He hugs me, which—fuck. When did I become the stable adult in anyone's life?
After Dylan leaves, I sit in my garage, staring at my phone. I need to test something.
Heard about something called Ghost Clinic
The dots appear immediately. Then disappear. Long pause. Too long. She's choosing her words like weapons.
Angel:Why do you ask?
Careful. She's being careful. Protecting something. Or someone.
Curious about angels in hell
Angel:That's poetic for a Monday
Answer the question
Angel:The Ghost Clinic is Switzerland. Neutral territory. No colors, no clubs, just help. That's the deal.
Neutral territory she says, like her brother wouldn't go scorched earth if he knew who she was texting. Like there aren't already battle lines drawn she doesn't even know about.
Still meeting tonight?
Angel:Having second thoughts?
No. You?
Angel:Every second. But yes
Angel:Midnight. Doc's Diner. Route 66
Angel:What if you know me? What if we've met before?
Would that change things?
Angel:Everything. It would change everything.
She has no idea how right she might be.
I'll be there
I'm about to put the phone down when Candy walks into the garage. Candy, the club whore who's been trying to upgrade her status by targeting Ghost, apparently now going for the nuclear option.
"Hey, Z." She's doing that walk, the one that's supposed to be sexy but just looks desperate. "Ghost's at the shop."
"I know."
She moves closer. Too close. "You look tense."
"I'm fine."
"I could help with that."
And then, because my life isn't complicated enough, she suddenly clutches her stomach, runs to the corner, and pretends to vomit. The performance is Oscar-worthy if you've never seen actual morning sickness.
"Shit," she gasps, wiping her mouth. "Sorry. Morning sickness is a bitch."
Morning sickness. Candy's "pregnant." With Ghost's baby, supposedly.
