The Grey Tier (16 page)

“In any case,” he continued, “I can’t move too far away from this tier. If I need to move into a tier too many levels from this one, I take certain risks. I could be detained, like what might happen if you went to another country without a passport. But being detained in, say, the Black would be a whole lot worse than being detained in any country in your world.”

“Worse how?” Focus on what he’s saying, Evie. Must stop thinking about his hand.

“Worse in that 99.9% of the time a spirit is ‘detained’ in the Black, they never leave.”

That caught my attention in a big way. “Hold on. So you don’t even get a trial or hearing or a get out of jail free card? You’re just trapped there? Forever?”

His fingers were gently making circles on the palm of my hand but he seemed worlds away. “Oh, there’s always the obligatory trial. For example, when we pass from human form, we go through a sort of life review—it’s like watching a short movie of your life, highlights and lowlights included—and finally there’s a judgment. The White and the Black take into consideration who someone was, what they were like, how they treated others, how they treated themselves, and so on. Then the two sides convene and vote, and that determines where the spirit should fall within the tiers.” He shrugged. “It’s all very democratic.”

“So what about you? How did you end up in the Grey Tier?”

“Me? Some spirits in the White found me worthy of a higher vibrational existence, and some in the Black disagreed. It was a tie, so to speak.” He glanced down at his hand holding mine, a small smile on his face. “But I find I like it here in the Grey, especially lately.” He shot a teasing glance in my direction. “And of course, I have a mission now.”

“Me?”

“Kind of.” He nodded. “By protecting you, I’m ensuring I don’t end up in the Black.”

This conversation was beginning to make me uncomfortable. I was bothered Lucas’ fate was, to some degree, in my hands. I also wondered how much his visits with me were motivated by what he needed to do to “earn his stripes.” I mean, clearly he enjoyed my company, but I recalled how much of a player he’d been in life. It made me wonder, again, just how much someone’s personality remained after death. I sighed and decided it was time to steer things back to the topic of Nick and the bar.

“What can you do to help me find out what happened to Nick? And I need to know what visited me tonight. I’d hate for that . . . thing to try and harm someone else.”

Lucas nodded and patted my hand. “Don’t worry. I will do what I can to get more information.”

“How?”

He waggled his eyebrows at me. “We have our ways.” Then he snapped his fingers and a rose appeared. He handed it to me with a flourish. I wondered if he was going to start pulling coins out of my ears.

“What was that for?”

“Because I wanted you to have something beautiful. And I wanted to talk about something other than the tiers.”

The butterflies in my stomach started line dancing. I tilted the rose towards my face, inhaling its sweet, intoxicating fragrance. The color was not like any I’d ever seen before . . . red, pink, and purple striations with a shell-pink rim. And it glowed softly with the fragile warmth of a lit candle, just as he did.

“I need to go.” He suddenly seemed uneasy.

“Why? Shouldn’t you be here to protect me?” Okay, yes, I know that sounded very “damsel in distress,” but I didn’t want him to leave.

“You’re okay for now. I’ve put a sort of barrier around you and the house that will last at least through the night.”

“A barrier?”

“From anyone or anything seeking to cause you harm.”

“How?”

He smiled. “You will learn about it in time. But I need to go now. I’ll return. Promise.”

And with those words Lucas, like Hototo, slid through an invisible door and quickly faded away.

Chapter Twenty-Six

AS A RESULT OF my wacky night, I woke up tired and wishing I had someone to talk to. I even picked up the phone twice to call my mother but kept changing my mind. Thing is, I was sure she’d hear something off in my voice and insist I come home. And what exactly did I plan to tell her anyway? “Hi Mama. Yes, I’m fine. Oh, I’ve even met someone! You’d love him . . . if only he weren’t dead and haunting my house.” In the end, I called Betty LaRue, who seemed happy to talk to me. But she couldn’t really hear that well, which meant most of our conversation involved a lot of shouting and repetition. Finally I yelled that I’d write soon and hung up.

Tired or not, I had to get my butt in gear because Simone was going to be filming a new video and she had three “face” changes needed. I’d done a few sketches to outline her various looks, and I knew it was going to be a long day, especially since I planned to go to the bar again in the evening (but tonight I was leaving early . . . no way was I going to be the last person out the door after what happened last night).

