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“Yes, I believe so. They seemed to think it was a space being from another planet. Silly gooses.”
“Well, what happened?” Grant asked.
“What do you think?” Precipitation rolled his eyes. “They waited for the space being to take them away to the fluffy paradise world on this one specific date and nothing happened. They lost their minds and then somehow got the idea in their head that the space being wanted blood for a vassal. After the first person died—”
“Vessel, you ridiculous diseased harlot,” a smooth female voice interjected. “Not avassal.”
Huck knew exactly who it was, and he grinned as Rebecca Flynn melted into the room to join them. “Hey, Becks! Back from sabbatical already?”
Rebecca was a stunning blonde beauty with perfectly coiffed hair, a lush fur wrap, and a sparkling evening gown. Her eyes were precisely penciled in black, her lips a deep red, and the only thing amiss about her finely honed appearance was that she only had one stiletto.
No one seemed to know why, and Precipitation had warned Huck against asking.
“Hello, darling,” Rebecca cooed at Huck. “I see you’re still with us!” She eyed Precipitation. “The rotten festering prostitute is here, of course.”
“Hello, you delicious fetid slut!” Precipitation practically lunged off the bed to greet her and exchange kisses on each other’s cheeks. “You look ravishing, sweetie.”
“Aw, so do you. Still wearing out the seams of your sister’s wedding gown, hmm?”
“Oh, you uncommonly boring trollop. How’s that rat fur you’ve been dragging around for the last fifty years holding up?”
“Splendid! If it drags any lower, I’ll be able to tickle your balls if I walk behind you.”
Precipitation laughed and embraced her again. “Sweetie, oh, how I’ve missed you!”
Huck had never understood it, but this was their special way of showing affection. They would keep stacking the insults until they were both dying of laughter and Huck was hopelessly lost, although impressed by the constantly evolving creativity.
Grant cleared his throat. “Uh, Miss Flynn? Hi.”
“Oh! The blood bag is a psychic?” Rebecca broke from Precipitation to eye Grant with a ravenously charming smile. “Hello there, darling. Why yes, I am Rebecca Flynn, the first actress to ever be—”
“Ever nominated for that stupid award, yes, we know.” Precipitation snorted. “Get off the clock, you mangy minx. He’s with Huck.”
Rebecca’s shoulders slouched, and she threw her fur over on the foot of the bed. “Well, damn.”
Huck allowed himself a brief moment to feel very smug, and he leaned over to peck Grant’s cheek just to drive the point home that they were an item. “Hear that? I’ve officially cock blocked an Academy Award nominated actress.”
Grant pressed his lips together, clearly trying not to laugh.
“How boring.” Rebecca turned up her nose, marching over to the sofa to lounge. “Hmm. Anything interesting happen while I was away? Why were you all talking about that dreadful little cult?”
“It could be really important,” Grant replied. “It might be connected to the Thing in the Eastern Stairs and maybe why you’re all trapped here.”
“It’s absolutely connected.” Rebecca raised her hand, and a lit cigarette in a jade cigarette holder appeared between her fingers. “Those very confused folks had it in their heads that the Thing was an alien and would take them away—”
“I already told him that part, you desiccated tramp,” Precipitation drawled.
“Oh, right, right.” Rebecca took a drag off her cigarette, exhaling the smoke as she said, “The square-jawed syphilitic hussy was telling you about the vessel, yes? The cult’s leader, who was an absolutedreamby the way, was attempting some bizarre black magic ritual to give the Thing its own vessel.”
“A host?” Grant frowned. “They were trying to give it a host and let it out?”
“Yes, darling. Pay attention. That’s what a vessel is.” Rebecca flicked her ashes, and they vanished before they ever hit the carpet. “The leader had a hard time trying to talk to the Thing being that he was not a very strong psychic, and I think some bits of that nasty ritual got lost in translation. Plus, the Thing only speaks in Latin. Can you imagine? It was something about them needing totryblood, but they only got through seven or so of their members before the police barged in and mucked it all up for them.”
Huck cringed and reached for Grant’s hand. “Yeah, wow. What a shame.”
“I wouldn’t have minded seeing if they could have pulled it off. Maybe they just needed to try more.” Rebecca shrugged. “But of course, Myrna snuck away to call the police—”
“Wait, wait, so Myrna was there?”
