“That's the guy who donated an obscene amount to the college. Now they're naming a wing after him,” said Marisa. “His face is already on every bus shelter.”
“And all over Times Square,” Gabe added.
“Brendan Wavestone,” Glass muttered. “Fashion mogul, purveyor of the world's largest selfies. The guy can't get enough of himself.”
“I think my mother dated him once,” Gabe said.
We all looked at her.
“You're kidding. That slimebucket?” Jeremy said.
“Mom gets around. They're both on the Board of Trustees of a few places. I know she knows him socially.”
I shuddered, reminded yet again of just how mismatched Gabe and I were.
“He is sort of attractive,” Marisa said. “If you go for the pretentious tanning-salon variety. Not my type at all.”
“Obviously,” Glass said. “Eggheads trump boneheads every time. Oops, sorry about that, Pendell.”
I shot him a lethal glare. “It's going to be your face on the news next time, Glass.”
He leaned back and laughed. “Good one! Nice to see those virgin neurons getting a workout.”
I cracked my knuckles. Gabe pressed my wrists down with her hands, and waved to the sour-faced waiter for our check. “What do you say we get going? I think enough blood has been shed for one night.”
I glanced up at Glass and caught him sneaking peeks at Gabe.
Yeah. When this was all over, I really was going to bust his nose.
10
Jeremy
Saturday: 2:19 AM
M
arisa flashed me one of her warning looks, like maybe I'd pushed the envelope a bit too far this time. Truth be told, I couldn't always tell. It wasn't like I tried to be a jerk. I just couldn't help myself from grabbing at low-hanging fruit. Plus, poking fun at Bobby Pendell helped me to avoid thinking about how much he made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.
What spooked me even more was the pale wispy cloud that trailed us from the diner to their campus apartment. Every time I'd whip around to get a good look, it would vanish. But it didn't matter. I knew it was my friendly neighborhood ghost, the flywing girl.
Pendell glanced around the deserted streets as if every shadow had it in for him. I was starting to wonder if there was a link between my affinity for dead people and his connection with inanimate objects. I shivered. Until now, I'd never considered my odd ability to be anything more than a mild nuisance. Pendell, on the other hand, seemed to be a prisoner of his.
The apartment where Gabe and Bobby were staying was in a bright, modern building, about ten times more posh than the third-floor walk-up in Hamilton Heights where Agent Reston had me holed up. Nice touch, putting an amputee in a walk-up.
The doorman greeted us like we were returning from a charity gala and I had to wonder if it was the Gabriella Sorensen effect. It seemed as if the mention of her name made doors swing wide open.
I stole another glance at Gabe. Jabbing at Pendell was one thing, but allowing my attraction for the redhead to go any further would hurt Marisa. And she'd been hurt enough.
I breathed in deeply and took a mental vow to look less, and to never, never touch. I did, however, continue to try to understand her attraction to Pendell. Medium height, wiry, with long black hair, a few days' worth of sparse growth on his chin and slouchy clothes, the kid had dark-lashed blue eyes that could go from dazed innocence to keenly observant in a matter of seconds. I still couldn't figure what a babe like the redhead saw in him, but then again, opposites attract. A smart-ass shithead like me was probably the exact kind of person she'd been trying to avoid.
â
We entered the studio apartment in silence. It looked un-lived in, except for the bed, where the tangled sheets stood in testimony to where exactly Bobby and Gabe had spent most of their time while they were here.
I tried to keep my gaze from drifting away from my companions. But the cold air behind me made me acutely aware that the flywing girl had followed us here. She lingered, hopefully wringing her hands behind me. She'd grown sharper, clear enough now that I could see her smeared makeup. That she was shoeless in torn black stockings.
I shuddered and tried to ignore her. “Anything in the fridge?” I asked, sauntering over to the kitchenette.
Marisa shot me a withering look. “Don't be rude,” she mouthed.
“We have some Pellegrino,” Gabe said. “If you want.”
Marisa's eyes flashed. “Don't mind him. We don't need anything.”
