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I should probably get to the point before I’m lured into a long conversation trap about different octopi and sea sponges. “Mrs. Shaheen, I had a question about—”
“Is it him?” Her big eyes are on me at once. Her thick eyebrows raise, as if indicating the hairs on the back of her neck doing the same. “The ghost? Has he made himself known to you at last?”
“No, no,” I instantly assure her. “Not at all.”
“Count yourself lucky.” Her eyes go dark. “His thirst for blood grows the worst near the full moon—and the next one is on All Hallows’ Eve!”
I’m not gonna touch that one. “I know this may … seem a bit bizarre, but I’m doing a … a graphics gig for a client, and … it’s related to ghosts, spirits, and related phenomena. Can I pick your brain about a few things?”
She purses her lips in thought, considering me for a moment. Then she takes a step back. “Come inside. I’ll pour us some tea.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary. I don’t want to take up too much of your time. I just—”
“The tea helps the knowledge flow. Come in.”
She leaves me at the door and glides to the kitchen. After a moment’s hesitation, I follow her inside. Her apartment is as colorful and peculiar as she is, with silks of different colors draped here and there, beads hanging over the archway leading to the kitchen, the upholstery of the couch appearing like mismatched patchwork. My eyes are overwhelmed by all the colors and glittering trinkets everywhere. I wouldn’t be surprised in the least if she entertains guests to peer into a crystal ball she has somewhere and learn of their impending futures.
I’m on the couch when she returns with the tea. Our cups are poured, and then the two of us sit across from each other, gently blowing away the steam.
“So I was wondering if you could tell me about—”
“He wasn’t murdered,” she says at once.
I stare at her over the cup of steaming tea. “Sorry?”
“I shouldn’t have embellished so much. He didn’t burn alive. The spot on the wall by the kitchen is from a silly accident involving an overloaded outlet that nearly caught fire. I’ve been holding that burden upon me ever since you moved in. I thought it would scare you away, but you are clearly not one for theatrics. No, you aren’t. He wasn’t murdered.” She continues to blow her tea.
I study her for a moment. West won’t tell me. He’ll barely breach the subject. Suddenly I find myself rather interested in learning something else. “How did he—?”
“Foolish. It was foolish. He had a party, a big, loud party in that apartment. Halloween, last year.” Her eyes fall to her cup, her hair shuddering as her head droops. “Things got out of hand. Drunk and wasted, all of them, all of his friends … and him.” She sighs. “He fell.”
“Fell?”
“From the fire escape. He fell to his death. It was so tragic. It broke my heart. He isn’t a bad person. He was just … foolish. Oh, I hope his spirit isn’t angry with me for making a fuss about him, for trying to scare away all my potential tenants. In truth, I was hoping for someone like you to arrive.” She lifts her gaze to me. “Someone who wasn’t a fool for silly ghost stories.”
I’m not sure how to respond to that.
“Anyhow, with that out of the way, I hope you can forgive me. I get the dramatics from my parents, who’re rather a handful until you get to know them. What is it you wanted to pick my brain about?” Her mood is lifted at once as she brings the tea to her mouth for a sip.
I’m finding it difficult to shift gears as abruptly as she apparently can. “I, uh …” A quick clearing of my throat calibrates my thoughts. “I was wondering if you might … indulge me in explaining a thing or two about, um—not sure what to call it—in how a spirit might go about … possessing a living body …?”
Her eyebrows pull together over her cup, which she promptly lowers. “What in heavens do you need to know about that for?”
I already devised the lie with West’s help. “My art project—for my client—it is going to depict a friendly spirit sharing the body of a living person. A bit difficult to explain in detail. Also, uh … artist-client privilege, I can’t divulge much more. But I’d like to ensure that the graphic I design is as accurate as possible. You seem to be rather knowledgeable about spirits.”
Mrs. Shaheen sets down her tea, appearing peeved. “If only you were more curious about sea creatures and krakens. I could spill an encyclopedia about them.”
“Sorry.”
“Are you quite sure the art must depict—?”
