AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Do you want me to pick it?” August asks, glancing nervously down the street.
“What? Pick the lock?” Wes says. “What kind of feral child are you? Are you Jessica Jones?”
“We’re not breaking and entering,” Niko says. “I have a key. Somewhere.”
August turns to sniff in Myla’s direction. “You smell like a McRib.”
“What?”
“You know, like, smoky.”
Myla jabs an elbow into Wes’s ribs. “Someone forgot their lunch in the toaster oven today and I had to put out a kitchen fire,” she says. “We’re, like, one fire away from losing our security deposit.”
“We lost our security deposit when you took it upon yourself to rewire the entire apartment,” Wes replies.
Niko chuckles under his breath. He’s fingering through a ring of keys in the dim glow of the streetlights. August wonders what all the keys are for—knowing Niko, he’s probably talked his way into having a key to half the plant supply stores and dive bars in Brooklyn.
“How our apartment ever had a security deposit to begin with is a joke,” August says. “The oven doesn’t even go over three-fifty.”
“And it didn’t go over one-fifty before I rewired it,” Myla says.
“Wes?”
The four of them jolt like Scooby Doo and the gang, caught in the act. Niko is not technically allowed to use his key for after-hours communications with the dead. No personal calls, basically—they can’t get caught.
But it’s only Isaiah, fresh from a gig going by the duffel bag thrown over his shoulder and the smudged eyeliner. It’s the first time August has properly seen him out of drag. In his T-shirt and jeans, it’s all very superhero secret identity.
“Isaiah,” Wes says. Niko returns to searching for the right key. “Hey.”
Even in the washed-out darkness of the street, it’s obvious Wes is blushing under his freckles. As Niko would say, that’s interesting.
“Hey, uh… what are y’all doing?” Isaiah asks.
“Uh—” Wes stammers.
Niko glances over his shoulder and says flatly, “A séance.”
Wes looks mortified, but Isaiah is intrigued. “Oh, no shit?”
“You wanna join?” Niko says. “I feel good about the number five tonight.”
“Sure, uh—” He turns, addressing the guy who’s been waiting for him. “You good to get home?”
“No worries, babe,” the guy says. He waves and heads off toward the nearest subway stop.
“Who was that?” Wes says, very obviously trying to sound like he doesn’t care at all.
Isaiah grins. “That’s my new drag daughter. Freshly hatched little baby. Goes by Sara Tonin.”
Myla laughs. “Genius.”
“Aha!” Niko crows, victorious, and the door to the shop swings open.
Niko leaves the overhead lights off and moves purposefully around the shop, lighting velones de santos like the ones he’s shown her at home until the glow mixes with the moonlight and the muddy flood of the streetlights. The space is wall-to-wall shelves, full of stones and bundles of herbs and animal skulls, bottles of Niko’s home-brewed Alcoholado. One rickety bookshelf sags under hundreds of bottles and jars, most filled with murky oil and labeled things like FAST LUCK and DRAGON’S BLOOD. There’s a collection of pillar candles too, with cards explaining their uses. The one closest to August is either for reuniting past loves or penis enlargement. She should probably get the prescription on her glasses updated.
“So… is this a… general séance?” Isaiah says. He’s on the other side of the room, examining a jar of teeth. “Or are we trying to talk to someone in particular?”
And now August is in Wes’s position, stammering and hoping Niko doesn’t come through with the truth.
