Hourglass (2 page)

Chapter 2

T
homas!
” I yelled, before anxiety choked off my air supply.

I turned my head toward the sound of a chair clattering to the floor in the kitchen. It seemed to go on forever. When I looked back at the windows, Jack was gone. Thomas flew into the room, skidding to a stop beside me.

“Why, why, why?” I asked, slumping back against the side of the bookcase, hitting my head against it with each question. “Why do you have to keep renovating buildings? Why can’t you just put up a new one?”

Thomas’s mouth dropped open in shock. “It happened? Here?”

He was asking about my problem with those who were … no longer living.

Not dead, exactly. I hadn’t quite figured out
what
the things I saw were; I knew only that I’d never heard a ghost story that involved the ghosts popping like balloons and dissolving if someone touched them. I’d started seeing them when I was thirteen, just before my parents died. Thomas had been renovating an old glass company, turning it into office spaces.

My first time on the job site I’d had a lovely conversation with an older man wearing a hard hat. He smelled of tobacco and sweat. His nose sat slightly off center, the veins decorating the bulbous end indicating he liked his brewski. He was pleasant enough, even offered to share his dinner. I declined, but he insisted I have a taste of the icebox pie his wife had included in his well-used lunch pail.

That was when things got tricky. As he tried to place the food in my hand, I realized he wasn’t solid. He came to the same conclusion, dropping the pie and pail, screaming like a woman who forgot to take her panties off the clothesline before the preacher came to call. Then he disappeared. Poof.

Welcome to insanity. He was followed by a long string of people—dead people—who showed up in the strangest of places and disappeared only when I touched them. From my restroom stall at Denny’s to the dressing room at Macy’s, I never got used to it.

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into living here. I should have known nowhere this old was safe. And this guy knew my name.”

That had
never
happened before.

Thomas visibly tensed. “He knew your name?”

I nodded, closing my eyes. Jack had also said he was here to see me. Thomas didn’t need to know that part.

“Em, I thought it stopped.”

My boarding school had been in Sedona, Arizona. Pioneers didn’t roll up on the town until the turn of the century, so it wasn’t real hard to tell the difference between an ancient Yavapai potter and, say, my gym teacher.

I had thought things were better, but now I wasn’t so sure. Unless their clothing was obviously from a different time period, I couldn’t always tell if people were part of the here and now or that window from the past. I had become a historical fashion guru, not because I loved clothes but because being able to identify attire from different decades was helpful. Women were easier to nail down, but with the exception of the butterfly collars and blue tuxedos of the 1970s, classic menswear spanned generations and posed a bigger problem.

I avoided any theme parks or museums where the employees dressed true to period. Complete nightmare. I also spent a lot of time trying not to touch people. Unless they happened to be wearing a hoopskirt. And they were standing in my way.

“It did stop. I thought it did,” I said.

At least until I flushed my meds.

My brother had walked a hard road with me. Keeping the grief locked away inside—both from losing my parents and the insanity of seeing people who weren’t really there—hadn’t been a good mental health choice. Hospitalization followed by a strong cocktail of medications to stop the “hallucinations” worked for a while. But last winter, tired of living in a zombielike fog, I took the plunge and weaned myself from the pharmaceuticals without telling anyone.

Even Thomas.

The visions slowly returned. Em the Zombie Girl was gone, but Em the Potentially Psychotic Girl wasn’t working out so well either. Now I was back to wondering if the people I spoke to on the street were real.

“I’m sorry, Em.”

I looked up at Thomas. “You have no reason to apologize.”

“I am the one who bought the building.” His eyebrows were puckered so close together it looked like a caterpillar was inching across his forehead.

“Well, hells bells, by all means change your occupation to coddle your freakish little sister.” I pushed myself away from the bookcase. “Like I haven’t caused enough trouble in your life already.”

“Don’t say that. You’re still going to come to the restaurant opening, aren’t you?” Thomas asked, anxiety evident in his expression. “Bring Lily.”

Since my feelings of guilt were already on the surface, it didn’t take much for Thomas to swing the decision to his advantage.

“We’ll be there.”

To avoid any more accidental freakiness, I went to Lily’s to get ready.

Most of the people I had grown up with avoided me like a cold sore. It all stemmed from the one key public event that got me committed. Long story short, I had a loud argument with a guy in the cafeteria at school about how rude he was to take my seat when I’d only left it to get a fork. I then proceeded to threaten to poke him with said fork.

No one else saw him.

