Chapter Ten
Whether in the Quarter or in the outside world, it’s never a good sign when you hear fire engines and wailing sirens roaring across town.
Fires have many mundane causes—cigarettes left burning, kids playing with lighters, or an electric space heater running too close to a stack of those annoying coupon newspapers the mail carrier keeps cramming into your box, even though nobody wants them. In the Unnatural Quarter, though, the cause of a fire was more likely from an amateur incineration spell gone wrong, or a pissed-off fire demon who had caught his wife cheating.
At Chambeaux & Deyer we’re not ambulance or morgue-wagon chasers, but the fire trucks were making such a ruckus late at night that Robin and I went out to investigate. We could see the orange flames from the windows of our second-story offices. After flitting ahead, Sheyenne returned with a report. “Big blaze over at the Greenlawn Cemetery.”
“Was somebody trying to do a Viking funeral again?” Robin asked. “They need permits for that, and most of the time they’re disallowed.”
We hurried through the wrought-iron gates and saw that the elaborate theater stage for the Shakespeare in the Dark festival was an inferno. The faux half-timbered walls and the artificial thatched roof crackled as tall flames rose into the air. Curls of smoke wafted toward us with an acrid stench, like the fumes of unkind theater critics getting what they deserved. Humans and unnaturals had gathered to watch the big stage burn.
In case of a demonic fire, the firefighters wore special protective gear—hex-painted clothing and rescue packs—but this turned out to be a perfectly normal blaze. Due to city ordinances to beautify Greenlawn, all fire hydrants had been painted tombstone-color and disguised to blend in with the landscape … which meant the firefighters had trouble finding them, and by the time they engaged the blaze, the Shakespearean stage was unsalvageable.
Some sluggish zombies shambled into the cemetery, attracted to the bright light and commotion like moths to a flame, but the blaze was extinguished by the time they arrived, so the crowds began to disperse.
“Shakespeare’s original Globe Theatre burned down,” Robin pointed out. “I can see the irony.”
“It’s not irony—it’s arson,” I said, unable to swallow any other explanation. I suspected Senator Balfour’s minions were both upset and violent enough to light a match or two, just to make a point.
Next morning, Sheyenne went to make a fresh pot of coffee in the office, even though I couldn’t taste the difference between the new gourmet stuff and the tarry residue at the bottom of yesterday’s pot. Nevertheless, Sheyenne claimed that brewing coffee made our office smell fresh and homey. I suspected that she did certain things just to remind herself of what she’d once had in life, clinging to a few routine details—making coffee, going out to lunch, taking a walk in the fresh rain. I did the same thing; that was half the reason why I spent so much time at the Goblin Tavern. Since death had left us behind, we clung to the few anchors we had.
Sheyenne was rinsing the pot in our little kitchenette when a young man entered the office. He wore a slightly scruffy camel-colored suit and had rakishly tousled blond hair, a handsome face, and a disarming smile: good-looking in a way that made him seem a natural-born salesman, or a con man. If he was a client, we would help him in any way we could. If he was a salesman, I doubted we were buying.
Sheyenne flitted back out to welcome the visitor, and I heard the coffee pot crash to the floor, spilling water everywhere. The young man grinned at her. “Sorry I missed your funeral, sis.”
“Travis!” There was definite shock and alarm in Sheyenne’s voice; I couldn’t tell whether she was delightfully surprised or angry. She had never mentioned a brother before, but from the similarity in features, it was obvious that they were siblings.
Robin came out of her office, shocked to see the broken coffee urn and the mess on the floor. “I’m Travis.” The young man extended a hand to Robin while he looked at me with a hint of intimidation, sizing me up. “Travis Carey.”
I had met Sheyenne at the Basilisk nightclub where she was a singer, and I thought of her by her stage name, although I knew her real name was Anne. “Shy Anne.” I sometimes call her Spooky, because that was the first song I ever heard her sing, but I never knew her last name, never asked. Even while she was lying in a hospital bed, in the last throes of the toadstool poison that had killed her, Sheyenne told me she didn’t have any family, no living relatives, no one I should contact.
Something fishy was going on here.
I stepped closer to Travis and did my best to loom, just in case she needed backup. “I’m Dan Chambeaux, Sheyenne’s employer … and very close friend.”
Sheyenne hovered there, wrestling with her reaction. I watched a catalog of emotions skim across her face. I wanted to hold her—she needed some support right now, but we didn’t have a full-body glove close at hand.
Sheyenne had already told us how she had lost her parents: they were killed by a businessman talking on his car phone—and back then I mean an actual car phone installed in his Mercedes with a handset and stretchy cord pulled out. He’d been having an argument about a Chinese to-go order, not watching where he was driving, and the crash had killed Sheyenne’s parents on impact.
She’d been just a teenager, forced to take care of herself. She went through a succession of jobs, holding on by her fingernails, learning whatever she could, and never giving up on the chance to make something of herself. I’d always admired her spunk and determination.
