Part 3 (2/2)
And like the saying goes, sometimes you get what you wish for.
Because when she opened her eyes to unleash her fury on Sam for having the gall to order her to do anything, he wasn't there at all.
And neither was her gangster sister or her gangster sister's friends or the beautiful fireplace she'd so admired when she'd first opened her eyes at Nina's.
When she opened her eyes, she was standing in one of the rare kitchens in Manhattan that was bigger than a s...o...b..x and affordable.
The kitchen she'd searched high and low for months in order to find.
The one where, if she listened to the Three Paranormal Musketeers, she'd no longer have any use for.
And that kitchen was hers.
CHAPTER 3.
Mark, her roommate, business partner, and her best friend since grade seven when she'd punched Ernie Horowitz for calling him a queer, screamed a piercing squeal that continued to ring in her head long after it was over. ”Jesus Christ in a pair of Choos, Phoebe! Warning, please, huh? I didn't even hear you come in. Are you trying to scare the wrinkles into me? Don't sneak up on me like that-especially when I'm in the middle of steaming my pores.”
As Phoebe's eyes focused, she caught the tendrils of steam rising from the pot Mark hovered over on the stove. The scent of eucalyptus, normally pleasant to her nose, made her gag. Or dry heave. However you wanted to look at it.
The towel Mark had tented over his head fell to the floor when his gaze fell on her with openmouthed horror. He gasped. ”What ...”
Phoebe frowned, gripping the edge of the Formica countertop to keep from falling over. What now? Was there more after teleporting here like some other-dimensional s.p.a.ce traveler? ”What-what?” she asked, commending herself for keeping her voice steady.
He held his arm out straight; at the end of it was his hand mirror. The one he used to pluck his nostril hairs. He shoved it at her. His eyes were accusatory. They said she should know what. ”That's what-what.” Mark tapped the mirror for emphasis, his lips pursing.
Phoebe's eyes flew open wide and her hand went to her face with a whimpered mewl. Fangs. She had fangs. Big, gleaming white incisors that had just begun to make an appearance over her lower lip.
They were exactly like the fangs Nina had so blatantly flashed in her face when they'd given her the Cirque du Paranormal experience back at the castle. How did you explain fangs? Did you even try? And hadn't Nina said she'd never see her reflection again? After seeing her teeth, maybe that wasn't the boil on her a.s.s she'd originally thought it would be. Her mind raced to put together an explanation, but Mark saved her from having to say anything.
Mark set the mirror down and gave her a look of admonishment. ”Halloween's over, honey. And lay off the highlighter. You've gone overboard with your youthful glow and jumped into the Bride of Chucky ocean. It's creepy. And where have you been? It's almost midnight. You missed a perfectly fabulous tuna tartar with pumpkin risotto and steamed asparagus. You could have at least called, you dirty stay out,” he chastised on a snicker, shooing her away from the counter with a flap of his hand to turn the stove off. ”So was it a date with that guy Joey from the bodega? He's sweet on you, suns.h.i.+ne. I've got the extra half pound of pastrami to prove it. All I have to do is utter your name and he's all a.s.sholes and elbows at the meat slicer, shards of pig flying in the hopes I'll give him your number.”
Phoebe slid her boots off, still stunned, but forcing herself to form words. ”No. No Joey.” She ran a hand over the kitchen wall just to be sure it was real. That she was really in her kitchen in lower Manhattan with the tiny balcony off their living room and the ridiculous painting of Cher hanging between the pictures of her and her mother.
”Wait,” Mark said with hesitance, alarm in his voice, his sweet round face wary. ”You didn't forget to come home, did you, honey?”
Most people would think that a strange question, but not her. Not since ... ”No,” she replied, the word hushed but meant to rea.s.sure. ”I didn't forget. I just got caught up.”
Standing behind her, Mark rested his rounded chin on her shoulder. ”Darling?”
His voice, in her ear, normally pleasant and nurturing, was maddeningly abrasive, leaving a residual ringing in its wake. ”Yeah?” She wanted to scream the word, but managed to only whisper.
”Did the earth move for you or something tonight? Because you're behaving like I did after that delicious night I had with Raul in Meheeco,” he mimicked a poor Spanish accent. ”Sort of dazed and confused with just a hint of sinfully satiated.” Mark clucked his tongue. The smile the memory wrought from him reflected fondness. ”Remember that trip? Soft sand between our toes, mojitos in hand, festive, colorful beach wraps, waves lapping at our feet. Heeeaven,” he sang. ”We should go back-soon by the looks of you. Oh, and Penny called tonight. I told her you'd call her back.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead and scooped up her boots, taking them to the small closet in the hall.
No sooner was she paying homage to the universe for keeping her from having to explain to Mark what was going on with her teeth and her complexion than her doorbell rang.
Phoebe had to jam a fist into her mouth to keep from screaming out loud the earsplitting pain that jangled her eardrums. Every nerve in her body was raw-raw like someone had used sandpaper on them.