In case the straight-up screaming argument with thin air wasn’t enough to convince the lunch crowd I’d gone over the edge, the hysterical laughing that followed did. It turned to blubbering when Lily wrapped her arm around my waist and hurried me to the bathroom.

Lily’d been my best friend since the day we met in third grade. She’s always accepted me for who I am, whatever that involves. I do the same for her. I wasn’t exaggerating when I told Thomas she was the only reason going back to school in Ivy Springs would be okay.

Lily and her grandmother lived in the apartment above their restaurant. Using the back entrance, I let myself in. I found her in the middle of her living room, stretching her long legs into a Pilates pose. It looked painful. I preferred to run—put in the earbuds and go, keeping my eyes focused on the ground and trying not to run through anybody—or to spar. I needed to find the nearest karate studio. Earning my brown belt before I left Arizona made me hungry to train for my black. And as a side benefit, ass kicking can be very relaxing.

“Hey, did you decide what you were wearing tonight?” I asked when she twisted her body in my direction.

“Don’t be mad.”

“If you aren’t going, it’s too late. I’m already mad.”

“Please?” She dropped to her knees and held her hands together like an orphan begging for more porridge. “I got called in to a night shoot. Some cavern wants stills for their Web site.”

Lily works a camera as easily as some people work a toaster. Her talent had snagged her a summer job as an assistant to one of the Appalachians’ most successful nature photographers. “Tell me you know I wouldn’t bail if I thought I could get out of it and keep my job.”

I rolled my eyes. “I know you wouldn’t bail if you thought you could get out of it and keep your job.”

“Thank you, thank you.” Lily scooted across the room on her knees to wrap her arms around me in a hug. “Oh, look at that, I’m practically your height now.”

Laughing, I gave her a shove in the direction of her exercise mat and went to her room to put my stuff down, laying the dress my sister-in-law had coerced me into wearing on Lily’s bed along with shoes, purse, and jewelry. Dru had given me very specific instructions about how to put it all together. Sometimes she made me feel like I wasn’t capable of dressing myself. I am; it’s just that I’ve always been a minimalist. And accessories confuse me.

While Lily finished her contortions, I took a shower, then used her computer to do a quick Internet search on the Hourglass. I liked to be prepared when it came to my brother and his parade of physicians, therapists, and witch doctors, but aside from an assortment of shopping results and one particularly embarrassing link to a strip club, I got nothing. I didn’t have time to look extensively because I knew Thomas would kill me if I wasn’t on time.

Dru really did have exquisite taste. The black velvet dress had a ruched waist, three-quarter length fitted sleeves, and a short skirt that swung like a bell when I walked. Assuming I would be able to walk once I put on my shoes. They were killer. I don’t mean they looked good, even though they did. I mean, they were really high and pointy, and although I’m not clumsy, they were potentially lethal both to me and anyone in my general vicinity.

Lily came into the room fresh from her workout—or not so fresh if you were standing downwind—just as I blotted my dark red lipstick.

“You look dramatic and mysterious,” she said, sucking in her cheeks and fluttering her lashes, much like Scarlett had earlier this afternoon. “I like to see you live up to your potential.”

“Wow, that’s high praise coming from you.”

She crossed her eyes and started messing with my hair.

A classic beauty with skin the color of caramel, Lily’s the kind of girl who causes men to run into street signs and trip over chairs because they’re too busy looking at her to walk. If she didn’t have a wicked sense of humor and more loyalty than a Saint Bernard, I would probably hate her on principle alone. I felt for the necklace Dru had sent with the dress, sure I’d put it on, while Lily pulled and twisted pieces of hair around my face.

“The necklace is still on the dresser,” Lily said, not taking her eyes away from me. “Your earrings are in the bag on the bed.”

I smacked her hands away. “How do you always know where to find things? And are you sure you can’t go? You could meet the boy of your dreams.”

“There’s not a boy alive like the one in my dreams,” she muttered, glancing toward the dresser before reaching out to fiddle with another wayward strand of hair. “All the rest are too much trouble.”

“Well, if he
were
alive, he wouldn’t be able to get past the smell. Hit the showers.” I smacked her playfully on the backside. “I don’t want to absorb your stink.”

She laughed and left the room in an exaggerated runway walk, but stuck her head back around the doorframe to flash her killer smile. “You really do look gorgeous. Try not to hurt yourself in those shoes.”

I turned to assess the finished product in the mirror. After spraying myself with my favorite perfume, a light lilac scent with a hint of vanilla, I scooped up my wrap and purse. I was almost out the door when I remembered my umbrella. It didn’t color coordinate. Maybe they wouldn’t let me in.