She’d worked in the business world before deciding to change careers and go to med school. Money was tight. While working at a nightclub for monsters, she barely scraped by in a tiny apartment in the Quarter, late on the rent, unable to pay her phone bill. All of this she had shared with us.
But she had never mentioned Travis.
“You must have been … out of the picture?” I prompted, raising my eyebrows.
“My sister and I had a parting of the ways, but that’s all water under the bridge now.” Travis kept his attention entirely on Sheyenne. “I would have been here if I could. You know you mean the world to me.”
“I know a lot of things, Travis. Do you expect me to forget what you did? I may be dead, but I don’t have amnesia.” She turned to us, explaining in a huff, “I worked my fingers to the bone to survive after our parents died, trying to make something of myself, but Travis went the opposite direction.”
“We had the same goals,” he said. “I wanted to make something of myself, too.”
“You wanted a short-cut,” Sheyenne said, clearly furious. “You looked for the easy way out, and I paid the price for it.”
Travis tried his disarming grin, spread his hands. “So, I was a little unlucky. I was an entrepreneur, and Fate wasn’t on my side.”
Sheyenne said to Robin and me, as if her brother weren’t there, “His schemes crashed and burned. He lost all of his money, and then he lost other people’s money.” Her blue eyes were flashing, intense. “I tried to help you.”
“Please, let’s not rehash this, sis. You should have loaned me the money I needed. I had a line on a big score, and we both could’ve had a villa in Cancun right now if it had paid off … if you’d given me that investment I needed.”
Sheyenne huffed. “I was saving to go to med school. I couldn’t spare a dime.” Robin and I stood there awkwardly, not wanting to be in the middle of a family feud, but I wasn’t averse to taking sides. Sheyenne spun to face me. “He stole my money, Beaux. He cleaned out my accounts and then disappeared. I haven’t seen him since, until today.”
Travis looked flustered. “I was earning your money back, trying to make it up to you. I swear I would have repaid you every cent, but now you’re … dead. So what’s the point?”
Realization hit me, and I said to Sheyenne, “That’s why you had to move into that little apartment and take the job at Basilisk? Because your brother stole your savings?”
Sheyenne pressed her pale lips together and nodded.
Travis talked fast and frantic. “I didn’t hear about your death until recently, I swear.” The term douchebag came immediately to mind. “And when I found out you were a ghost, I just had to make amends. I came by to say I’m sorry. You’re my sister—we’re flesh and blood.”
“I’m not flesh and blood anymore,” Sheyenne said. “And whatever happened to the big score? Since you took the money I didn’t lend you, show me my villa in Cancun, and I’ll rethink my opinion of you.”
Self-consciously, he tugged down the front of his jacket. “That investment didn’t pan out due to political turmoil on Easter Island. Nothing I could have predicted.”
Sheyenne sniffed. “You stole my money, then you lost it.”
“Come on, Anne—I’m your brother, I’m family! We’re stuck with each other.” He looked so earnest, so pleading. “Look, I mean to make it up to you. I came back, didn’t I? I’ve turned over a new leaf. Give me another chance.”
I was ready to give Travis the bum’s rush out the door, if that was what she decided. But it was Sheyenne’s choice.
She looked uncertain, then seemed to deflate. “I don’t want to be one of those vengeful ghosts. I’ll bury the hatchet—so long as you know that you really did me wrong.”
“I am sorry, I truly am,” Travis wheedled. “I just wanted to make sure you’re okay, even being dead and all.”
“I’m fine. I’ve learned how to deal with it.”
“And … I wanted to spend a little personal time in the Unnatural Quarter. Do you think I could stay at your place, just long enough to get my bearings?”
Sheyenne floated in the air in front of him. “I’m a ghost, Travis. Why would I pay rent for an apartment?”
“I guess I didn’t think that through.” He chuckled nervously and looked at me. “How about—?”
I had a small room upstairs, but it was more claustrophobic than cozy, cluttered with boxes and old furniture. On the rare occasions when I did go up to take a nap, I usually just leaned against a wall for awhile. Robin’s place, next to mine, wasn’t much bigger. She had made it her home, even though she spent little time there, and I had no intention of suggesting that this guy could use it.
“Sorry, Travis, no room at the inn.”
Again with the disarming smile, Travis pretended not to be disappointed. “No problem. I’ll find someplace else.”
Sheyenne rummaged in her desk and pulled out a sheet of paper that we offered for our out-of-town clients. “Here’s a list of places you might try. Some of them are dirt cheap.”
“Good, I’m sort of living on a budget.” Travis smiled at Robin and me again, as if we hadn’t just heard all of the ugly details about his character. “It was a pleasure meeting you.” He turned to Sheyenne. “And I really want to make amends, Anne.” With a final wave, he left.
Sheyenne muttered, “Sometimes family ties are a noose.” With great intensity, she busied herself cleaning up the mess of the broken coffee pot.