Kiss Me Deadly: Tales of a Paranormal Romance

carpets were replaced by stacks of newsprint as tall as the biggest men, some teetering, threatening to fall on the women underneath, rolling them into tubes for the dusty souls to carry home.

Little Cairo spilled into Hipstertown, which despite its name was more longhaired-hippie-types and less expensive-cocktail-bars-with- sidewalk-verandas-and- tons-of-chain-smokers. Though, Velvet had heard that the Salons there were quite risqué. Only the most irreverent souls ended up settling in Hipstertown. She watched its denizens with speculative intent as the gears and pulleys cranked underneath the car. It shuddered forward past the smirking souls in tight pants and Hello Kitty backpacks, stolen and brought across the gap by their resident Collector, Booda Khan.

“Are you watching for Booda?” Nick asked, leaning toward Velvet. His foot was propped on the bench ahead of them casually, his ankle glowing from the break between his cuff and the wingtip shoes he wore, sockless.

She shrugged, “Of course. He’s a legend.” Velvet glanced at Amie who was, likewise, eying the bit of flesh Nick was selling.

“Like the religious guy?” the girl asked. Making deliberate eye contact with Velvet, or so she presumed, so as not to eyeball Velvet’s boyfriend any longer than would seem unusual or slutty.

“He’s only the coolest operator in Collections today,” Velvet said. “How can you not have heard of him?”

The girl shrugged. Her eyes traveled down the length of Velvet’s body, lighting on the silver buckle of her pants. “That’s pretty.”

Velvet looked down at the intersecting loops that formed the symbol for infinity and smiled. “It is, isn’t it? A friend brought it back from the world of the living.”

Amie sat up straight. “A boy?” she asked suggestively, eyes drifting toward Nick.

And before Velvet could stop herself, she let it escape. “Yes. His name was Porter.”

“Ahem,” Nick’s eyes were all squinty with suspicion.

“It was a long time ago,” she said. “He’s not even around anymore. Dimmed and moved on, back before you showed up.”

“Hmm,” he grunted and crossed his arms across his chest, clearly done with the conversation and none too happy to be in competition with a dead boy, or even a dimmed one as the case may be.

She neglected to go into details. Velvet had been quite fond of Porter, not in love with him mind you, but in a deep ... like, let’s say. She’d been holding his hand as he dimmed, the light going out within his soul, eyes darkening, his pale translucent flesh crumbling away like a burnt husk, collapsing. If she’d been nostalgic, as so many are, she’d have honored his passing by spreading his ash on her skin. But she had the silver belt buckle instead and that was plenty to remind her of their brief time together. Of their sweet kisses.

Velvet glanced in Amie’s direction and found her grinning evilly. Nick had amped up his irritation to a full glower. In fact, he wouldn’t even meet Velvet’s gaze, no matter how hard she tried.

“Oh Nyx,” Velvet cooed, using his secret pet name. She attempted to slip her hand into his, but he pulled away, glaring out the window at the passing scenery.

Velvet fumed.

This girl wasn’t going to drive a wedge between her and Nick, Velvet would see to that. But that seemed to be exactly Amie’s plan. Though for what reason, she couldn’t imagine. They’d just met, after all.

It usually takes at least three days for people to hate me, Velvet reminisced. Of course, her own judgments ran much quicker than that, and she had Amie directly in her rifle sights.

“You’re dead meat,” she mouthed at the girl, who merely cocked an eyebrow and continued to smirk.

Velvet rolled her eyes and huffed. Staring down the center of the car, she prayed for a violent derailment.

When Velvet finally ventured a look out the windows again, the first thing to catch her eye was the fading red-lacquered glory of the Pagoda of Vermillion rising high into the sky like a monument. It was in full view, despite the fact that they were technically still traveling through the shacks of Boondock Holler, apparently the place hillbillies went to die. Seriously. Velvet saw no less than three toothless souls with banjos. It was quite fascinating in a National Geographic, don’t-break-down-here-if- it’s-the-last thing-you-do sort of way.

“Your neighbors are colorful, at least,” Velvet snarked.

“They are a wonderful, welcoming group. I do adore them.” Amie said sweetly.

Velvet glanced at Nick to find him pleasantly agreeing with the girl. So she sank back into the bench cushion. Of course, she thought. I’m the jerk. That’s me. Of course!

“So, Amie. Why don’t you tell us about this errant undertaker we’re supposed to capture. Do you know him well?”

She nodded.

“You didn’t chase him off, did ya?” Velvet winked at her opponent. “I mean with your sparkling personality.”

Amie grinned mischievously. “He’s handicapped.”

Velvet’s breath caught in her throat.

The girl went on, “He can’t run at all. He wheels himself around in an antique wooden desk chair. It’s quite empowering really. Gets him where he needs to go.”

She glanced at Nick, whose only response was, “Nice going.”

Vermillion’s funicular platform was completely deserted except for a pair of bored adolescents, hands jammed in the pockets of their jeans. When the train car stopped, they rushed to pull the luggage from the roof rack and trailed behind Velvet and Nick, as Amie stomped off ahead.

Amie led them under the high lacquered arch in the stone wall. The ends of the crosspost depicted dragons breathing fire, though the intensity of the flames was diminished by a thick coat of ash settled in their grooves, like some knick-knack you’d find in your grandma’s dusty house. Beyond this, the courtyard of the temple complex spread out like a tent city. A hodgepodge of low structures with corrugated metal roofs—unlike the blue tile Velvet remembered from Chinese action movies—lined up in tight rows. Candles flickered inside cheap dollar-store paper lanterns, a few of them burnt down to expose the wire coil forms that made them look like globes.

Salvaged and often shoddy fixtures and building materials were a sad reality in Purgatory. Most everything needed to be stolen from the land of the living and brought through the cracks between the worlds without being noticed. Oddly enough, the need for subterfuge was the reason the dead were so well-dressed. What else could be misplaced so easily but couture clothing that never sold because of its outlandishness? Velvet hated such extravagant rags, preferring simple factory seconds and combat boots.

A timeless classic.

At the far end of the passage, an open pavilion revealed itself. Inside, sitting cross-legged by a low table, flipping through no less than three books at once in a flurry of page turning, was a middle-aged man in an argyle sweater and wool trousers. Unlike so many they’d passed in Vermillion, this soul left his skin unburnished of either powders or ash. He glowed a vivid amber and, noticing them, brightened both in flesh and smile.

“Amie,” he called, rising from the floor elegantly. “Bring our guests up here this minute. I’ve been so excited to meet Jayne’s charges.”

Velvet noticed two more things about the man. He spoke in a refined British accent and he’d referred to Manny by what she assumed was her first name. Jayne. It was weird to hear it. She’d heard people call her “Mansfield,” and many of the older souls talked about her pin-ups and movies when she’d been a living person, but never to her face. You just didn’t do that kind of thing with a Station Agent. Whether she was a sex symbol or not earthside, dead she was a government official. One with certain charms, certainly. And by charms Velvet meant the dagger-like vessels that hung from the hundreds of keys in the Agent’s office. It just wasn’t sexy to watch her gouge a man’s thoughts from the center of his forehead like she was picking pineapple out of some sweet and sour pork.

Sweet and sour. Mmm.

“I’m Howard Barker, the Salvage Father of these little heathens.” He gestured playfully in Amie’s direction.

The girl grimaced and planted her hand on her hip. “What did I tell you about those racist comments?”

“Hush girl, we’re all souls now. Dead is dead and that’s all that matters.”

“Pleased to meet you, sir,” Velvet said and then remembered the envelope. “Oh wait. Manny gave me