The Underground City (21 page)
“I
frickin’ set up about twenty plastic spoons along the edge of my counter before I loaded them with Godzilla shit. Then I unleashed the fury that was Angel Bill’s retaliation and shot as many freakin’ yokels as I could with that nasty, green dinosaur excrement.” He started laughing hysterically and slapping his thigh. “It was freakin’ awesome!”
“So
you … what? Started a food fight?” I asked, frowning. I was slowly figuring out exactly how Bill arrived on my doorstep that fateful morning a few months back. After being kicked out of his position as a guardian angel for basically allowing me to die prematurely, Afterlife Enterprises demoted him to the cafeteria staff. It was just another job which he clearly couldn’t handle. So, with no other place for him to go, and at a loss over what else to do with him, they sent him to me.
Fabulous.
“No, it wasn’t a fight, nips. A fight implies that the other side retaliated. No sir, baby, this was complete annihilation, a blitz, a premeditated act of destruction aimed at all yokels and dumbasses by Angel Bill. Never was there such a full-scale food slaughter waged so deftly, and never shall there be again.” He nodded with satisfaction and fell silent for a few seconds. “Amen to that,” he finished … at last.
Delilah
had a look of concern on her face, but she didn’t say anything as Bill eyed us again, his smug smile freshly renewed. “So after that, Skeletor asked me what more he should do with me. Dude! I was like, send me to nips!” Bill grinned up at me warmly. “And here I am. The rest is ancient history.”
“And
on that cheerful note, are you both ready to start moving again?” I asked, mostly addressing Delilah to see if she was feeling okay.
She
smiled at me and nodded before getting on her feet. “Do you know what we’re supposed to do with the souls in the vial?” she asked as I fished through my fanny pack until I located the map of the Dark Wood.
I
nodded but wasn’t exactly sure where the Soul Mail drop was. Saxon kindly circled it for me on the map, however, so I replied, “According to the map, we should spot a river once we make it past this hill.” Glancing down at the map and then up at the horizon before us, I saw that the hill dropped off about forty feet from where we stood.
“Cool,”
Delilah said and she and Bill began to lead the way. I brought up the rear, which was fine by me.
“So
Delilah, huh?” Bill asked and she responded by looking at him with a curious expression on her face. “That’s a real interestin’ name,” he said before facing her and singing. “Hey there, Delilah, what’s it like in the Underground City?”
Delilah
immediately started laughing at Bill with a wide grin. “I’m sure Plain White T’s would love hearing your unique rendition of their song,” she remarked before laughing again.
I
shook my head, but couldn’t keep from smiling too. Sometimes, Bill was pretty funny; I had to admit. I continued to walk in silence, and watched the two of them as they laughed together. I had the strangest feeling of contentment. It just sort of blossomed inside me from nowhere. I was thankful for the brief moments of “alone time” whenever I could find it. It was the first opportunity for me to really contemplate our last mission to the Underground City.
Without
boasting or tooting my own horn, I had to admit I was way beyond proud of myself. I not only explored the Underground, but also managed to defend us against demons, and all by myself. That was an incredible feeling. All of my hard training, combined with the physical and emotional tolls, were well worth it. I achieved the goals I set and became the woman I always strove to be. I was brave and strong.
All
of a sudden I had an epiphany. I basically wasted my former life by constantly trying to fix what I believed was wrong with me; but in reality, nothing ever was. The old me never learned that morsel of wisdom. Instead, I tried to change everything about myself until I wasn’t even living my own life. If I worried that I needed to be more outgoing, I read a self-help book about it. If I thought I should be funnier, or more confident, or more easy-going, or more of this and less of that, I could always find a book on the subject. And I read them, all of them. I basically spent most of my adult life reading self-help books. But all they managed to do was keep me from experiencing my own life, and my own feelings, and living how I saw fit. That was probably the biggest lesson I could take from my experience in the Underground. When your life is right on the line, there really is no time but the present.
One
thing I knew for sure was that I never could have accomplished what I did in such a short amount of time without the help and guidance of Tallis
Tallis.
Suddenly, I got a strange and intense desire to touch the blade of my sword. It was like a craving or a need that just welled up and exploded inside of me that came out of nowhere. I gripped the hilt of my sword in its scabbard and pulled it out slightly, until the metal blade shone in the moonlight. Then I brought my fingers to the blade. The results of my action nearly knocked me over as a flood of images instantly started flashing before my eyes. I had to stop walking when the images became more real than the forest surrounding me.
I
saw a castle, and recognized it was Fergus Castle. The sky was stormy with grey clouds and the water that splashed around the castle moat was the same color as Tallis’s eyes. It was the same castle I saw the first time I touched my sword. That was when Tallis said the sword had identified me as its mistress. Fergus Castle had been in Tallis’s family for centuries.
