Honeymoon of the Dead (8 page)

The cab let us out on the corner. Sebastian paid quickly, as the cabbie had double-parked and blocked a lane of traffic, though everyone in Minnesota was too polite to honk.

There was some foreign film playing at ten thirty, so we bought tickets. I tugged Sebastian’s arm in the direction of the bookstore down the street. “Come on,” I said. “You’ll love Orr Books. Oh, and Magers & Quinn.”

Uptown is the closest Minneapolis has to bustle. Although none of the buildings in Uptown are more than three or four stories high, the area compensated for its lack of height with a multitude of neon and bright twinklies. Cars hissed by on slushy streets. Small white Christmas lights entwined nearly every branch of the scrawny gingko trees lining the sidewalks.

When I lived here, Uptown was artsy in that best-kept-secret kind of way, as in artists could actually afford to live there. After years of the successful Uptown Art Fair, the neighborhood had gotten “noticed” and, as a consequence, was much more commercial and high priced. Now the Gap and Aveda and McDonald’s beckoned customers to enter their brightly lit interiors. But here and there, in the shadows of the chain stores, lingered cute, trendy, independently owned stores selling cards, jewelry, and various must- have curios. Remnants of the Uptown I used to know.

I’d been hoping to share old memories, but instead I found myself showing Sebastian a lot of ghosts.

“The Rainbow bar used to be here,” I said as we passed a place that now seemed to serve sushi. “It was really cool,” I said rather wistfully.

Sebastian nodded.

I suppose, of anyone in the world, a thousand- year-old vampire understood that things change.

Me, I wasn’t ready for it.

Orr Books was gone too replaced by a Barnes & Noble. Most of my favorite funky shops had disappeared or seemed to me to be trying too hard to be what Uptown used to be. Their attempts struck me as a little too much intentional hipness, the way window dressing was ever so artfully placed. It wasn’t a complete loss, however. For every snarky, self-referential, modern-too-cool- for-you bit of sparkly consumerism, there were genuine bits of whimsy—a funny bird made from used garden tools or stationery so bright and textured I just had to pull Sebastian into the store to fondle it.

Sebastian and I strolled slowly, holding hands, as picture-perfect snowflakes slowly shifted colors as they drifted down through the lights of the city.

My nose was chilled by the time we entered Magers & Quinn bookstore. The comforting smell of old books greeted me along with a rush of overheated air from a nearby vent. Sebastian and I stomped our boots on the soggy rug and went our separate ways. I knew he’d head first for the philosophy section, and I’d scour the nearby occult and astrology shelves. We’d probably meet where alchemy and New Age joined.

Poetic, huh?

After stuffing my gloves in the pocket of my coat, I rubbed my hands together briskly with delight and, as a bonus, to warm them. Despite managing a bookstore back home, I loved browsing for books, especially used ones. Mercury Crossing mostly carried only the newest titles. We didn’t have room for much else, especially since we also stocked incense, tarot cards, candles, jewelry, and pretty much everything else a modern witch might need. But when I shopped for myself, I particularly loved looking for old astrology books that were published before—or just at—the discovery of Pluto in 1930. Though, honestly, I loved leafing through any book on my favorite subject.

As I was glancing through the titles—many of which, sadly, I recognized as remainders—I suddenly had that feeling of being watched. I turned, half expecting Sebastian, only to glimpse a hulking figure ducking quickly behind the stacks.

“Hello?” I asked, because part of me is a bit like Pooh—I always invited the strange noise inside, even when it could be an Animal of Hostile Intent. I walked over to where I thought I saw the person disappear and peered around the edge of the tall, wooden bookshelf.

No one was there.

I stood for a moment, chewing the fingernail of my thumb. I stared at the empty aisle and doubted my sanity. I had seen somebody, hadn’t I?

“Sports section? That’s not really you, is it, Garnet?” Sebastian’s hand on my shoulder made me jump about three feet straight in the air.

“You scared the crap out of me,” I accused, once I found my voice.

“Obviously.” Sebastian smiled lightly. “Do I dare say you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

I laughed a bit breathily. Given our life, it wouldn’t be totally implausible that I had, but I shook my head. “I don’t think so. It was probably just some kid playing tricks.”

