One Ghost Per Serving (37 page)

She nodded, her jaw firmly set. Eric knew that she would rip DZ apart with her bare hands if the opportunity came up.

“His father runs Nidus, so DZ exploits their resources to do stuff like, for example, attempt to infect everyone in the world with a commerce spirit to get back at family for putting him in anti-diarrhea pudding commercials.” Yep, that pretty much summed it up, Eric thought.

“Seriously?” Willa looked disgusted and struggled to sit up.

“Yeah. He wants to have more money than his father. I think.” Eric sat on his heels. He shook his head. “Whatever. I don’t understand rich people.” Eric wanted to get back to the subject. If Willa was hoping he had forgotten about it, she was mistaken.

“So. Indonesia.”

Taffy pretended not to listen. Rex sat beside her. They looked like Tom Sawyer and Huck Finn.

“It’s Dad.” Willa looked reluctant to admit it.

“Ed? What –”

“He left me a letter before he died. He wanted to bring, and I quote, ‘the wonders of air conditioning to countries that didn’t have it.’“

“Like a missionary.” Taffy averted her eyes like she hadn’t said anything.

“Yeah, like an HVAC missionary, I suppose.” Willa almost smiled. “He had a short list of countries, and Indonesia was the first one. I felt … obligated.”

“You were going to take Taffy and live in Southeast Asia because you felt obligated?” Eric thought it was bad to endure the litany of insults based on The Princess Patsy, but to move to a place like Indonesia? That was another level.

“To get away from
you
, obviously,” Rex put in.

Eric stood and held out his hand to Willa. “I want to show you something.”

“You painted it?” Willa walked around his bus, parked crookedly at the curb in airport unloading.

“I painted it.”

“But your father –”

“The Princess was
his
bus, and it was making my life harder. So I made it
my
bus.”

She put her hand on the side, under the row of windows. “I love it.” She hesitated. “Did you do this after you found out you didn’t win the contest?”

Eric adjusted the side mirror. “No, I won that.”

She faced him. “You
won
it? Why in the name of John Gorrie didn’t you tell me?”

He pushed his goo-coated hair out of his face and behind his ear. “Don’t get me wrong – I’m thrilled to be able to send Taffy wherever she wants to go, in pursuit of studying something dangerous and disgusting.” Though, actually, it scared the hell out of him, and he wanted to freeze Taffy exactly where she was and keep her in the house within his sight at all times. “But that wasn’t what I got out of going through the whole thing. Besides, Taffy doesn’t need it.”

“Was painting over the Princess a part of that?”

He grinned. “Yeah.” He looked up at movement in the distance, and watched a young girl come running toward them, but not urgently and away from something – she wore running shorts, a tank top, and corded earbuds, which she took out when she stopped in front of them.

“I’m Casey Combs. Are you Taffy’s parents?”

She had sun-kissed skin, alert hazel eyes, and nutmeg-brown hair just long enough to tie back in her ponytail. Her figure, long and narrow, indicated that this wasn’t her first season running cross-country.

“I saw you on the TV in the window of Settle’s Insurance and thought I’d run over. Is Taffy inside?”

“She’s right inside,” Willa said.

“You haven’t been eating any Quantal Organic Yogurt, I hope,” Eric said, feeling ancient.

“Quantal Organic? Yeah, tons.” Casey laughed. “But I can eat anything. Ask Taffy.” At that she ran off into the automatic airport doors.

By silent agreement, Eric and Willa followed her and tried to be unobtrusive. “She’s immune to it like I am?” Eric said.

“Probably not like you,” Willa said. “Just a natural immunity, lucky girl.”

Yards away, Casey and Taffy talked excitedly by the ticket counter. Eric noticed Josh leaning on the same counter feet away, looking weak but better.

“Are they friends, or …” Willa whispered.

Then Casey took Taffy’s hands in hers.

“Friends that age do that …” Willa said.

Then Casey leaned in and kissed Taffy on the mouth. Willa gasped and put her hand to her face. “Oh!”

Taffy looked stunned, then smiled, and Eric found that the room was suddenly a little dusty. He pulled Willa away, back outside.

“Did you know?” Willa said. “I should have known. Did you know?”

“I didn’t know.”

“I mean, it’s fine. It’s … terrific, I’m just …” she took in a deep breath and touched her fingers to her neck. “Wow.”

They looked the the newly-painted bus.

“Maybe,” Willa started to say.

“What?”

“Maybe I can stay,” Willa said. “I do good work here. I don’t need to go halfway around the world to do it.” She hesitated, looked away, then looked back to him with a searching expression. In a quiet voice, she said, “That was lovely, what you did, with my Dad. Where did you get those photos? I’ve never seen before them before.”