The
castle slowly faded away and I was overcome with the perception that Tallis needed me. I wasn’t sure why, much less how, but I felt sure my sword was trying to impart that information to me. Even though it was nothing but a hunch, and an intuitive feeling, it grew so powerful and resolute, I couldn’t ignore it.
“There
it is!” Hearing Bill’s voice made the thoughts inside me vanish in an instant. He started running down the other side of the hill, toward the river, which lay on our right-hand side. It was really more like a creek than a river.
I
took a deep breath when my sword ceased giving me any other strange images or feelings. I slid it back down into the scabbard as I tried to make sense of what happened. I knew it was some sort of sign, but what I was supposed to do next, or where I was supposed to go, eluded me.
“Lils,
what do we do now?” Bill asked me.
Paying
more attention to the immediate task in front of me, I glanced down at the map and noticed we were in the right place. I followed Delilah down to the creek bed. Pulling out the vial with the two souls in it, I reached for a permanent marker in my pack, and wrote on the outside of the vial:
Two
Souls retrieved by Delilah Crespo and Lily Harper.
I
wanted to make sure we both received our due credit for retrieving the souls. I handed the vial to Delilah, who seemed startled at first, but she accepted it all the same. “So do I just drop it into the water?” she asked and I nodded, remembering the instructions Saxon gave me over the phone. “Okay, here goes,” she said as she released the vial into the water and we watched it disappear downstream. Neither of us said anything. When she looked back at me, her eyes were watering as she smiled. “Thank you for helping me retrieve my first soul.”
I
nodded and returned her smile. “Two souls down and eight more to go,” I announced.
Delilah’s
grin was warm and happy. “One soul down and nine more to go.”
Just
then, Bill reached into his pocket for his phone, which was vibrating with an incoming text message. He flipped the top of the phone open and started reading before glancing up at me with a frown. “Um, Lils, looks like Alaire is looking for you.”
“What?”
I asked incredulously as I reached for his phone, which he gladly handed to me.
“I
have no clue how the devil got my phone number,” he said as he scratched his head.
“It’s
a company phone, Bill,” I answered, my stomach already abuzz with new anxiety. “Jason probably gave it to him.”
“True
dat,” Bill replied as I read the text message.
My
Dear Ms. Harper,
Having
just been informed of the death of one of my employees in the prison realm, I learned from Plutus that you are responsible for this tragic event. If you do not wish to have this incident reported to Afterlife Enterprises, please agree to meet me at the gates of the Underground City next Tuesday evening, 8:00 pm, your time. We can discuss the particulars over dinner.
P.S.
If you do not respond to this message by tomorrow at 10:00 pm, your time, or if you refuse to meet me, I will have no choice but to alert Afterlife Enterprises about the unfortunate incident. They will proceed with their own investigation into the matter. Let me also remind you that two infractions buy you a ticket on the nearest train to Shade.
It
is a shame we missed one another during your time here. I do hope you enjoyed your stay.
Fondly,
Alaire
“Ugh,”
I said as I shook my head and tried to control the anger now pounding through me.
“What
did it say?” Bill inquired.
I
looked at him and then at Delilah before coming to terms with what I had to do. “It looks like I have a date with the devil,” I said, taking a deep breath. Then the images my sword displayed in my mind and the suffocating feeling that something was wrong with Tallis returned.
Well,
Alaire would have to wait for our dinner date. If Tallis needed me, he was my number one priority.
I
only hoped I wasn’t too late.
To
be continued…
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the Lily Harper Characters on Facebook!
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Bill:
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ONE
It’s not every day you see a ghost.
On
this particular day, I’d been minding my own business, tidying up the shop for the night while listening to
Girls Just Wanna Have Fun
(guilty as charged). It was late—maybe 9:00 p.m. A light bulb had burnt out in my tarot reading room a few days ago, and I still hadn’t changed it. I have a tendency to overlook the menial details of life. Now, a small red bulb fought against the otherwise pitch darkness of the room, lending it a certain macabre feel.
In
search of a replacement bulb, I attempted to sort through my “if it doesn’t have a home, put it in here” box when I heard the front door open. Odd—I could’ve sworn I’d locked it.
“We’re
closed,” I yelled.
I
didn’t hear the door closing, so I put Cyndi Lauper on mute and strolled out to inquire. The streetlamps reflected through the shop windows, the glare so intense, I had to remind myself they were just lights and not some alien spacecraft come to whisk me away.
The
room was empty.
Considering
the possibility that someone might be hiding, I swallowed the dread climbing up my throat. Glancing around, I searched for something to protect myself with in case said breaker-and-enterer decided to attack. My eyes rested on a solitary broom standing in the corner of the Spartan room. The broom was maybe two steps from me. That might not sound like much, but my fear had me by the ankles and wouldn’t let go.
