Red Devil (Dangerous Spirits) (6 page)

“When it’s really hot, yeah.” Meg stepped into the room. “So what happened?”

Alexei shrugged. “It does not matter.” He turned his head and stared up at the painting of Niki. “I want to do the ritual.”

“What—” She followed his gaze. “Oh. No. No way.”

Niki looked back at him with one friendly green eye. He knew what it was like to grow up Siberian, an outsider. He had overcome his childhood. “Why not?”

“Because if you pretend you’re talking to Sol’s dream boy, he’ll be pissed. Or haven’t you noticed how he looks at that painting all the time, how it’s on his phone and his computer?”

Alexei bit his lip. “If I can talk to him, then Sol can again, too.”

“No, he can’t. And if—when you try and fail, he’ll just be more depressed.” She folded her arms.

“
I
will be depressed!” Alexei was trying to keep his voice down, but his shirt clung to his fur and he could still smell the tap water from the balloon and see Mike laughing at him and Kendall’s smirk. “Sol has a date and a ghost and I have—I cannot even—”

“Okay, settle down. What’s bothering you? Is it because you’re all wet? Get that shirt off and let me get you a towel.”

“No—” But she was already gone. He inhaled and pulled his shirt off, throwing it in the corner.

Meg returned with a towel and tossed it to him, not commenting on his physique or fur or anything. “So what is it? Your sister?”

He rubbed his fur dry and shook his head. “There is someone I want to ask on a date…but…”

“A date? Fuck, is that all? Why don’t you just ask Sol?”

“I did—I mean, he is helping, but—”

“You know there are books, right? ‘Dating for Dummies’? I don’t know if there’s a ‘Gay Dating for Dummies,’ but probably. Anyway, you’re in a gay club! What could be easier?”

He threw the towel at her, his tail curled tightly against his leg. “If you do not wish to help me, then go away. I will find something on the Internet and I will do it myself.”

Meg dodged and then picked up the towel. “Fine, then do that. Don’t tell me how it goes.”

She walked out of the doorway and Alexei fumed, fists clenched, staring at the painting of Niki. The fox had talked to Sol, and now Alexei needed him, and he was right here in the room. There had to be a way to get through to him. He cleared his throat and said in Siberian, “
Niki…please come talk to me…help me…
”

He’d never had to summon a ghost in Samorodka; there, the problem was keeping away from the ghosts. He fixed his eyes on Niki’s until they watered, said variations on the same thing in Siberian and English over and over, and then went to his computer to search for ghost summoning rituals. All of them seemed ridiculous, and required incense or bells or chalk or (in one case) a blood sacrifice.

At that last one, Alexei put the computer to sleep and shuddered. It had been easy for Sol. He’d drunk the absinthe from Meg…

The fox stood up. Meg. She would have to get him some absinthe. He would just drink it himself, and then she wouldn’t have to be involved. He hurried out to the living room and knocked on her door.

“Go away,” she said, muffled.

“I just need some absinthe,” he said.

“Go. Away.”

“Please.” He slumped against her door. “I…don’t know what else to do.”

The silence lasted for so long that Alexei nearly trudged back to his room. But then Meg rattled the door handle and pulled her door open, and stood there staring at him. “You don’t need absinthe,” she said. “Anyway, Athos doesn’t have any more of it. Sol asked too.”

“Then—”

“Jesus.” Meg scowled at him. “If I help you do this ritual, will you promise to leave it alone and go pick up a self-help book or get a motivational CD or something and stop going on about ghosts?”

He perked his ears straight up and beamed at her. “Yes! I promise, yes.” Because of course the ritual would not fail, and then he would be able to talk to Niki and ask him for help, for confidence in talking to Mike. And if by some chance Niki refused to speak to him, well then, he would have to find something else to do anyway, and he wouldn’t involve Meg. But he knew in his heart that the ritual would work.

Meg sighed. “Fine. Let’s get it over with, then. Are you eating here tonight?” He nodded. “All right. Want to go with me to get fish at the market?”