Eric held out his hands, palms up, and stepped closer to her, like he was approaching a skittish horse. After a second, she put her hands on his. “I found them in the garage when I moved into the Princess,” Eric said. “I didn’t know what I had until later.”

She raised her chin and gave him a look, one he knew well, and he pulled her to him. The world clicked into place. He picked her up by the waist and she wrapped her legs around his back. He held her there and kissed her, pulling her even closer. Then he carried her into the bus.

He Who Cleans House was wearing a crisp new red uniform with gold buttons and red-striped black pants, a black helmet with gold accents, and white gloves. He held his clipboard under his tiny arm.

“Will everyone have a seat? I have badges to give out.”

The group reluctantly left the food on the table and shuffled, scuttled, floated, or waddled over to the circle of chairs.

“Eric, will you take over?” The sprite handed Eric the clipboard and the bag of badges.

“Every single one of you did a great job the other day,” Eric said. “I asked some of you to possess the truck drivers for a short period of time, and by doing so, you helped stop a plan, formulated by a shopping addict with severe daddy issues –”

Some of the spirits nodded knowingly.

“ – To turn as many people as possible into the equivalent of Costa Rican bullet ants.”

Again, some of the spirits nodded knowingly.

“I’m full of admiration that you were able to step out of the drivers, with some initial resistance. That showed willpower. I was a latecomer to this group, and,” Eric looked at Rex, “a reluctant one. But I’ve watched all of you do what you intended to do with this recovery group, and that is be comfortable with yourselves as spirits. You listened to your own inner voice that told you to phase out of those truck drivers, and I’m proud of you. “

The spirits murmured to one another.

“With that said, I have some well-deserved badges to hand out.”

The spirits cheered.

“Sprite, shrimp, ladybug, talon, pickles: The Badge of Willing De-Possession, and the Badge for Stopping Nefarious Plots.”

Eric congratulated each spirit as they came up to receive their badges, then did the same thing for the next group.

“Gorilla, floating disembodied head, spider, stein: The Badge for Stopping Nefarious Plots.”

He Who Cleans House got up and stepped to Eric’s side. “The group may have a badge or two for you, Eric Snackerge, human sponsor.” He dug into a tiny bag and pulled out a shiny badge. “The Badge of Food Table Improvement, for making our free food table more suitable for human sponsors.” He added, in a pointed tone, “Some of the non-humans seem to like it, too.” A few spirits glanced over from the food table with sheepish expressions.

He Who Cleans House continued. “These badges aren’t dispensed in any particular order.” He reached into the bag and took another badge. “The Badge of Bus Improvement. The Badge of Most Improved Friendship, and the Badge of Official Town (and possibly world)-Saver.”

Eric accepted the badges, which were made with cheese. “Thanks. You’re the best disincarnate entities a formerly possessed tangible like me could hope to receive from a support group for disincarnate entities.”

Eric pushed back his chair and came around the desk to pour a cold club soda from the bar in his office.
He felt taller and smarter in his trim, gray pinstriped suit. He was five days into his new job as deputy director of Nidus Monolithics’ in-house promotional agency. The division was formed seemingly overnight, but for all the right reasons.

DZ’s father, the CEO of Nidus, had decided they didn’t want to rely on outside agencies after the Quantal debacle. He hired Nathan to run the new division with tight operational controls over contests and sweepstakes. Based on his experience from the consumer side, Eric was a natural choice for the number two man.

His assistant passed a call to him from the CEO.

“Our professional liability insurers have authorized a settlement of the class-action lawsuits against Quantal Foods, and they’ve advised us to sever all ties with our old law firm. I never liked the name ‘Margot, Chicken’ anyway.” The CEO spoke in his usual hearty voice. “DZ is gone. He left his house, which I own anyway. Even abandoned a damn sandwich on the breakfast counter. Took the helicopter, which I also own.” The CEO paused. “He’s in big trouble if he comes back. FBI’s after him, the whole shebang. I doubt I’ll ever see him again.”

“Sir. I have a feeling you’ll see him again soon.” Eric went back to his chair and brought up a new video chat.

“Greetings from Antigua!” Rex held up a mixed drink stuffed with speared fruit. “I feel like a more handsome and fun-loving Hannibal Lecter.”

“Did you find him?” Eric asked.

“Did I find him,” Rex scoffed.

“Remember what we talked about.”

“Don’t possess him. I know. You’ll have the info you want by the end of the day.”

Nathan knocked and opened the door. “Want to go back to Jamesville, celebrate with some beers at The Buckhead?”

Eric leaned back in his chair and bounced lightly while he pretended to give the idea consideration. “Let’s try Lennon’s, instead.”