THIRTY-FOUR
“Wait, Will Mason called you earlier and you blew him off again?” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing! And not just because I had no interest in joining the vampire bitchfest taking place ten feet to our left. This was way more interesting. “Dude! You see what you’re doing, right?”
Marc didn’t say anything, not even, Don’t call me “dude.” For Marc, that meant, Yes, you are absolutely correct, and I am too embarrassed to admit it, so I will remain mysteriously silent and leave you to draw your own conclusions.
“Oh my God!” I pushed away from the wall and glared at the bridge of his nose, since he wouldn’t make eye contact. “You are! You’re blowing off this perfectly nice kid—”
“He’s twenty—”
“Shut up! You’re pushing him away because you’re scared shitless to start a relationship with him!”
“With anybody,” Marc admitted in a low voice.
“Ohhhh, you dummy,” I moaned. I grabbed him by his scrub shirt and tugged him to the right a few feet. Probably a waste of time, since everyone in the basement had super hearing, but I felt better anyway, even if it was just the illusion of privacy. “Marc, he doesn’t just like you. He likes you and he knows you’re a zombie and he’s an orphan so he’s fine with you not dying and leaving him and he’s helped us! His ghosts tell him useful stuff all the time . . . the ghosts who bug me only ever want favors. ‘Tell my wife the money’s in the Swiss account under her mother’s name.’ Jesus, who cares? His ghosts are helpful. Sure, he’s a scrawny pathetic little dork who needs to leave the basement more often—”
“He’s not scrawny!”
“Aha! I knew you liked him!”
“He’s slender. Not scrawny.” Whoa, my plan worked a little too well. Now I didn’t have to look at the bridge of his nose, because Marc’s eyes were locked on mine. “And his office isn’t in the basement; it’s upstairs! And he’s beautiful!”
I just looked at him.
Marc groaned and dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I’m an idiot.”
“Well, yeah, but Will’s into it, so.” That got him to laugh, which I’d been hoping for. “Listen, take a break, go get your phone, call him back, make a date, keep the date, fall in love, live happily ever after. Or if that’s too much, just have a nice time and see where it goes. Okay?”
“Well . . .”
“Okay?”
“But what about . . .” He trailed off and gestured at the group several feet away.
“We’ve got this handled.” And it really seemed we did. That (probably) wasn’t a lie to get rid of him. The raised voices were calming, and Fred was having a bit to say, too. Even better, people were listening to her. I should probably get over there and find out about what. For all I knew, mermaids were great at instigating basement brawls. “I think it’s going to be—maybe not fine, but . . . doable.”
“Then there’s no reason for me to be here.”
“What have I been saying?”
“Ugh, you’re so shrill.” But it was halfhearted, more to save face than score points, and he said it while moving toward the stairs.
Shrill. Heh. No, that would be the Ant when I informed her she’d lost the bet and had to say three nice things about me every time she saw me for the next hundred years.
Man, I couldn’t even imagine the uproar. I had to make a concerted effort not to rub my hands together in glee, and that’s when I heard something
(aw no)
that sounded
(no, it can’t be)
like gunshots.
“Everyone shut up!” I yelled, and what do you know, they all did. My husband had his head cocked to the side, and suddenly we were all listening for . . . what?
Sinclair! I think someone’s shoot—
That’s when the ceiling fell in.