“No worries. It's fine.” Gabe paced the room like a nervous cat. She'd already fetched four glasses, some ice, and a big bottle of Pellegrino despite Marisa's refusal.
Pendell had sunk into the couch and was massaging his temples with the heels of his palms. “Why don't we just get on with this?”
I followed his weary eyes as they scanned the room and hitched right at the spot the dead woman stood, eagerly watching us. Then his gaze shifted and met mine straight on.
He'd seen her.
His eyes drooped closed and he hugged himself, shivering though the room was far from cold. “Give me the ring, Gabe.”
Pendell sounded as if he'd just announced that he planned to go for a stroll on the third rail.
And for the first time that night, I really did not feel like cracking a joke.
11
Bobby
Saturday: 2:36 AM
I
wondered if Glass knew that I'd noticed how he'd tensed up when his gaze had drifted to a certain spot in the room. My own gaze tracked his to that place where the air had shimmered vaguely, like dust caught in sunlight. I couldn't see whatever watched us from the fringes of reality, but I had no doubt Jeremy had.
Suddenly, I understood that beneath his smart-mouthed exterior and idiot wisecracks, Jeremy Glass was just as terrified as I was.
Glass jiggled the cubes and sipped at his glass of Pellegrino. “Hits the spot. Thanks.”
“None for me, thanks,” Marisa said curtly. Her dark eyes flicked nervously to mine and then looked away.
The bubbles in my glass fizzed and floated up to the top, mesmerizing me. “I'm ready as I'll ever be,” I said, but my body quaked with dread.
I pulled in a deep breath and squeezed my eyes closed. I didn't want to see anything other than the dark as my reality peeled away in ragged strips, replaced by whatever truths the ring held.
I extended my open palm, eyes tightly closed.
“I'm ready, Gabe.”
“Are you sure?” she asked.
I heard them fidget and shift positions. I sat motionless, waiting for the feel of the cool metal to drop onto my palm. “Let's just get it over with,” I snapped, my voice rough.
There was a pause, then hesitant steps, followed by the weight of the ring against my skin. It was warm from Gabe's grip, rather than cold.
For a split second it was only a piece of jewelry, but then the dark space behind my closed eyes filled in with color and motion. My stomach lurched as if the floor had dropped away. Then, I was falling.
â
The girl is one drink away from throwing her guts up, but the guy across the seat from her keeps insisting she have another sip. They are riding in a car, the back of a limo from what I can tell.
Just one more, he says, because he likes the way she laughs. She slips the fancy ring off his hand and teases, “Let's get married.”
He laughs again. “Have a little more and the ring is yours. It's my father's anyway. He doesn't know I took it.”
“You stole your father's ring?”
“Why not?” says the guy. He's hot, with a sly smile that's to die for. His teeth are as white as the streetlights.
“No thanks,” she says. “I've kind of had enough.”
“Just another sip, Brittany.”
He's been so nice to her. He'd told her she had a future in modeling and he had just the right connections for that. And she had what it took.
She'd met him at a club downtown, and when she'd noticed him break from his circle and come towards her, her girlfriends had all seemed impressed. He looked like someone famous, but she didn't know who. With his expensive suit and watch, he seemed to have money to burn.
She just was on the brink of flunking out of the Fashion Merchandising Program at the Fashion Institute of Technology. It wasn't what she'd thought it would be and it was only a matter of time before she had to suck it up and admit to her parents that she'd blown her so-called big chance. She'd always figured that it was just a stepping stone anyway, that she was destined to be a model or an actress. But if she didn't act fast, she'd be packing up her dorm room and heading home on the first bus back to Tennessee. Which was as good as nailing her in a coffin and throwing dirt on it.
â
I shot out of the vision like a swimmer gasping for breath after nearly drowning. The room around me wavered faintly behind watery darkness, sounds echoing in pulsating reverberations.
“Hello?” I called. But no one answered.
My body pressed into the couch like giant hands were trying to push me back under. The ring burned the flesh of my palm. Only seconds passed before I was sucked back under like I'd stepped into quicksand.
â
“What's your name?” the girl asks.