Chapter 3

N
o such luck.

When I entered the Phone Company, I got two thumbs up from Dru and an obnoxious catcall from my brother. After explaining that I was flying solo, I politely said hello to all the “important people” as Thomas introduced me, the images of their faces erased by the glare from more sequins, beading, and diamonds than should ever be allowed on a human who isn’t walking the red carpet. As soon as I could get away, I hid behind the jazz trio, practically under the spiral staircase near the bar, sipping on some kind of sparkling fruit juice and trying to blend into the wall. Watching the show.

And I had slipped out of the killer shoes.

I’d always leaned toward the shy side but was never unsocial until I started seeing visions of people from the past. It’s a really strange existence, not knowing if the person you’re talking to is physically there or not. Not knowing if you’re one hallucination away from a psychotic break. Once I began having visions on a regular basis, I would watch to see if someone wasn’t getting any attention, which was a big clue that that person might not actually be there. Of course, I usually ended up feeling sorry for those people and talked to them anyway. Although I made sure no one was watching.

Just in case.

A long time ago I’d decided against popping the people I saw like balloons. Sticking my hand out into what looked like a person, only to meet thin air … it had to freak them out as much as it did me. I tried to leave the visions alone, unless I had to walk through them.

At least things had been normal so far tonight. I was beginning to relax when I saw a young guy standing by the back patio doors at the other end of the room. His broad shoulders showed off a very well-cut black tux, which looked amazing on him but was unfortunate for me. Sizing him up, I ran through the usual checklist of details that helped me determine if someone was alive or not. First was clothing style. Black tie was way harder for me than street clothes. It was called classic for a reason, and he was as classic as they came.

His black hair was on the longish side—no help there either. Casually sexy, but no definitive style. I focused on his face. Clean shaven, but I’d bet his five o’clock shadow was heavy. Wickedly arched eyebrows accented long-lidded dark eyes. Olive skin suggested Mediterranean ancestors, and his defined cheekbones were congruous with the angles of his face. The exception was his very full mouth. His lips disturbed me.

I really hoped he was alive.

I gave myself a mental shake. What was I doing? Lips weren’t on my checklist. And when it came to guys—drop-dead gorgeous or not—I never got caught staring. But if the slow grin spreading across his face was any indication, I just had. Shoving my feet back into the killer heels, I searched the room for Thomas and Dru but couldn’t see them. I looked back at Tuxedo Guy. He was walking straight toward me.

Time to go. I reached out to leave my glass on the edge of the piano, then watched, shocked, as it went right through and crashed to the ground, a thousand little glistening diamonds on the ceramic tile.

My brother materialized immediately. “Are you okay?”

“No. Unless you see the jazz trio?” Please, please …

“Don’t see them.”

“Then no, definitely not okay.” The phantom musicians kept playing. I hadn’t attempted to come into physical contact with any of them—probably the only reason they didn’t fade away.

They
. Three at once? And a
piano
? I’d never seen a whole
scene
before. I couldn’t breathe. “I need air. I need air!”

“Excuse us.” Thomas smiled at the real live people nearby, the gracious host aiding his slightly hysterical sister. He guided me across the wide room to the French doors that led outside. It was a horrifying journey. I tried to pretend I didn’t see all the eyes following us. We exited onto the patio, empty due to the chill in the air from the earlier rain.

I took a deep breath, willing the adrenaline rush coursing through my system to slow down. “How many old buildings do you plan on renovating for public consumption? Just so I can prepare myself.”

At least I didn’t live in Europe. Whole centuries of long dead people walked around over there. In the U.S., I only had to deal with a few generations of those who could be confused for living in the present time. When Thomas and Dru had tried to plan a day trip to the annual Cherokee Indian Fair in North Carolina, I had flat refused. No historical reenactments. Ever.

“I can’t believe it’s this bad,” Thomas said, patting my arm in an attempt to extend comfort. I just shook my head. Now wasn’t the time to come clean about the meds.

Especially since the guy in the tux was walking through the open double doors.

“Do you see him?” I whispered, covering my eyes with my hands and peeking out between my trembling fingers, shaken by the thought of another vision so soon after the jazz trio.

“Do I see who?”

“Him.” I motioned for Thomas to look over his shoulder. If Tuxedo Guy wasn’t a living, breathing human being from this century, I was going to beg to be recommitted.

“Yes, I see him,” Thomas answered, the words ripe with relief. “That’s Michael.”

“Who’s Michael?”

“He’s the new consultant I was telling you about.”