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A giant smile spread on her lips as she unraveled the cord to the curling iron and plugged it into the wall by the mirror.
She turned to face me, her hands leaning on the edge of the countertop behind her.
“It’s the annual Open House.”
“Open House?” I furrowed my eyebrows. “What is that?”
Mel shook her head. “I’m not supposed to tell you anything else. Cai’s orders.”
Caius.The fact that she calls him Cai tells me they are close, and he must trust her if he let us both use his bathroom. And the underlying meaning of him putting me inthisbathroom instead of Mel’s did not slip away from me.
“Are you going, too?” I asked, even though she already looked ready to go. Her blonde hair fell in soft waves to the middle of her sides, and her makeup was already completely done. Even though she was in grey sweatpants and a zip-up hoodie, she could still walk into the party right now and look better than most people there.
She shrugged and looked over her shoulder to the curling iron, checking the heat. “I’ll probably make an appearance. But I’ve been to it so many times, it’s boring to me now.”
She looked back to me as she picked up the curling iron, snapping its clamp. “But you, Miss Castell,” she stepped behind me and placed her head over my shoulder, looking at my reflection in the mirror. “You will not be bored tonight.”
Caius
“You know, my wife and I were thinking of sharing a mausoleum. Maybe a side-by-side sort of thing.”
I swirled the drink in my glass before taking another sip. The ice was melting, and the liquid was growing warm. I winced at the watered-down piss flavor.
“Would that be possible?”
I nodded my head and flashed a quick grin. “Of course it’s possible, Mr. Hawke.”
The party had only begun thirty minutes ago, and I was already answering the same damn questions over and over. It was like a playback track in my head, and all I had to do was push one of the preprogrammed buttons of answers. It was mindless conversation at this point.
But these were potential clients, and I had to keep my business face on.
It’s only one night out of the year, after all.
I pretended to play with one of the cuff links on my suit jacket as Marcus Hawke proceeded to talk to me about his interest in this place and his desire to spend his eternity here.
If you were to ask anyone about their thoughts on the afterlife, most people have the same outlook.
Heaven, Hell, sometimes Purgatory.
If you’re good, you go to Heaven. If you’re bad, you go to Hell. If you believe in Jesus Christ, you go to Heaven. If you don’t, you go to Hell.
Pretty cut and dry, right?
But out ofallthose people, there’salwaysthat little nagging voice in the back of their head that gives them doubt. They don’t have any definitive proof. They truly don’t know where they will end up, no matter what they believe in. And if their beliefs aren’t enough, then what happens?
Where do we go when we’re not good enough?
It’s a serious thought for everyone, and it’s not to be taken lightly.
That’s why my house is currently filled with people,clients,who want to control their outcome of the afterlife.
They want to hold the power in their hands.
And I’m here to give it to them.
Just as Mr. Hawke started to ramble on about the interior of his future mausoleum, a shimmer of white flashed out of the corner of my eye. I glanced over to seeherwalking through the groups of people.
Celeste Castell.
