Nine While Nine

Chapter 1-2

“At my own party?” I yelled out again. Because, someone must have deposited something pretty damned crazy in my drink to be seeing this. I mean, I’d dropped acid a couple of times, way back in the day, but I’d never experienced anything remotely close to this. The fanciful brocade wallpaper of the Villa waving and creeping? Uh-huh! The Persian carpet undulating underfoot in the historic building’s hallway? Yep, you betcha! The crouching gargoyles moving on Cat’s tenth-floor balcony? Okay, that had happened before tonight . . . so, absolutely!

But this? This was completely fresh.

I looked around for the guy who’d delivered the tainted, violet drink to me. He must have been one of the many friend-of-a-friends who showed up. I hadn’t known him. He looked familiar, seemed familiar, like maybe I knew him slightly from a previous party or in passing from one of the clubs.

I didn’t see him anywhere now.

“Wake up!” I yelled at myself. “You’re missing your own party!”

The me on the sofa didn’t stir or respond in any way. I sat down on the pretty, dark vermillion and gold Persian rug and cradled my face. My elbows rested on my knees as I stared dismally at myself.

“Unbelievable,” I murmured, shaking my head faintly. “This isn’t really happening,” I reasoned, trying to talk myself down. “I want this to be over. I need this to be over now. It’s my party. I don’t want to be doing this. I want to be over there, with Gigi and Cat and Rachel and Moira. Dancing. I want to be dancing.” I spoke their names like a charm, as if invoking each one would make it all better.

Then a very simple thought dawned on me. Suddenly and sickeningly, it wafted through my mind like a whisper on the cool ocean breeze.

“Oh. Oh. No. No, no, no way.” My stomach twisted, then took a steep dive. I choked on my breath. “That couldn't happen.” I shook my head distractedly, whispering, “I’m not dead.”

A man’s voice off to my right interrupted my lament. “Um, sorry, but you are. It really has happened.” My gaze darted to the opposite end of the sofa. “I was wondering how long it would take you to come to that particular conclusion,” he continued, looking down at his watch, then back to my face. “Not bad.”

“Excuse me?” I couldn't have heard him correctly. It had to be the drugs.

“That's you.” He nodded in my direction. Well, at the other me on the couch. He shook his head indifferently. “An overdose of some sort, unfortunately . . . . Not sure what he slipped you, to be honest. Whatever it was it stopped your heart while you were sleeping. Quite peaceful, actually.”

I slid him a sideways glance, not entirely ready to take my eyes off myself, and not entirely buying into what he was saying. In fact, far from it. What was he on? Why was he messing with me?

I looked him over thoroughly, wondering how I knew him and why he was at my party. He was casual in black Levi’s, boots, and a green flannel shirt over a black T-shirt, with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His hair was a golden brown, spiky and messy in a sexy bedhead kind of way. His eyes, somewhere between green and blue, had no end in their depth, and I found them to be somewhat unsettling and incredibly alluring at the same time.

I shook my head to clear it. I was pretty sure I didn’t know him.

If I wasn’t right smack in the middle of a crisis, I might have found him cute. In fact, wait . . . I had seen him a little while ago, before all this drama began. I vaguely remembered seeing him arrive. I’d been deep in a conversation with William, but my sight was drawn to him. As he entered the rooftop, he paused in the doorway scanning the crowd as if he were meeting up with a friend. I recalled thinking he was really good looking with the devil-may-care manner he exuded and an electric smile that sparked in his eyes. I’d wondered for a moment if he was with a date or, hopefully, alone. He would be a nice birthday gift.

Rachel came along and pulled me away before I could play hostess by introducing myself and offering him a drink.

He had an easygoing manner about him, evident in the way he lounged so casually with his arms spread out across the back of the couch. He had a warm, wide smile, but under the circumstances . . .

“Nice turnout, darlin’,” he said, gesturing at the numerous guests as he popped a cheese-topped cracker into his mouth and savored it with a sociable smile. “Mmm. Malvarosa, nice choice.” His gaze landed on the birthday banner. “Thirty, are you? You don’t look it.”

I frowned. I didn't want to look at myself anymore, so I focused my attention on him. The cheese was a gift from Cat. She had special ordered it just for me from Dean & Deluca. How’d he get some when I hadn’t had a chance at it yet?

I couldn’t quite place the accent. Was it Scottish? Irish? Do I know anyone within my social circle from Scotland or Ireland? Sticky cobwebs kept reforming in my head against my will. I shook it to clear out the cotton-candy fuzziness.

“Can you bring me some coffee or something? Or maybe go find Gigi? Maybe she’ll know how to get me down from this.”

He just kept looking at me, heaving a heavy sigh and rolling his eyes while shaking his head. I don’t care how cute he is, he’s pissing me off. He didn’t make any move to help me or get help for me. He just gestured with a nod back over to the sleeping form at the end of the couch.

“Why don’t you go to your friend? Why haven’t you gone over to her yet, Lissa?” he asked me simply.

Good question. However . . .

“My name’s not Lissa. It’s Isabeau.”

I started rising to get help from Gigi, but I couldn’t budge. A pounding fear began to beat inside of me. A thought was teasing just at the edge of my consciousness. What was it? I tried to wrap my brain around it, but it kept slinking away. I abruptly felt more panic-stricken.