Sebastian gave me a disbelieving look. “A kid? Garnet, when is it ever a kid?”

“I just had that feeling of being watched, and—” I spread my hands to indicate the expanse of the empty aisle. Then I frowned and put my gloved hands on my hips. “Why couldn’t it be a kid? I mean, just once. Why couldn’t something in our life be completely nonmagical and ordinary? Other people get spied on by kids. Why can’t I?”

Sebastian gave me a patient grimace and hugged me to his chest. “You’re babbling, darling.” I might have felt patronized, but it felt good to be wrapped up in his strong arms for the moment. Besides, pressed as I was into his chest, I could smell the scent of him: cinnamon and musky maleness.

“Why couldn’t it be something normal?” I muttered into the silk of his tie, trying to keep the whine out of my voice.

“It could be,” he acquiesced, nudging me upright so he could look me in the eye. “But you’re some kind of a vortex all your own, my love. Magical things are attracted to you like a magnet. Hell, my life was more mundane before I met you. Where you are, excitement follows.”

“You make it sound much cooler than it is,” I said. And what did it mean for our marriage? Would we always be plagued by things that go bump in the night?

“You wouldn’t know what to do with a normal life,” he teased.

That was it! Of course my life had been going to hell; I’d cast a spell for everything to be normal. As soon as we got back to the hotel, I was going to reverse it.

I gave Sebastian a deep, passionate kiss. “Thank you,” I said.

He looked a little baffled, but he returned my smile. “Let me know if I can do it again—whatever it was.”

 

 

The movie was some kind of period piece in Croatian.
The popcorn was perfectly salted and went well with the four-dollar Milk Duds I gobbled greedily. Sebastian put his arm around me as we sat in the balcony of the majestic theater, with its funky Art Deco reliefs and velvet seats. I may have drifted off to sleep near the end, but I had a great time.

I didn’t see any Gods or ghosts until we headed home on the bus. We could have taken a taxi, I suppose, but just as we stepped out of the theater the No. 4 into downtown seemed to arrive like a coach. When the doors whooshed open, Sebastian and I gave each other a “Why not?” look and hopped on.

At this hour the bus was completely deserted. An old guy with frizzy white hair whose features were almost completely obscured by an olive military parka seemed to be asleep at the rear, his head bobbing to the jostling rhythm of the bus’s lurching gait. Sebastian and I took seats near the middle.

“This is a grand adventure, isn’t it?” Sebastian said with a smile. He offered me the bag of books we’d bought, and I fished out my copy of
Murder by the Stars,
a sensational look at the astrological charts of famous serial killers, and he settled in with some esoteric book about Plato.

I tried, but I couldn’t really focus on reading. I kept seeing familiar landmarks—oh, look, Kinhdo Restaurant; I love that place!—surrounded by entirely new buildings and businesses. Where was the old bike shop? That ice-cream shop used to be around the corner, didn’t it? When did Minneapolis put up so many slick-looking condos?

Plus, occasionally, I’d see things that brought a whole different kind of memory back. As we passed the huge synagogue, I remembered turning down that side street often to visit an old friend who lived in one of those huge historic apartment buildings near Lake of the Isles. She had the coolest pocket doors in that place, and that cute, narrow little pantry. I must have visited three times a week for walks around the lake and gossip sessions about the pagan community. Oh, I almost laughed out loud with memory of that time the Canada geese chased us! She was so kicky and fun to hang with.

Of course, that all ended when she found out I was sleeping with her boyfriend.

Then I became the one gossiped about, since that little misadventure of mine sent huge ripples among my friends, especially when it came out about that stupid love spell. Why do I never seem to learn how dumb-ass those things are?

I shook my head. I’d lost a lot of friends over that little kerfuffle.

Hey, look, Rudolph Valentino’s rib place survived! As the bus moved into downtown, I noted to Sebastian that he was now turning from Hennepin on to Hennepin. He just shook his head and muttered about drunken city planners.

I didn’t even rise to the bait. My brain was still elsewhere. “How do you live with it all? All the memories. All the history,” I asked. We crossed over a light-rail line with a bump, and I had to ask, “It’s weird enough to see trains in this town for me. How was it to see trains, well, invented?”

