The Vampire Always Bites Twice | Wattys 2022 Grand Prize Winner

59

Isla,  ̶M̶a̶k̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶A̶m̶e̶n̶d̶s̶ ̶Spilling Coffee

I thumbed the back of Lily's hand. Which, seeing as how she was a ghostly spirit invisible to (most) mortal eyes, must've looked heckin' weird. Luckily for me the café hadn't quite hit its morning rush. Mason was distracted enough prepping for said impending rush he didn't bat an eye at me sitting at a table in the corner, seemingly talking to my sad self.

Took some coaxing to seat the ghost at the table with me. Poor thing acted on repeat. A broken record stuck in a loop, performing on fractured muscle memories alone. Those ghost hunting pervs on TV call it residual. Usually, I find it insurmountably irritating. But seeing Lily like this was just sad.

And irritating.

Her quivering breath twanged like a ringing bell in the back of my head.

"We're close," she kept whispering, rocking back and forth in her chair. "We're close. We're close."

But, it seemed, with my touch anchoring the thin fragments of her mind in the moment, Lily's ghost bordered on coherent.

"Slow down," I whispered, throwing a nervous glance over my shoulder. Mason, of course, remained occupied, but a customer could pop in at any moment. I sipped my coffee, burning my tongue. "Lily, stay calm, okay. It's me, Madame Margarita. H-how did you get here?"

She was upright and walking and talking only days ago. Crap, did the Magistrate catch up to her after all? Nah, they wouldn't be so kind as to just kill her again. That burying her in cement line was legit. They've done it before.

My voice seemed to startle her. Lily blinked. Her cloudy gaze cleared a moment, letting a spot of light bleed through. She squeezed my hand back. "I want the, um, Palm Reader's Bargain?"

Something akin to a rusty fishhook snagged in my stomach. The over enthusiastic fisherman on the other end pulled and tugged and ripped my guts out and up through my esophagus.

"Lily, you came to my parlor already. We... we did this. I—well technically it was the Divination Deal you wanted, ah, nuance. It worked. The ritual worked." Didn't work well, but it worked. "We summoned your ghost. It wasn't Cary Grant," I forced a little puff of laughter. She didn't seem to notice. "Do you remember any of that?"

"I just need to talk to someone," cold hand iron tight on mine, Lily leaned in close, whispering conspiratorially. "Who's passed."

"Yeah, Lil, uh," I sucked in a breath. "We did that. We contacted Dmitri's ex—"

Lily gasped. "¡Por Dios! How do you—how did you know about Dmitri?"

Big yikes. We've got a selective memory spooky over here.

Took another swig of my coffee, absolutely melting the back of my throat and stalling for time. Okay Madame. Better sell this performance.

I gave Lily an entirely phoned-in wink and with a clumsy imitation of a child's birthday party magician's flourish, I produced the crusty fingerbone from the sleeve of my robe.

Lily clutched the imaginary pearls at her chest.

"Living, dead, and," with my free hand and open palm I gestured at the ghost of the barista sat across from me, "stuck between, Madame Margarita sees all beyond the veil, honey. Including whose finger you stole from their tomb, and your connection to this restless spirit you long to know."

Lily bit deep into her thumb nail. Of course, no blood or bruising or even a shredded hangnail followed. But for moment, she seemed to flicker in and out of existence. Despite cloud quickly gathering in the gray sky, early morning sun shone through her transparent forehead, haloing in her in a yellow glow.