His eyes lingered on the painting. “Can we do the ritual now?”

“No.” When he gave her a pleading look, she folded her arms. “One, you don’t know when Sol’s going to get back. Two, we have to do it at night.”

“Why?”

“We just do, that’s all. Ghosts come out at night.”

He thought of the second story of Jerry’s house, of the old abandoned house in Samorodka. “Not always.”

“Well, we’re doing it at night. Anyway, I need to get a list of stuff from Athos. Want to come to the market?”

Because it was better than sitting around the apartment, he went with her, hoping his fur would dry more quickly in the sun. She didn’t ask any more about the picnic; instead they talked about Sol and his date, about Alexei’s job, and about what movies were coming out. Meg tried to get him to make fun of some of the other shoppers with her, but after the picnic, Alexei didn’t feel comfortable mocking people, so she stopped quickly.

Athos texted her a list of ingredients and a ritual, supposedly—she wouldn’t show Alexei the message, but made him get some wormwood incense, some candles, and a bell. “Do we need chalk?” he said, and Meg gave him a strange look.

“I have some,” she said. “Why did you think that?”

“On the Internet, some of the rituals wanted things drawn with chalk.” He grinned at her, glad that he’d figured out part of it.

“Yeah, well.” She pointed at the bag she’d made him carry. “We got what we need, except the painting. Let’s go home.”

“The painting?”

“Yeah.” She tapped her phone. “You need something related to the ghost to call it, and unless you want Sol to lie in the circle with his freaky green eyes…”

“I suppose…” Alexei said slowly. “If Sol is away, and we can put the painting back afterwards.”

“He’ll never know. And it’s not going to work anyway, so it doesn’t matter.” Meg swatted his shoulder, and he flicked his tail back at her with a conspiratorial grin.

Alexei’s good spirits lasted until Sol returned. “Kendall feels really bad about the water balloon,” was the very first thing the black wolf said. Alexei didn’t say anything. Sol waited and then went on. “He wants to make sure you’re coming to Game Night on Saturday.”

The previous week, Sol had talked Alexei into going to the restaurant/arcade Playtime with the VLGA, and the fox had convinced himself that in a more relaxed setting, he might get to talk to Mike. “We have a soccer game on Wednesday,” Alexei said. “I will see him there.”

“Yeah, but we don’t usually hang out that much at the games. He said he wants to buy you a drink at Game Night.”

Alexei shrugged. “We will see.”

Sol let it go at that, either because he didn’t want to argue any longer or because he was getting ready for his date. He had bought a cologne with a musky scent on the way home, “Because he’s a bear and his nose isn’t as good,” he said, when Alexei wrinkled his muzzle at the thick odor. The bottle was marked “subtle,” but Alexei thought it was rather strong, and his nose was relieved when Sol, dressed in a nice shirt and slacks, took his scent out the door.

The sun wasn’t quite setting, so he didn’t ask Meg about doing the ritual, but grew more excited as he helped her prepare for dinner. When she scolded him for flicking her with his tail, he tried to keep it more demurely tucked away, but it kept flicking around and wagging when he stopped paying attention.

They’d bought a white fish, which Meg fried in butter, but Alexei could not recall afterwards how it tasted, apart from the seared butter. He devoured the fish and bread, all the while looking at the fading light through his bedroom door. Patiently, he helped Meg clean the dishes, and when she had given him the last plate and he had dried it, he looked at her and smiled, and she said, “Oh, all right, let’s go.”

He went to his room first, but she didn’t follow. “Bring the painting,” she said. “We’ll do it in my room. Otherwise Sherlock Wolfy will wonder why you were burning wormwood in your room.”

“I can just tell him I like the smell,” Alexei said.

“Yeah, but if he smells it from my room, he won’t even ask that much. Besides, if he comes home early…. Easier to move the painting.”

Alexei climbed onto Sol’s bed. He gripped the edges of the frame with both paws and lifted it away from the wall. For a moment, Niki’s eye met his, and he thought he felt the painting quiver in his paws. Then it was still, and Alexei backed gently off the bed, searching for the floor with one foot before putting his weight back on it. He held the frame sideways, maneuvered it through the door, and walked with it to Meg’s room.

