me like a drowsy massage, and I cuddle my feather duvet against my body.
If only I didn't dream in red.
When I get to work Monday morning, Alice has her hair in a bouffant and has switched her lipstick to bright purple. It clashes horribly with her hair and crimson nail polish, but she waves a cheery hello as I enter the office.
I plan to spend the morning getting caught up on my actual work. If Gregor's hunch gets me fired, I'm going to make him pay my salary. He can be responsible for keeping me in sake and silk, for all I care.
I find an email from Ben in my inbox.
"Sorry if I offended you yesterday. I just hate seeing splats. Makes me sick. Let me know if you want to talk. -B"
Ben means well, but he treats me like I belong in a tower with golden hair flowing over a balcony. This is real life, and my hair is bright orange. He's living in a dream world. I have to live in this one.
At eleven forty-six, Alice buzzes me. At first I only hear a snapping sound.
I pause before I speak. "Um, Alice?"
There's a loud crack. She's chewing gum again.
"Ayala, you've got a call on line three."
"Who is it?"
"Hazel Lottie. Are you calling strippers again?"
"She's a source," I say, then realize that sounds like a confirmation. "On a missing persons thing the Summit's having me look into. And she's not a stripper, she's eighty-bajillion years old."
"Ageist."
"Just put her on the phone."
There's another loud spack as Alice cracks a bubble at me, but I hear the click of the phone line switching over. "Hazel?"
"Lawdy, y'all have the worst hold music I've ever heard." She's not wrong; if elevator music had a love child with disco, it would create something like our hold channel.
"I'll pass that on to my boss. What's up? I assume you didn't call to assess the background noise."
"Can you come meet me for lunch? I'm downtown, and I need to talk to you."
Nobody wants to tell me what they want these days. "I have a meeting at two. Is that enough time?"
"It'll do, dear. Meet me at the Hard Rock. I'm back by the Cadillac." She hangs up on me. Karma. I hang up on Ben, Gregor and Hazel hang up on me.
At five past noon, I slide into a booth across from Hazel Lottie. She's ordered me a Coke and lounges across from me, picking at some buffalo wings.
Hazel waves a hand at me and sucks on a chicken bone.
I order a cheeseburger and wait while Hazel polishes off the rest of her wings. It takes two and a half Cokes worth of time, and the waitress brings me two full glasses with an eye roll after I drain the second.
I point at the clock on my phone. "Hazel. It's quarter of one."
"There's a clock behind you, dear." She takes a long swig of her sweet tea, and her wrinkled lips smooth out with her wide smile.
Clearly whatever news she has isn't daunting.
"I'm afraid I wasn't entirely truthful with you, honey." She stretches her smile even wider, and I'm afraid she's going to split the skin of her cheeks like sun-aged paper.
"I know. But I don't know what you lied about or why."
"I heard about The Righteous Dark and their rather ignominious fate. Lawdy, what a mess."
Literally. "I found a letter from Lena to the drummer."
"Do you have it with you?"
I twist a napkin into a snake. "It's at home. But it was short. She said she was chosen for something, just like he said she would be. Do you know what she thought she was chosen for?"
That Hazel's smile tightens into a straight line tells me she does.
"What is it, Hazel? More hells-worshiping bullshit?" I stop. "Sorry for the language."
Hazel flaps her hand in the air. "I've heard the word shit before, child. Even said it on more than one occasion. Don't baby me."
"Yes, ma'am. I apologize."
She nods, waving her hand again. "Lena told me that she and the band had found a new way to worship the hellkin. I reckon I'd never heard the like of it, but she seemed to think it was the path to enlightenment. Or whatever you want to call it for her particulars. All I know is she thought
If only I didn't dream in red.
When I get to work Monday morning, Alice has her hair in a bouffant and has switched her lipstick to bright purple. It clashes horribly with her hair and crimson nail polish, but she waves a cheery hello as I enter the office.
I plan to spend the morning getting caught up on my actual work. If Gregor's hunch gets me fired, I'm going to make him pay my salary. He can be responsible for keeping me in sake and silk, for all I care.
I find an email from Ben in my inbox.
"Sorry if I offended you yesterday. I just hate seeing splats. Makes me sick. Let me know if you want to talk. -B"
Ben means well, but he treats me like I belong in a tower with golden hair flowing over a balcony. This is real life, and my hair is bright orange. He's living in a dream world. I have to live in this one.
At eleven forty-six, Alice buzzes me. At first I only hear a snapping sound.
I pause before I speak. "Um, Alice?"
There's a loud crack. She's chewing gum again.
"Ayala, you've got a call on line three."
"Who is it?"
"Hazel Lottie. Are you calling strippers again?"
"She's a source," I say, then realize that sounds like a confirmation. "On a missing persons thing the Summit's having me look into. And she's not a stripper, she's eighty-bajillion years old."
"Ageist."
"Just put her on the phone."
There's another loud spack as Alice cracks a bubble at me, but I hear the click of the phone line switching over. "Hazel?"
"Lawdy, y'all have the worst hold music I've ever heard." She's not wrong; if elevator music had a love child with disco, it would create something like our hold channel.
"I'll pass that on to my boss. What's up? I assume you didn't call to assess the background noise."
"Can you come meet me for lunch? I'm downtown, and I need to talk to you."
Nobody wants to tell me what they want these days. "I have a meeting at two. Is that enough time?"
"It'll do, dear. Meet me at the Hard Rock. I'm back by the Cadillac." She hangs up on me. Karma. I hang up on Ben, Gregor and Hazel hang up on me.
At five past noon, I slide into a booth across from Hazel Lottie. She's ordered me a Coke and lounges across from me, picking at some buffalo wings.
Hazel waves a hand at me and sucks on a chicken bone.
I order a cheeseburger and wait while Hazel polishes off the rest of her wings. It takes two and a half Cokes worth of time, and the waitress brings me two full glasses with an eye roll after I drain the second.
I point at the clock on my phone. "Hazel. It's quarter of one."
"There's a clock behind you, dear." She takes a long swig of her sweet tea, and her wrinkled lips smooth out with her wide smile.
Clearly whatever news she has isn't daunting.
"I'm afraid I wasn't entirely truthful with you, honey." She stretches her smile even wider, and I'm afraid she's going to split the skin of her cheeks like sun-aged paper.
"I know. But I don't know what you lied about or why."
"I heard about The Righteous Dark and their rather ignominious fate. Lawdy, what a mess."
Literally. "I found a letter from Lena to the drummer."
"Do you have it with you?"
I twist a napkin into a snake. "It's at home. But it was short. She said she was chosen for something, just like he said she would be. Do you know what she thought she was chosen for?"
That Hazel's smile tightens into a straight line tells me she does.
"What is it, Hazel? More hells-worshiping bullshit?" I stop. "Sorry for the language."
Hazel flaps her hand in the air. "I've heard the word shit before, child. Even said it on more than one occasion. Don't baby me."
"Yes, ma'am. I apologize."
She nods, waving her hand again. "Lena told me that she and the band had found a new way to worship the hellkin. I reckon I'd never heard the like of it, but she seemed to think it was the path to enlightenment. Or whatever you want to call it for her particulars. All I know is she thought
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