Page 96 of Coveted By Cupid

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

VANESSA

Monday rolls around faster than I like. Scalpel cleared me for most activities, including returning to in-person classes and clinic hours. Originally, the week away from classes stressed me, but I can’t deny it has helped speed along my healing significantly. My head no longer feels like a rave is bouncing off the walls of my brain, and my unicorn horn is gone—only a nasty-colored bruise remains.

There’s no way I can see my patients at the clinic looking like this. It could trigger some of them, especially any of my patients with a history of abuse.

My makeup supply is minimal and unable to help me cover my contusion. Thank goodness I know another woman in the club who can help. A quick phone call to Marlene has her coming to my aid.

Thirty minutes later, Marlene arrives at Cupid’s apartment with a gorgeous woman I’ve only seen in passing in the restaurant a few times. She’s a hard one to forget with her fair skin looking like porcelain and silky black hair, so dark it shines blue. Crypt is often by her side most mornings, giving his brothers stink-eye when they talk to her.

“This is Romy. She has way more makeup expertise than I do.”

Romy hauls a large traveling case on wheels. She stops in front of me, holding out her hand with a cheerful smile. “I’ve seen you in the bar downstairs, but we haven’t formally been introduced. It’s nice to meet you. Let’s get that thing covered.”

Seated on a barstool, I ogle the wide variety of makeup supplies Romy has spread out along the kitchen island. The brand names listed on the sides of the cosmetology compacts are ones I’ve never heard of before, such as Dodge Chemical Company and Derma-Pro.

Huh? These must be some fancy-dancy makeup brands. Maybe it’s stage cosmetics? Romy has the striking looks that would definitely be film-worthy.

Making small talk, Romy finds a color palette that works for my skin tone and gets to work. The concealer she uses feels different from any other cover-up I’ve used before, waxier.

“You’ve got beautiful skin, almost poreless,” she compliments. “It will make blending easy.”

“Oh, thank you. Where did you go to cosmetology school?”

“I got my Mortuary Science degree from Arapahoe Community College in Littleton, Colorado.”

I beg your finest pardon? Did she say Mortuary Science?

My eyes land on the funky makeup again, making my insides curdle. “Mortuary Science as in you’re a mortician?”

“Mm-hm,” she says, oblivious to my growing horror brewing within me as she smears more odd concealer across my forehead. “I own the funeral home three blocks down the street. It’s the big historical Victorian on the corner.”

“Right. Um, and is what you’re using on me the same stuff you use on dead people?”

Marlene tilts her head with a furrowed brow, looking between the cosmetics and Romy.

Romy pauses her work to look down at me with thin lips, like she finally senses my unease and guesses I will not like her answer. “Yes.”

A full-body shudder rolls through me.

I’m wearing dead people’s makeup. Ew, ew, ew.

Marlene rears back, sickened. “What the hell, Romy?! I asked you to come do makeup, not dress a corpse.”

“You asked me to drop everything to come do an emergency cover-up. That’s what I’m doing. Do you think I have a plethora of cosmetics for the living on hand? I’m a mortician, Marlene, not a cosmetologist.”

“I just assumed you’d stop by the store and grab some makeup before arriving.”

“You assumed wrong!”

While the two of them argue back and forth, I try to control my breathing before I trigger a panic attack. The heebie-jeebies are in full force.

“At least I grabbed the new shipment of cosmetics that arrived yesterday. It’s not like I’m using used makeup on her.”

Oh, thank fuck! I’m not covered in dead people cooties. Relieved, I sink against the counter.

There’s no way I can remove the layers of waxy residue from my skin and find something else to cover the bruise before I need to head back to Fort Collins for class.