“My friends call me Nero,” the guy says, smiling. “But you can call me Zero.” He's young and really pretty. Maybe even a model himself.
Her head is spinning. “Is that your real name?”
“Also rhymes with Hero. Does it matter, if I'm going to make you a star, Brittany?”
She giggles, then hiccups, a little bit of throw-up in her mouth. Her stomach is starting to roll.
“I don't really feel that well. I want toâ I don't want to drink anymore.”
“Just another sip, Brittany. Don't you know that success doesn't come without sacrifice?”
There is a cold edge under her tipsiness. A vague warning. She rifles through her bag for her phone, just in case, but comes up empty. She feels full-on sick now, like her insides are doing back flips.
The man lunges for her. The limo keeps moving, the world outside the tinted windows a crazy blur. She has no idea where she is or where this guy is taking her, but she is so not going to let this be the end of her.
“Stop the car!” she screams, but the man is all over her. He's hurting her, one hand under her dress, the other pressing into her windpipe so she can barely breathe.
She finds the ring inside her bag, slips it onto her middle finger, and slashes her hand out as hard as she can. It opens a gash across his nose and cheek. Enraged, the man screams and flails at her with both fists. She grabs one of his hands and bites down hard.
The car comes to a sudden halt. The door opens and she tumbles out, unsure if she jumped or if she was pushed. She tosses her shoes away and runs into the night, as fast as she can.
â
Someone pulled at my hand, but I held onto the ring, my grip iron, because if I let go I'd drown for sure. Trapped in flickering half-light, there just didn't seem to be enough air to fill my lungs. And then, I was sucked under again.
â
The scent of lavender suffuses the air.
A man stands with his back to the woman on the bed, adjusting his collar.
“Did you really think I wouldn't find out?” The woman carefully files her nails while occasionally glancing up at the man.
“I didn't care, actually. And you're in no position to complain.”
“You're such a bastard.”
“So what are you? Joan of Arc?”
The man stares at his seventh wife in the mirror, picks up his ring, the one that had been in his family for generations, from the dresser, slips it on his tan finger, and walks silently out of their bedroom.
12
Jeremy
Saturday: 3:15 AM
B
obby Pendell's eyes rolled crazily around like loose marbles, his whole body jumping and twitching as if he was bacon on a griddle.
“He could choke on his own saliva,” Marisa said, turning him on his side. “Are you sure he's not an epileptic?”
“No. But he did have surgery for a brain tumor not that long ago. It was benign and he wasâokay⦔ Gabe said, but then trailed off.
“I don't know how much longer we should let this go on,” Marisa said. “This fit could really mess him up. Possibly kill him. It's just not worth it.”
Sweat plastered Pendell's black hair to his skull. I kept one eye on him and the other on the apparition who paced back and forth in front of me.
“It was his choice,” Gabe said. “Bobby knows what he's doing.”
I walked to the tall windows and stared out over the rooftops of Harlem, now stained orange by the rising sun. “Does he?”
â
After Gabe had finally managed to pry the ring free from Pendell's clawed fist, he'd gone instantly limp. The three of us managed to carry his dead weight to the bed, where he appeared to have fallen into a deep sleep.
“For starters,” I said, “I think we need to get him some gloves so he doesn't keep touching stuff and having psychic seizures. But I don't know if that's even good enough.”
Since there wasn't much else we could do for the time being, except wait for Pendell to rouse, Gabe lay beside him on the bed. Marisa and I curled up on the couch and we both promptly fell asleep.
The sound of a chair scraping followed by a soft thump woke me. Midday light streamed through the windows. Pendell stood with his back turned to me.
The apparition girl stared at him from a few feet away, and from the way his attention appeared to be focused on her, I was pretty sure he could see her.
“What are you doing, dude?”
Ignoring me, Bobby took a few hesitant steps toward the apparition girl.
“Pendell, can you hear me?”
Marisa mumbled and turned over but did not wake. Gabe still slept soundly in the bed that Bobby had just vacated. I quickly strapped on Veronica, got up quietly up from my roost on the couch, and then parked myself between Bobby and the flywing girl.