”Who could that be so late? You don't think Helen fell again?” Mark ran for the door, worry creasing his round face. Helen was their elderly downstairs neighbor who refused to use a walker as per doctor's orders. Ornery and stubborn, she'd slipped and fallen last year, breaking her hip. Helen's husband, Otis, had run into them in the elevator, panicked and worried, and they'd offered to sit with the couple until the ambulance arrived.
Since then, they'd spent almost every Sunday dinner downstairs in the Gaglianos' apartment with the scent of mothb.a.l.l.s and tantalizing homemade ziti surrounding them.
Phoebe managed to make her way to the end of the kitchen on ever-weakening legs when Mark stuck his head around the corner, grinning. ”Eminem and the Unabomber's bride to see you,” Mark said on a snicker, clearly referring to Nina's black hoodie and Sam, who must still be in drag. But she'd already known it was Nina and Sam. She'd smelled them the moment Mark had opened the door, and Wanda wasn't far behind, if her nose was correct.
That stopped her in her tracks. Sweet Jesus in Manolos. She was applying scents to people who were more than two hundred feet from her. Her terror ratcheted up yet another jolting notch.
Phoebe fought the swirl of colors before her eyes, pinching Mark's arm when she clung to it to keep him from going back to the front door. ”That's her,” she whispered to him. Mark had helped her when she'd decided to find Nina. He'd logged just as many frustrating hours at the computer as she had.
The look of horror on his face would have made her giggle if not for the fact that she was having trouble holding herself up. ”Her-her? Your long-lost sister her?” He put a hand over his mouth and whispered from behind it, ”Shut the front door.”
”You know what this reminds me of?”
Mark nodded with vigor. He knew the soap opera reference she was referring to. ”I'm right there with you. It's just like the time when Fabiana Jones found out she had not one but two sisters separated from her at birth. Oh, Holy mother of all things melodramatic. Really, who could believe that guttersnipe Tanya from the planet Ghetto was the ultra-sw.a.n.k Fabiana's sister?”
Phoebe shushed him. ”It's inconceivable, right? We're so different.”
”Well, you're not the Doublemint Twins, count on that. So who's the dish? Never mind. I just want to know how you two can genetically be related. Oh, dear G.o.d in heaven. How ...” he sputtered in wonder, his blue eyes wide.
”I know, I know. We're poles apart. She's like Dreary Barbie dressed for the fas.h.i.+on apocalypse. Genetics are LOL, huh?”
”Yeah, totally ROFLMAO those genetics. Funny, funny, funny,” Nina said on a grunt, pus.h.i.+ng her way past Phoebe and picking Mark up only to set him down by their small kitchen table.
She rounded on Phoebe, cornering her against the pantry door. ”You need to feed. You look like s.h.i.+t. Sit. I brought something that will make you feel better. We'll talk about what the h.e.l.l that was back at my house after you feed.”
Mark tapped Nina's shoulder, making her turn to face him. No matter what, Mark always had her back. ”Feed? Is that what thugs call it these days? Where I come from we dine.”
Nina's nostrils flared, alerting Phoebe to the potential disaster Mark was headed for. She wrapped a finger around the collar of his polo s.h.i.+rt, stretching the dark blue material as she did, and lifted him up as though he were lighter than the proverbial feather. ”Where I come from, we dine on worms like you.” She waved a dismissive hand under Mark's nose. ”Now go take a bubble bath and listen to some Liza or something, and leave us the h.e.l.l alone. We have s.h.i.+t to do.”
Mark crossed his arms over his chest in defiance, even with his slippered feet dangling. If Mark was nothing else, he was no coward. Phoebe knew he was more than likely petrified that a woman had scooped him up off the ground like he was nothing more than a stray sock, but she also knew he'd never let anyone see him sweat.
Eye to eye with Nina, he let his eyebrows rise in full-blown diva arrogance and his voice only held a hint of a quiver. ”The h.e.l.l I will. You're in my home, accosting my BFF. Not on my watch, pale-face.”
Sam grumbled his disapproval from behind. ”Nina. Put him down.” Sam poked his head around her shoulder and gave her a hopeful grin. ”Please,” he tacked on.
Nina dropped Mark with a thud, the slap of his slippers echoing in the silence.
Sam shot Nina a grateful, approving smile. ”Now, uh, Mark, is it?”
”Single, is it?” Mark cooed with a flirty wink.
Sam dragged a hand through his hair, fed up written all over his chiseled, smeared made-up face. Yet, his words were patient and served up with a kind tone. ”Look. Could we maybe go sit down in the living room and let Phoebe and her sister talk? I promise you I won't let anything happen to her.”
Mark walked his fingers up Sam's muscled forearm. ”Only if you tell me where you bought that dress. It's cute, yet s.e.xy and fun all at once, handsome. I can think of three of our clients off the top of my head who could wear that.”
Sam's teeth, now back to their normal state, visibly clenched, and the muscles in his jaw twitched. ”Please.” He waved a hand in the direction of the living room to encourage Mark to exit.
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