Jolie,
get the damned broom.
Thank
God for that little internal voice of sensibility that always seems to visit at just the right time.
Freeing
my feet from the fear tar, I grabbed the broom and neared my desk. It was a good place for someone to hide—well, really, the only place to hide. When it comes to furnishings, I’m a minimalist.
I
jammed the broom under the desk and swept vigorously.
Nothing.
The hairs on my neck stood to attention as a shiver of unease coursed through me. I couldn’t shake the feeling and after deciding no one was in the room, I persuaded myself it must’ve been kids. But kids or not, I would’ve heard the door close.
I
didn’t discard the broom.
Like
a breath from the arctic, a chill crept up the back of my neck.
I
glanced up and there he was, floating a foot or so above me. Stunned, I took a step back, my heart beating like a frantic bird in a small cage.
“Holy
crap.”
The
ghost drifted toward me until he and I were eye level. My mind was such a muddle, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to run or bat at him with the broom. Fear cemented me in place, and I did neither, just stood gaping at him.
Thinking
the Mexican standoff couldn’t last forever, I replayed every fact I’d ever learned about ghosts: they have unfinished business, they’re stuck on a different plane of existence, they’re here to tell us something, and most importantly, they’re just energy.
Energy
couldn’t hurt me.
My
heartbeat started regulating, and I returned my gaze to the ectoplasm before me. There was no emotion on his face; he just watched me as if waiting for me to come to my senses.
“Hello,”
I said, thinking how stupid I sounded—treating him like every Tom, Dick, or Harry who ventured through my door. Then I felt stupid that I felt stupid—what was wrong with greeting a ghost? Even the dead deserve standard propriety.
He
wavered a bit, as if someone had turned a blow dryer on him, but didn’t say anything. He was young, maybe in his twenties. His double-breasted suit looked like it was right out of
The Untouchables
, from the 1930s if I had to guess.
His
hair was on the blond side, sort of an ash blond. It was hard to tell because he was standing, er floating, in front of a wooden door that showed through him. Wooden door or not, his face was broad and he had a crooked nose—maybe it’d been broken in a fight. He was a good-looking ghost as ghosts go.
“Can
you speak?” I asked, still in disbelief that I was attempting to converse with the dead. Well, I’d never thought I could, and I guess the day had come to prove me wrong. Still he said nothing, so I decided to continue my line of questioning.
“Do
you have a message from someone?”
He
shook his head. “No.”
His
voice sounded like someone talking underwater.
Hmm.
Well, I imagined he wasn’t here to get his future told—seeing as how he didn’t have a future. Maybe he was passing through? Going toward the light? Come to haunt my shop?
“Are
you on your way somewhere?” I had so many questions for this spirit but didn’t know where to start, so all the stupid ones came out first.
“I
was sent here,” he managed, and in his ghostly way, I think he smiled. Yeah, not a bad looking ghost.
“Who
sent you?” It seemed the logical thing to ask.
He
said nothing and like that, vanished, leaving me to wonder if I’d had something bad to eat at lunch.
Indigestion
can be a bitch.
~
“So no more encounters?” Christa, my best friend and only employee, asked while leaning against the desk in our front office.
I
shook my head and pooled into a chair by the door. “Maybe if you hadn’t left early to go on your date, I wouldn’t have had a visit at all.”
“Well,
one of us needs to be dating,” she said, knowing full well I hadn’t had any dates for the past six months. An image of my last date fell into my head like a bomb. Let’s just say I’d never try the Internet dating route again. It wasn’t that the guy had been bad looking—he’d looked like his photo, but what I hadn’t been betting on was that he’d get wasted and proceed to tell me how he was separated from his wife and had three kids. Not even divorced! Yeah, that hadn’t been on his
match.com
profile.
“Let’s
not get into this again …”
“Jolie,
you need to get out. You’re almost thirty …”
“Two
years from it, thank you very much.”
“Whatever
… you’re going to end up old and alone. You’re way too pretty, and you have such a great personality, you can’t end up like that. Don’t let one bad date ruin it.” Her voice reached a crescendo. Christa has a tendency towards the dramatic.
“I’ve
had a string of bad dates, Chris.” I didn’t know what else to say—I was terminally single. It came down to the fact that I’d rather spend time with my cat or Christa rather than face another stream of losers.
As
for being attractive, Christa insisted I was pretty, but I wasn’t convinced. It’s one thing when your best friend says you’re pretty, but it’s entirely different when a man says it.
And
I couldn’t remember the last time a man had said it.
I
caught my reflection in the glass of the desk and studied myself while Christa rambled on about all the reasons I should be dating. I supposed my face was pleasant enough—a pert nose, cornflower blue eyes and plump lips. A spattering of freckles across the bridge of my nose interrupts an otherwise pale landscape of skin, and my shoulder length blond hair always finds itself drawn into a ponytail.
