insular my life ended up. When I died, only two people missed me. And it could have easily been less. There were times where I wondered if Heath would slip through my fingers too, and it was pure luck that he stayed.

“I mean, are you doing okay?” I asked. “I can’t force you to spend time with your kid or anything, but–”

“You’re overthinking this,” said Malcolm. “But…do you think I could ever work at the theatre? I used to drive past it a lot and I played piano as a kid and you work with cool and magical people!”

“Eh, we’ll see if Helen ever retires…”

“…and is that our reaper?”

It was them and their horse, not in a rush to get anywhere else. Perhaps Cara was right about only getting the souls of those who knew a daemon closely. It was the only way to stay sane.

“No way, they usually leave in a puff of smoke,” I muttered, running to the fence. And they expected to escape without me noticing. But even in the darkest night, that ghost horse shone like a floodlight.

“How many deaths have you seen? And can you tell me about them?”

“It’s not the time for ghost stories!”

Malcolm sulked. “Well I think it’s always time for them.”

It was a short chase down the road, which was good for me. I was tired by the time I caught up to them.

The reaper parked their horse at the Red Velvet Lounge and disrobed, revealing a long dress with a shimmering trim underneath. She gave her horse a pat on the snout before going in through the back door. And I wasn’t shooed away.

But I’d go in through the front, it would be less suspicious.

I definitely stepped into another world. Now I got why that lounge near me was so packed once a month for “private purposes”. Ruddy-colored daemons packed onto the floor and tables, dressed in their finest. And worst of all, neither of the two I trusted were anywhere to be found. But as I learned that night, death never took a break. I certainly couldn’t force it to. If anything was fair in this world, Cara and Barry weren’t tending to vast tragedies.

It should have been my worst nightmare, but I realized more and more that this wasn’t about daemons, just about Vega. Her parties were never so…lively. Nothing about her betrayed a “fun side.”

The chatter was impenetrable, and two ghosts performed on stage: a fiddler and a pianist. However, the upright bass on stage stood empty. And they were good! I rarely heard the jazz violin, after all. Maybe I should have asked Barry to not have my body back. It would be a cool gimmick for a concert, especially if I followed my dreams and made a black metal album.

The worst part: Violet did not play an instrument. Didn’t even want to try, hence why she was so impressed with me. I was cursed with good memories of her. Even the worst ones were by association as I pinned her to the ground.

I then held my breath as I approached that daemon and a few friends of our reaper’s. They chattered with revelry and a lot of wine and too much filth on their tongues for the way they were dressed. Every dress was dated to the Roaring 20’s.

“And to think, I finally put an abomination out of their misery…except for one.”

“So…I guess I need no introduction?” I asked her. “Who are you? And…I wanna know more about Spot.”

“I would think I would need no introduction as well,” she said, a hand on her hip. Her voice dripped with posh affects and unneeded arrogance. She made Carmella sound crass. “I am Elva, not the queen of the dead yet but for sure, one of her many esteemed in-laws.”

“Sounds riveting…is Spot okay? And is any of this okay? I’m not comfortable with all of you being so close to my house for starters. And why are they ghosts but I’m all flesh?”

“Are those other rooms empty, my darlings?” Someone nodded their head. “Very well, I’ll only discuss this in private.”

Elva took a seat in one of the side rooms, flouncing onto the chair and unfolding a lacy handheld fan. The lighting and fabric of the furniture matched her cadmium-red skin. I wondered if I’d ever belong somewhere as perfectly as her.

I lay down on the couch across from her, letting one arm fall to the floor and letting go of my breath. Ever since that night with Violet, everything felt tighter like Vega was still squeezing me. I didn’t need to question my existence now too, or have a therapist like Elva.

She gave me a flustered look, but then said: “You’re astoundingly lucky that my wife isn’t here yet. I get nothing done with her around.”

“Yeah, it seems like you have a weird job,” I said, rubbing my neck.

“And she is a gem, oh to think they believed in me more than her, but of course, I do get to foist all my work onto her.” There was a sparkle in Elva’s eye when she talked about her wife. And my core was shook meeting daemons who had humanity behind them. Even the most hurtful were beings with love and families.

Worst of all, Violet had the most of it. The pain missed her, or shot her in the chest with liquid gold.

“Did you ever know a Violet Slymer?” I asked her. “She’s the one who turned herself into gold, and y’all seem to know a lot of ghosts.”

“Hardly, it is a chore to keep up with them. We like to invite them back to our world on occasion, or perhaps all the time.” She looked up and bit her lip. “You must have seen me with my horse. He and the fiddler are a special case. A joint project between the light of my life and myself.”

“And me?”

“I’m sure there’s a reason to give you your skin back, but I’ll spare you the details. My lovely grandson is annoyingly proud of what he did to save you. I’m sure he’d know your Violet too.”

Now to get the obvious out of the way: Elva looked like Barry in drag, though prettier than that sentence sounded. It was in the eyes and the way they squinted when they both smiled. I chuckled. “He seems proud of a lot of things.”

“It’s a wonderful trait to have. I pity those who waste a second of their lives on hating themselves,” she said, surrounded by luxury. “So what’s your excuse for not enjoying the second chance no one else has?”

“Take a wild guess,” I said. Daemonic laughter stabbed the room every few seconds.

“Cursed with the woman who disgusts you?” Elva asked.

“Everyone has one? And Violet is so…perfect. I don’t know if I wanna banish her or marry her or just plant a big kiss on her lips anyways. It’s so hard!”

“Oh darling, I had a friend who disgusted me. Not once did I touch her, even before her crimes. Instead I married the woman who makes me laugh until I cry and cry until I fall asleep.”

