“You’re working with some pretty shoddy equipment here.”
She shrugs. “People only believe it when it looks cheap.”
I stop in front of her, and she narrows her eyes.
For all of five seconds, and then she throws her arms around me.
This is not, in fact, guest medium Angelique Laveau, though I’m sure she has at least one fake ID that claims so.
This is:
Poppy Champagne
Yes, that is her real name.
She was our gadgets gal, distraction, and runic witch. She was the last to join our crew and the only one not to know our parents. She didn’t talk much about her past, but we pieced together that she lost her old crew.
The last time I saw her was that day when I asked everyone—politely—to fuck off. Apparently, Poppy doesn’t hold it against me, because her hug is tight enough that I can’t breathe. Or maybe she’s trying to strangle me.
When she pulls back, she looks at my clothes. “Girl, that dress makes your boobs look amazing.”
I roll my eyes, gesturing to where she has much more impressive cleavage on display.
“Oh, these old things,” she demurs, tossing her braids over her shoulder.
Poppy’s figure is an hourglass on steroids, and she knows how to dress to accentuate her assets. Today, she’s wearing a black dress cinched at the waist, with flowy sleeves and a leather pouch amulet on display right between said assets. It’s part of what made her a great distraction. It doesn’t matter where your preferences lie—you see that much boob, you’re going to stare.
Poppy’s expression becomes serious. “I missed you, boo.”
I’m not really sure how to respond. Yes, I asked her to leave, but she could have come back at any time. She could have texted.
I snort. “Nah, you were too busy doing séances and apparently perfecting a Long Island accent.”
Poppy gives me one of her signature unimpressed looks. She knows I’m deflecting, but she’s not going to call me on it right now.
“How are the others?” she asks. “You been keeping in touch?”
“Just CJ,” I say.
Poppy’s eyebrows raise. “CJ? I woulda thought…They doing alright?”
I shrug. “They’re CJ.”
Poppy’s quiet for a moment, her eyes glazed over, so I clear my throat. She jerks back to herself and gives me one of her smiles.
“So I’m guessing you have a job?”
“Well, I was going to buy you dinner first, but I suppose we’ll jump right in. Yeah, there’s a job.”
“Ooh, you can still buy me dinner.”
I came up with several versions of the pitch on the plane, and after talking to Poppy for less than five minutes, I know which one to use.
“It’s a big job,” I say. “We’ll need the whole crew. CJ’s already in, but I—”
“I’m in,” Poppy says.
I almost laugh. “I didn’t even give you the pitch yet.”