Head-turning
doubtful, girl-next-door probable.
As
for Christa, she doesn’t look like me at all. For one thing, she’s pretty tall and leggy, about five-eight, and four inches taller than I am. She has dark hair the color of mahogany, green eyes, and pinkish cheeks. She’s classically pretty—like cameo pretty. She’s rail skinny and has no boobs. I have a tendency to gain weight if I eat too much, I have a definite butt, and the twins are pretty ample as well. Maybe that made me sound like I’m fat—I’m not fat, but I could stand to lose five pounds.
“Are
you even listening to me?” Christa asked.
Shaking
my head, I entered the reading room, thinking I’d left my glasses there.
I
heard the door open.
“Well,
hello to you,” Christa said in a high-pitched, sickening-sweet and non-Christa voice.
“Afternoon.”
The deep timbre of his voice echoed through the room, my ears mistaking his baritone for music.
“I’m
here for a reading, but I don’t have an appointment ...”
“Oh,
that’s cool,” Christa interrupted and from the saccharin tone of her voice, it was pretty apparent this guy had to be eye candy.
Giving
up on finding my reading glasses, I headed out in order to introduce myself to our stranger. Upon seeing him, I couldn’t contain the gasp that escaped my throat. It wasn’t his Greek God, Sean-Connery-would-be-envious good looks that grabbed me first or his considerable height.
It
was his aura.
I’ve
been able to see auras since before I can remember, but I’d never seen anything like his. It radiated out of him as if it had a life of its own and the color! Usually auras are pinkish or violet in healthy people, yellowish or orange in those unhealthy. His was the most vibrant blue I’ve ever seen—the color of the sky after a storm when the sun’s rays bask everything in glory.
It
emanated out of him like electricity.
“Hi,
I’m Jolie,” I said, remembering myself.
“How
do you do?” And to make me drool even more than I already was, he had an accent, a British one. Ergh.
I
glanced at Christa as I invited him into the reading room. Her mouth dropped open like a fish.
My
sentiments exactly.
His
navy blue sweater stretched to its capacity while attempting to span a pair of broad shoulders and a wide chest. The broad shoulders and spacious chest in question tapered to a trim waist and finished in a finale of long legs. The white shirt peeking from underneath his sweater contrasted against his tanned complexion and made me consider my own fair skin with dismay.
The
stillness of the room did nothing to allay my nerves. I took a seat, shuffled the tarot cards, and handed him the deck. “Please choose five cards and lay them face up on the table.”
He
took a seat across from me, stretching his legs and rested his hands on his thighs. I chanced a look at him and took in his chocolate hair and darker eyes. His face was angular, and his Roman nose lent him a certain Paul Newman-esque quality. The beginnings of shadow did nothing to hide the definite cleft in his strong chin.
He
didn’t take the cards and instead, just smiled, revealing pearly whites and a set of grade A dimples.
“You
did come for a reading?” I asked.
He
nodded and covered my hand with his own. What felt like lightning ricocheted up my arm, and I swear my heart stopped for a second. The lone red bulb blinked a few times then continued to grow brighter until I thought it might explode. My gaze moved from his hand, up his arm and settled on his dark brown eyes. With the red light reflecting against him, he looked like the devil come to barter for my soul.
“I
came for a reading, yes, but not with the cards. I’d like you to read … me.” His rumbling baritone was hypnotic, and I fought the need to pull my hand from his warm grip.
I
set the stack of cards aside, focusing on him again. I was so nervous I doubted if any of my visions would come. They were about as reliable as the weather anchors you see on TV.
After
several long uncomfortable moments, I gave up. “I can’t read you, I’m sorry,” I said, my voice breaking. I shifted the eucalyptus-scented incense I’d lit to the farthest corner of the table, and waved my hands in front of my face, dispersing the smoke that seemed intent on wafting directly into my eyes. It swirled and danced in the air, as if indifferent to the fact that I couldn’t help this stranger.
He
removed his hand but stayed seated. I thought he’d leave, but he made no motion to do anything of the sort.
“Take
your time.”
Take
my time? I was a nervous wreck and had no visions whatsoever. I just wanted this handsome stranger to leave, so my habitual life could return to normal.
But
it appeared that was not in the cards.
The
silence pounded against the walls, echoing the pulse of blood in my veins. Still, my companion said nothing. I’d had enough. “I don’t know what to tell you.”
He
smiled again. “What do you see when you look at me?”
Adonis.
No, I couldn’t say that. Maybe he’d like to hear about his aura? I didn’t have any other cards up my sleeve ... “I can see your aura,” I almost whispered, fearing his ridicule.