Simone’s video was being filmed at a back lot in Studio City. I drove over bright and early, bringing the obligatory caffeinated beverages. She was in her trailer, waiting for the crew to set up. As I walked over to her trailer door, I spotted what appeared to be a large, glass box dotted with small holes and filled with butterflies. Next to that, a caged jaguar. The big cat stared at me as I opened the door. I’m a big animal lover, but there was something unnerving about its stare. Suddenly, I had a pretty good idea how it felt to be a gazelle in one of those nature programs.

I stepped into the trailer as quickly as I could, almost slamming the door behind me. “Hey,” I said, sounding out of breath.

“Holy shit, Evie. Did you see that fucking tiger out there?”

“It’s a jaguar.” I placed her latte down on the table.

“Whatever.” She opened up a prescription bottle and dropped a pill into her hand. “I need a Xanax. The director tells me the cat and I are going to be walking together through a field of fucking butterflies.”

“Where’s the field?” I asked.

“It’s all computer generated. I’ll be using a green screen.” She jerked her head back and swallowed the pill, and then stared at me. Her eyes slowly narrowed into slits. “There is something different about you. You’re all, like, glowy and, I don’t know . . . you look happy.” She sucked in some air, her eyes widening. “You got laid, didn’t you!”

“No, Simone, I did not.” Why did she always assume happy looking people must be having sex?

She rubbed her chin thoughtfully, “Well, whatever it is, you definitely seem different. If I had to guess, I’d say it had to do with a man.” She paused to gauge my reaction and then a sly smile spread across her face. “You like somebody, don’t you? Who is he?! Please tell me he’s not some loser from the bar.”

Since when did self-absorbed Simone become so intuitive?

“There’s nobody, Simone. I swear. I would tell you.” I wasn’t completely lying to her, right? It’s not like Lucas was human or anything.

“You would tell me? You promise?”

“Yes,” I lied.

“Really?”

“Yes. Now can we talk about something else?” Because this lying business was really making me uncomfortable.

She stood up from her chair and wrapped her arms around me.

“I’m so excited to finally have a real friend . . . someone who would share secrets with me. Let’s go to Denny’s tonight! We can go have some of that fried steak shit. God, that stuff is good.”

It was bad enough I was lying to her but now I had to turn her down too. Definitely not one of my more stellar days.

“Um, I can’t. I have my other job.”

She pulled away from me and frowned. “Oh yeah.” And then a big smile broke across her face. “You know what I am going to do tonight?”

“No?”

“I am going to come to hear you sing.”

“Really?” My stomach lurched. I wasn’t sure how I felt about this.

“Really! I’ll be in disguise, of course. Just remember to call me Stacy, okay?” She winked at me.

“Okay.”

“Great! It’s a date then.” She rubbed her hands together excitedly. Honestly, you’d have thought we were heading off to an Oscar after-party. I worried how she might behave at the bar . . . clearly it was far beneath her standards. Simone tapped me on the shoulder, “Earth to Evie. Time for my butterfly face. My outfit is over there.” She pointed to a few strips of turquoise-colored chiffon hanging on a closet door.

I walked over, brushing my fingers across the delicate bits of fabric. I turned back to her, lifting an eyebrow in disbelief. “
This
is what you’re wearing? But there’s nothing there!”

She shrugged. “I guess they’ll put that sticky tape shit across my boobs.” She sat herself down in a salon-style chair and gestured to the silver box that held all my makeup products. “Let’s get started.”

A couple of hours later, Simone looked like an extra from
Avatar
. Her face and body were covered in silver, turquoise, and purple, and her skin shimmered with a fine mist of metallic body glitter. The strips of turquoise chiffon were glued across her breasts and her privates, leaving the rest of her body exposed. While the costume guy was carefully applying her outfit, she leaned over to me and whispered, “I am so fucking glad I got a Brazilian at the spa the other day. Otherwise, can you imagine how awful it would be ungluing this shit from my crotch?”

Three hours later, Simone had the jaguar on a leash. They were walking across the set, a large green screen towering behind them while swarms of butterflies fluttered around the room. The jaguar’s trainer was a French guy named Pierre (I know, right? Cliché-o-rama). He was rail thin with a scraggly mustache, a black turtle-neck, and black pants. At one point, he sidled up next to me and winked.

“Bonjour, ma petite. Isn’t my Anastasia gorgeous?” I followed his eyes to the sleek bundle of muscles next to Simone. He kissed his fingers. “She is almost as beautiful as Simone and you.”