I looked back to him. As he studied me, I saw something in his demeanor shift. He must have seen the anxiety on my face and realized exactly how I was feeling, because something in his face softened. His expression became gentler and less self-satisfied.

That might even be a trace of concern creasing his brow. Oh, relief. Maybe this game is over, and he realizes he’s gone too far and he’s going to fix it.

But he didn’t move. He just sat there.

We stared at each other, one trying to read the other. I looked back over at my body and shook my head. This had to be a joke or a very bad birthday hoax gone awry.

“Come on,” I pleaded softly. I begged him with every ounce of earnestness I could muster. “What’s really going on? This is some sort of really bad prank, right?”

He shook his head gently and tried to reach for my hand. I slid it away. I didn’t want to be touched.

“Well?” I waited for him to provide a response, hopefully the one I wanted to hear. The proverbial light bulb blinked on in my head. Robert, my ex, could have planned this! He may have heard about the party. He’d been the one who broke things off, but he still hated the fact I was over him. He was just spiteful enough to do this. This was much worse, but it did call to mind our second date when he’d taken me to a concert in Hollywood and his ex-girlfriend had been there. He paraded me around in front of her several times, cleverly positioning us near her, and then behaved extra affectionately with me. At the time, I wasn’t aware he’d been the one to end their relationship. Once I knew, I felt a little sick and disappointed. That poor girl. He’d broken her heart, and he had the nerve to flaunt his new love in front of her. Cruel. Looking back, it was a perfect insight into who he truly was.

“Did Robert put you up to this? Come on, tell me. Was it him? Do you know him?”

He shook his head.

“You can’t be serious?”

He merely nodded. My breathing was becoming unsteady. I heard light, cheerful laughter coming toward us. It belonged to Gigi and Moira. I stood up, smiling. Moira was carrying a slice of cake on a plate. It looked to be chocolate mousse cake with strawberries . . . yum.

“Ha! See!” I cried out at him, directing his attention to them. “That was a really messed up joke—” I broke off, my sentence incomplete as Gigi passed through me.

She passed through me.

I trembled, strangling on my own breath as if I were being garroted by a wire. My legs gave up all their strength, turning to mush. Tears stung my eyes as I sank to my knees.

I raised my face to him, feeling the wet beads roll down my cheeks.

“So, that’s it?” I managed after a moment of searching his face, in a desperate attempt to determine if he was screwing with me. “You are telling me the truth, aren’t you? You’re telling me I am dead.”

He nodded solemnly.

“This is no joke. No bad, bad, stupid, idiotic joke?”

“Sorry darlin’, wish I could say it was. You seem like a lamb, but . . .” He motioned around at the party, then toward the other end of the couch, “this party’s over for you.”

I managed to glare at him, a weak glare through tears, but still. What was that remark supposed to be? Witty?

“Well, that’s just messed up. Majorly. Why now? I just got my life back. Everything is finally right.” I squeezed my eyes closed, willing it all to be a dream, a nightmare. More vicious droplets of fear and despair burned behind my eyelids.

“No. I’m not doing this.” I turned my tear-streaked face to him. If I was dead, why was it so damned hard to breathe? How could I feel so sick? “And who are you, anyway? Why are you here? I didn’t invite you. Why do you know what’s happening? Why can you see me, but Gigi and Moira couldn’t? Gigi walked right through me.” I fired off the questions in rapid succession, not giving him a chance to answer.

“Lissa, we should go now.” He said it so simply, after checking the time on his watch again. He reached forward, as if to take hold of my hand.

I didn’t care how good the words sounded coming from him, with his nifty accent. “No way. Not gonna happen.” I scrambled away from him and stood back up, unsteady but still holding my ground. “I don’t know you, and you’re not answering any of my questions.” I jabbed an accusatory finger at him. My eyes widened in conviction and then in speculation. “And stop calling me that. My name is Isabeau. Did you do this to me?” I accused.

“No,” he protested, a look of aversion on his face. “I’m a Coimhdeacht, not a Lanmhuchadh.”

“What?” I rolled my eyes and huffed. I didn’t know those words. They made no sense to me. I could feel my ears heating up, an odd thing they tended to do when I was faced with a maddening situation.

“The fellow who gave you the drink . . .” He strode closer to me, and I edged further away, toward the propped-open roof door. I should have heard the gravel crunching beneath our boots, but I didn’t. Why can’t I hear the gravel crunching? “He was a Lanmhuchadh, your Lanmhuchadh tonight.”

I stared at him. “Do you know how crazy you sound?” The look on his face was unwavering. With everything I’d seen and experienced tonight, who was I to dispute his statement? Who was I to say anything at all right now?

“Doesn’t change what’s happening.”

I felt breathless and unnerved. His words didn’t clear away my unease at all. My emotions were all over the place, but it was anger burning its way to the forefront.

“Well . . . that’s just f****d up! He poisoned me?” I fumed.

“Not exactly. Not on his own. The fellow over there,” he said, pointing to the opposite side of the roof, where a youngish guy in goth attire stood near the make-shift bar. “He slipped a little something into your glass. Not quite sure what it was, though I can’t imagine it would have led to any sort of happy ending either. Of course, not nearly as harsh as this, but probably still traumatic, I’m sure. Your Lanmhuchadh merely gave it a little extra kick to push it over the edge.”