She was already sprinkling the chalk dust in a circle on her floor. “Put the painting in the center of the circle,” she said. “Then put one of the incense holders on the side near the wall and put the incense in it. Don’t light it yet. And don’t brush away any of my lines with your tail.”

He found it difficult to keep his tail still, but he did at least keep it curled up as he followed her instructions. She finished her circle and started drawing small symbols in the dust, pausing frequently to check her monitor. “This is never going to come out of the carpet.”

“I will come vacuum it for you.” Alexei would have promised her anything. “Where do I sit?”

Meg pointed to a spot at the edge. “Sit there and stay still. I’m just about finished.”

While Alexei arranged himself cross-legged beside the painting, Meg sprinkled a lavender-scented oil on the symbols she’d been drawing, then arranged the three candles in a triangle. “You have the bell?” she asked.

“Right here.” Alexei held it up, pressing the clapper against the side so it wouldn’t make any noise. The lavender oil tickled his nose, but he repressed the urge to sneeze.

“Set it down in front of you. We’re going to say this ritual and then at the end you’re going to ring the bell. And then you have to ring the bell again to send it back.”

“All right.” Alexei had so many questions to ask. He had been trying to organize them in his head, but they kept pushing past each other for precedence.
How do I get someone to notice me? How do I deal with someone who takes all the attention for himself? How can I find out if I really love someone?
He would say the questions in Siberian, so as not to embarrass himself in front of Meg. Niki was born in Siberia, so he should speak the language.

He was about to speak to a ghost. Alexei squeezed his paws together. He pulled the end of his tail into his lap to stop it from wagging, and watched Meg check the monitor against the carpet one last time. Then she sat down across the painting from him.

“Rest your paws on the painting.”

“Not the glass,” Alexei said hurriedly as she moved her paws forward. “Sol will notice.”

“Oh, all right.” She rested fingertips on the wood frame. “Now focus your mind on the spirit, and listen as I speak the summoning ritual.”

“Could I speak it?” Alexei asked.

Meg looked at him for a second before answering. “Athos is funny about his rituals. He said I could do it, but he didn’t want me to tell anyone else.”

“I will hear it when you say it,” Alexei pointed out.

“But you won’t have memorized it like I did. Now just close your eyes.” Meg stared down at her paws, then lifted her head to the ceiling. “Spirits from the land beyond,” she intoned. “Hear the call we send to you. Feel the circle’s mystic bond. Niki, come across and through.”

Alexei had his eyes squeezed shut, thinking about his questions, so Meg had to hiss at him. Then he remembered, and picked up the bell to ring it.

“With the tolling of the bell,” Meg went on, “the gate is opened wide. Whether from heaven or from hell, appear thou spirit at our side.”

Alexei felt a chill in his fur. Nothing else happened. He looked at Meg and lifted the bell, but she shook her head. They waited in silence, Alexei with his ears perked for the slightest sound.

But the sound, when it came, was not what he expected. It was not an ethereal wailing, nor a high-pitched eerie background noise like in a movie, nor a comforting Siberian vulpine voice. It was the rattle of the door handle.

“Sol!” He gasped, and Meg looked up.

“Nothing yet?” she hissed. Alexei shook his head. “Do you know any more of his name?”

He shook his head again, eyes wide, and stared at the picture, at the green eye looking back at him. A scrap, a buried memory surfaced. “Konstantinov,” he said, running the syllables fluidly together to get the word out faster.

Meg closed her eyes. “Niki Konstantinov, hear us and come forth.”

Sol’s key clicked; the lock threw back. Meg’s eyes met Alexei’s, and he saw that despite her cynicism, she was invested in the ritual as well, hoping for some revelation. “Nothing?” she whispered to him.

Alexei closed his eyes as the front door opened, straining to feel anything beyond his normal perceptions. Slowly, he shook his head.

“All right,” Meg said. “Go, go.”