I thought I might barf. Was this guy for real? “The cat is very beautiful,” I said, trying to sound appreciative.

“Cat?!” He spat and moved away, glaring at me contemptuously. “She is more than just a cat, idiot!” Pierre turned on his heel and marched to the other side of the set, muttering to himself.

Honestly, the sooner I was done with today’s job, the better. I leaned back against the wall, watching Simone stroll back and forth with Anastasia. She gazed around her, wide-eyed as if she was in awe of her surroundings. I was looking forward to seeing the final video once the CGI stuff was in place.

At one point, I made the mistake of glancing back over at Pierre. He stood sulking in a corner, giving me the evil eye. Seriously, some people were just creepy. I looked away, back towards Simone and the jaguar. And that’s likely what saved my life. Because had I still been staring at Monsieur Freak, I most definitely wouldn’t have seen Anastasia pull sharply away from Simone and begin running straight at me.

Simone screamed, and my life flashed before my eyes as death sprinted towards me in a lithe blur of yellow, brown, and black. My blood roared in my ears deafeningly.

From a distance I heard Pierre command, “Anastasia!” followed by a loud whistle. And just like that, the jaguar stopped in her tracks. Pierre walked quickly to her and led her back to her cage. He promptly returned, out of breath and with a contrite expression on his face.

“I am so sorry, Mademoiselle. I don’t know what got into her. She must be tired. Please accept my apologies.”

I couldn’t speak. My hands were up around my neck, shaking. Simone was, if possible, more upset than me. She moved like a snake, fast and dangerous, and got right into Pierre’s face.

“What the fuck was that?!” she screamed shrilly. “That—that fucking thing almost killed my friend!”

The animal trainer looked shocked . . . either at Simone’s accusation, or that she’d changed from a demure, ethereal beauty to screaming Amazon in seconds flat.

“But no!” he replied, his voice shaky. “Anastasia would not have killed her. She has no claws!”

“She has fucking teeth, you dumbass. I want you and your cat out of here!” Simone was still yelling loudly at the top of her lungs. Beyond her, I could see Anastasia in her cage, pacing in agitation, her eyes trained on me.

Dwight quickly appeared on the set. Where he had come from, I had no idea. I hadn’t seen him the entire time we’d been there. He looked at me and quietly asked, “Are you okay, Evie?”

I nodded, finally finding my voice.

“Yes, I’m fine.” I laid a hand on Simone’s arm. “It was an accident, Simone. There’s always a risk when working with wild animals, trained or otherwise.”

Pierre darted a look at me and nodded. “Yes, yes. This is true. It’s in the contract, clause eight.”

Simone was still trying hard to relax. She shot Pierre a hostile glare, “You’d better shut it, buddy. If it were up to me, I’d have that animal euthanized.” The trainer paled, his eyes darting nervously to Anastasia in her cage.

“It’s okay, Simone. Really. But if you don’t mind, can I go home?” My voice shook, sounding awkward. I took a deep breath and tried to focus. The perspiration beaded my forehead and ran a slick trail down my back. I felt off, and I
needed
to get out of there.

Simone put her arm around me. “Of course you can. You still going to the bar tonight?”

“Yes. I think so.”

She hugged me.

“I’ll be there.” She turned to the gathering crowd. “Let’s pack this shit up!” she called out. “We’ll be back tomorrow.” She looked at Dwight. “And no more big cats! Got it?”

He nodded nervously.

“Fuck up like that again, and I’ll fire you! Stupid idea, Dwight.”

Simone turned on her heels, golden hair whipping around, and shook her finger at the director who was white as a sheet.

“Get me some hot chicks who can dance, a shitload of Cristal, a bunch of gold crap, and bring the fucking butterflies back, but not that cat.” She pointed at Anastasia, and even though the animal had lunged at me, I felt sorry for her. I was never entirely comfortable with wild animals being used like trained monkeys.

I started back towards the trailer to get my things when Pierre jogged up to me. “I am so sorry, Mademoiselle. Anastasia is a good girl, but sometimes . . . well, she has a sense.”

“A sense? She wanted to kill me!”

He smiled at me then, and in spite of all his apologies, goose bumps spread across my arms. He raised his eyebrows and lowered his voice to a bare whisper.

“Maybe you should be careful. My sweet kitty may not be the only want who wants you dead.”