The Ever After

Chapter Twelve: Belle Morte

THE TELEVISION, WHICH ARISTA CALLED THE Holo-Vision, showed nothing but ads. That morning May, Pumpkin, and Arista sat on the couch in front of the glowing three-dimensional screen, waiting for a cab to arrive. Arista had called at ten past six.

At the moment they were watching a commercial for something called Crook-Be-Gone cologne. A man in a black-and- white-striped prison suit sat in an electric chair, holding a bottle straight toward them so that it came out of the set, his hair standing on end. "When the smell of thievery keeps you from entering your favorite city," the man said, "Crook-Be-Gone will have you smelling like a normal, law-abiding citizen. Proven to fool sniffing phantoms nine times out of ten."

They'd already seen an ad for getting rid of annoying exorcists, one for the freshest soul cakes in Belle Morte, and another featuring a psychic who could tell you who had murdered you (in the case of a poisoning or other mysterious death). May had been confused by all of them. What were sniffing phantoms? And why did smelling like a crook keep you out of your favorite cities? And what did crooks smell like, anyway?

Another commercial was just coming on. This one was a spine-chilling group of words popping out of the screen, warning the public against the danger of Live Ones. May nibbled her nails as she read, If you see a suspiciously lively looking spirit lurking in your town, don't hesitate to blow your Bogey whistle.

Pumpkin was glued to the set, his eyes big. Arista shook his head. "What a bunch of nonsense. Pumpkin, isn't May proof that it's all—"

A bloodcurdling scream shattered the room.

May leaped in her chair and looked around frantically. Arista merely sat up and said, "The cab."

May followed him and Pumpkin into the kitchen and did as Arista had told her to the night before. She crawled into the big basket of dirty clothes Arista had left by the door, letting them pile the clothes on top of her head—thickly enough so that she couldn't be seen through the filmy garments. She peered out through the cracks between the fabrics.

The first thing she noticed when they opened the door was that, though it was morning, it was barely lighter out than it had been the night before. The doorbell sounded again, rattling the walls.

"We're already here, good man," Arista said irritably, then muttered under his breath, "You'd think they'd hire drivers with heads. But no. The tourists want a headless horseman, zzzzz. Nine times out of ten."

May heard the sound of a door opening and then felt herself being hoisted into the cab.

"The Undertaker's, please," Arista said, low. The carriage started. "You can come out and have a look, my dear. We have trick windows in the deluxe cabs."

May climbed out of the basket and sat beside Arista, across from Pumpkin.

Arista pointed to a dial on the ceiling. "We can set it to look like one of these things to those on the outside—just a novelty, really, but good for privacy. Each cab has a different set of options. . . ." The glowing words next to the dial read: KING ARTHUR AND QUEEN GUINEVERE AT GAME OF PINOCHLE, SLEEPING SKELETON, BIGFOOT, and UNICORN DISCUSSING SOMETHING SERIOUS. Arista turned the dial to the first option.

May stared out the window. It seemed like a normal window to her. Through it she could see that they were on a sandy road with nothing on either side of it but desert. The sky was still filled with flashing stars.