“Sounds great.”

She smiled. “You should see her on stage tonight. Imagine a glowing face and lithe fingers that dance around the strings of a bass…it’s certainly not how she won me over, but I don’t think you’re the one for love-at-first-sight tales.”

I thought about how my heart was aching for a wife. Even a wife as a general concept. For a moment I wanted to be Elva, or her wife, or any gay daemon there since there seemed to be a lot of them. And I barely knew them or liked their actions. Beyond Barry, Cara, and the women who helped bring Barry into the world, it was still dismal. And yet, I was surrounded by them at their most drunk and harmless.

“No, I wish I was that kind of person,” I said.

“Take one thing away from this, and marry your best friend. Of course, it is hard for a mortal to marry within this little family, so perhaps leave our dear Cara out of this.” Elva sniffed the air a little. “I hope that’s enough for your curiosity. I smell my wife.”

“You can smell her?”

“And darling, I wish the same on you.” She eyed me up and down. “You can stay for a bit for the music, but you look positively shabby tonight. It’s like no one’s given you any love.”

“Cara bought me this,” I said, tugging on my plaid hoodie.

“Case in point.”

Elva took me to the mirror in the corner and soon I was embraced by a flowing gown and my hair in a small bun. She really wanted to be in the 1920’s again.

“So were you born then?” I asked.

“The 20’s? Of course, before. I had to come of age into it.”

“And your wife?”

Elva looked away slyly. “It was the perfect time for love.”

Her wife leaped into her arms the moment they saw each other. She was interesting I suppose. She let out a scream when running towards her wife and looked as eccentric as the rest of the crowd, or even weirder. She was the only woman there who elected to wear a tuxedo, with a harlequin-diamond pattern on the vest and tie. It didn’t match her electric-yellow hair.

They were the kind of couple who existed only in each others’ arms, one gloved hand in another. If Elva’s wife wasn’t busy with the aftermath of a nightclub accident that killed five, they wouldn’t have been apart that night at all.

It’s not like I thought daemons couldn’t love. Even Vega loved her husband in some way. And as for Violet, I still couldn’t convince myself that she could do anything but love. Her presence tainted the house but was the only thing keeping the lights on for me too.

Carmella found her grating. No nuance to it. I wished my life could be that simple.

“Great act tonight.” A hand touched my waist, and I looked over my shoulder to Cara, dressed for a night at the opera. She was the only one in the room not wearing black, which was never her color.

Elva and her wife completed the act on stage with bass and vocals. Elva, the hoarse and indelicate soprano, and Fionola the intricate bassist. Her finger-plucking was faster than I could do on a guitar. And for guitarists, it was optional, a flourish saved for classical guitarists and showoffs. Not for her craft, though.

But I still liked the ghost fiddler the best. He was as silver as I once was but actually content with his life.

“This seems like a waste of your souls,” I said.

Cara looked around the room. “Ghosts can do great things. I wish I had told you that earlier.”

“No, I’m more aware of that than anyone else.” Violet was now a published scientist after all. It didn’t even seem to impress her but she co-wrote a paper with Dr. Singh and his wife (the other Dr. Singh). Acting like she wasn’t tainted from the core. “Shouldn’t you know how bad Vega was?”

“Yeah, bad enough not to change my mind,” said Cara, holding up an envelope to me. Violet’s name was scrawled on the front in her handwriting. “Don’t shoot the messenger, that’s all.”

“So what do you know about her?”

“I really should’ve seen it coming. It’s all in the nose.”

“Don’t insult Violet’s nose like that.” I stuffed the letter in my bra. I got to keep the dress that Elva clad me in, but she didn’t give it any pockets.

I was invited to stay at the lounge for the whole night, but I declined. The house was so empty even if I was there. Pappy’s absence was always palpable. No more lunatic screeds over dinner. No fresh fish from his fishing trips. No more Spot curled up in my bed when he had a nightmare. But that must have been why he got me a real dog.

It broke my heart, but not Carmella’s. She started dating a new guy a few months before this. And as much as I didn’t want to hate Samidh, I hated seeing him in the house, especially on a night like that. In some way, he was Carmella’s perfect fit. I’d describe him as domestic: good at decorating a house in knick-knacks, cooking, and taking care of his kindergarten class.

His life wouldn’t come apart at the seams unless Carmella broke up with him, and even then, I doubted it.

She wasn’t fazed by Pappy’s passing. His philandering bothered her after a while. So I coughed loudly to distract them.

“Oh, heavens, I think Sammy should be getting home anyways, for the children,” she said. Sweet relief. “But I found something splendid while you were gone, Sheila.”

Carmella took my arm and lead me into her sculpting studio.

“Can you believe it? It’s scorching in this room, but I found non-melting ice! Why, I feel like it’s our new iron age.”

“Thanks, but that’s not new. Or magical.” Uncle Harwood figured out non-melting ice too. He was one of the most normal people I knew, letting me complain about school when my parents were sick of it. And if he was magical, he’d probably use it to break free of Vega or get his bratty kids to behave.

“You’ve seen so much of his beautiful world, and yet here you are, being grumpy in my studio,” she said. “I think you should work on that.”

“Yeah, I have a while to.” The envelope was starting to itch against my skin. It was thick with several sheets of paper. And it wasn’t like Violet left our house. She was bound here forever in two separate ways. But she had work and Olivia as good excuses to leave for days at a time. I was tempted to sleep at work too.

I almost tore the envelope open, but my eyes were heavy. And I didn’t want to imagine Vega’s face. Whatever was in there would force me to.

---

Jazz violin? As amazing as I thought it’d be. (it was a tough fight between a fiddler and a banjoist for the scene)