He laughed, and put his finger in his book to mark his place. “I don’t know that you ever really cope. It’s harder here in America. You people never sit still. Nothing ever stays the same.” He sounded reflective and a bit melancholy. Giving me a sad smile, he added, “But that has its upside too.”

I thought about my ex-friend. I wouldn’t have remembered her if that neighborhood had changed more, and so I nodded my head. “I think I understand that part.”

With a nod, he went back to his book, and I returned to staring out the window.

It was only after we made the switch downtown to the Washington Avenue/University bus line that I noticed the new driver was a troll.

Our fingers touched when he handed me the transfer ticket back, and suddenly I saw that the irises of his eyes were the color of stone as was, honestly, much of his skin. Bushy moss hung in place of brows, and his hair seemed to be an odd assortment of twigs and fern.

I blinked, rubbed my eyes. The image wavered, but held. The vegetation-topped bus driver started to pull away from the curb, and Sebastian had already taken a seat in the middle. I stumbled my way to my seat.

Holding on to the back of the metal handrail of the seat in front of me, I continued to stare at the bus driver. We moved along Washington Avenue, going under the pedestrian bridge connecting the two halves of the university’s campus, which was divided by the Mississippi.

I noticed the troll looking back at me in the rearview mirror. I nudged Sebastian. Sebastian looked up from his book sleepily.

“Does our bus driver look like a troll?” I asked him.

The bus had stopped to let on two black women in heavy parkas and brightly decorated silk
hijab
. They chatted in a mix of English and Somali as they flowed past us in their snow boots and long, swirling skirts.

As we started up again, Sebastian cocked his head thoughtfully and squinted, as though taking a long, serious look at the bus driver. “I suppose he does look like a troll a bit, particularly around the shoulders. He has a rather heavy forehead. For myself, I’d have to say more Cro-Magnon.”

“Really? The moss hair doesn’t seem more trollish?”

Sebastian glanced at me, and then slid his gaze to the driver. Returning his attention to me, he said, “I don’t really see moss, though it is thin in places and yet somehow wiry.” After a moment of consideration, it occurred to him: “This is like Fonn, isn’t it? You’re seeing something magical. You know, trolls and Frost Giants are from the same pantheon. He could be working with her. Should we get off?”

I didn’t know. Even though the troll kept glancing surreptitiously in our general direction, he didn’t seem terribly threatening. All the same, I didn’t really want to die in a fiery bus accident either. I was about to tell Sebastian the same when I noticed: “Hey, isn’t that James Something?”

Sebastian’s eyes flicked toward the front of the bus.

Nondescript in his brown coat and forest green knit stocking hat, the guy dropping coins one by one into the meter looked a lot like Sebastian’s personal stalker to me. Though he did have the kind of face that, well, didn’t really remind you of anyone in particular, but you’d thought you’d maybe seen somewhere before. He was handsome enough not to be noticeably unattractive, and I could see him making a living playing that extra in the movies who gets a line in the credits as “guy number two on the street.” He never looked up at us, however, and took a seat on the bench at the front that faced inward.

Sebastian squinted at him. “Are you sure?”

“No. I mean, how can I be? He’s the definition of forgettable.”

Sebastian nodded slowly, like I’d said something profound. “Then it’s him for certain.”

“Have the Illuminati invented a cloaking device or something?”

The look Sebastian gave me was a combination of amusement and confusion. “What are you on about? You’re starting to sound far too much like William sometimes, you know that?”

My co-worker William had a tendency to quote Monty Python out of context or make references to the more fringe areas of New Age, like Area 51, without a lot of buildup or explanation. It’s why we loved him, so I didn’t take Sebastian’s comment as a dis. “I just wondered why you were suddenly convinced. I mean, what about being uninteresting makes you so confident that’s James Something?”

“Because they’re all like that. I swear it’s a job requirement for being a watchdog: ‘Required to look like no one in particular. Blending skills a must.’ ”

I laughed. “That’d be a great classified.” I continued to play with the idea. “ ‘Experience tracking vampire billionaires preferred.’ ”