"There's a zombie in the attic," Cathie said, and I nearly yakked up my gum. She was a ghost-literally, the spirit of a dead person-and as she spoke she floated through the wall, into my bedroom. Cathie had been a tall woman, almost as tall as me, with honey-tinted hair pulled back in a perpetual ponytail, a green sweatshirt, and black stretch pants. Barefoot. For eternity! At least her feet were attractive. They were little and pretty, with unpolished but nicely shaped toenails.
"This is no time for your quirky sense of humor."
I snapped as I lugged a pile of near-empty journals into my closet. It never failed-I'd buy a new journal, write like a madwoman for ten pages, then lose total interest in the process. Three months later, I'd start the whole process all over again. I think I just liked buying new notebooks.
"Well, well! You seem touchy! What's the matter, didn't get laid last night?"
It was scary how much she sounded like me sometimes. Maybe that's why she totally got on my nerves. "That's not the problem at all. I just hate it when you dart out of solid walls to tell me ridiculous stories."
"Well, it's not like I have a choice," she said crossly, floating through my bathroom door and then back out again. "After all, the shortest distance between two points is a straight line. You'd walk through walls, too, if you could. And it's not like I can ring a doorbell to get your attention. As for the zombie-is it my fault you're in denial about reanimated corpses?"
"I'm a reanimated corpse," I said glumly. "Let me deal with that. There's no such thing as zombies anyway."
Cathie stuck her head into the wall (probably just to creep me out, since she knew it drove me crazy), pulled it back out, and said, "Why do I bother?" and stuck it back in. "Where is everybody?"
"Sinclair isn't up yet, ditto Tina, Jessica's at an appointment, Marc's at work, Toni and Garrett haven't left her bedroom since she got back, and I was enjoying my privacy."
"Too bad. I'm bored, and you guys are exciting company."
She'd been killed by a serial killer a few months ago, and had come to me for help. Unlike other ghosts who came to me for help, once she got what she wanted, she stayed. I wasn't a vampire queen, I was a damn soul collector. Nobody left; they all just chained themselves to me like eternal chattel. But they were all too fucking sassy for the phenomenon to be nattering.
"I bring good news from the underworld," she was booming in a terrible Vincent Price imitation. "All's quiet on the Midwestern Front."
"Yeah?"
"Well, there have been ghosts, but I've been helping them."
"You've been helping ghosts who seek my favor, without even telling me? So you're like my-"
"You know those Hollywood assistants who handle all the producer's problems so she can concentrate on making movies? That's what I do now. I help the little people."
"You want to make movies?" She had lost me. And so soon in the conversation, too.
"No, dumb shit, I'm like the assistant who tends to the little people."
I felt my eyes bulge. "I don't think you should call them that."
"I'm doing you a favor, okay? Usually these ghosts just want someone to listen, maybe point them in the right direction. You've got higher priorities right now, I gather."
"Well, thanks." I must not have sounded convincing, because she glared at me. "No, really. Thanks. The last thing I need this week is another needy ghost dropping by for favors."
"You're welcome. It's actually kind of nice. They can see me and talk to me, just like you. I mean, look at my options! I have to talk to you, or I can talk to them."
"Well, you've made the right choice," I said with faux enthusiasm.
"Don't get too down. At least your hot, hunky boyfriend can see you and touch you. Your friends can see you and touch you. What have I got? A distracted vampire with a long to-do list ahead of me and my problems."
"Cathie, that's not true!" I couldn't believe I was getting a lecture from a woman in a green sweatshirt. "I solved your problem right away, didn't I? The bad guy's dead, if memory serves."
"Yeah," she said, cheering up. "Your sister cracked his head open like an egg."
"So what do you want from me now?"
"I dunno. But there's got to be more than this." She sulkily floated through the wall.
"Tell me about it!" I shouted after her.