He blinked and looked at Ximena. The expression of pity on her face wasn’t quite as grating today, because he needed it if he was going to get out of here. “What?”
“I said, twenty-six is empty and ready to be moved into. It’s a one bedroom, not a studio, but I won’t charge you any extra. I have some cardboard boxes and milk crates you can pack your smaller things into, and I’ll get some people up to move your furniture and plants, okay?”
“Thank you.” He sighed, and knots in his shoulders unraveled. “You know what this means, though. Any new tenant who moves into twenty-one is going to be haunted by the ghost ofMicah-Past.” Except… That couldn’t be the case because he didn’t remember a future tenant appearing in the studio.
So it didn’t come as a surprise when Ximena said, “No! I can’t let anyone else move in there. It’s cursed.”
“Yeah, I don’t think sprinkling holy water on the rug is going to help. You going to call the news?”
“And have them all up in my business, harassing the tenants? No. Does anyone else know about this besides Cosmo? I don’t want this to become some… somememe.”
That probably wasn’t the word she meant to use, but Micah said, “I don’t want that either.” The last thing he needed was more people knocking on his door. “I told an acquaintance about it, but she doesn’t want anything to do with it.”
“I can’t say I’m surprised.” She patted his cheek. “Go get your essentials packed up. And your art – I don’t want anyone else touching it. I’ll send some people for your bed, your desk, whatever you need today.”
Micah started to thank her, but her mouth parted, gaze darting to his front door. “Oh no. Twenty-two was mad that the base heater had scorched the leg of their nightstand, and they wanted maintenance to check it. They said it kept kicking on even when it wasunplugged. I didn’t believe them, of course, but now... And someone else mentioned phantom smells. I’ve had far more strange complaints than normal lately.” She rubbed her face and leaned against the balcony railing. “I think I need to lie down.”
He supposed it made sense that the apartment next to his was affected, though how one would figure out the magnitude of such a hiccup in spacetime was beyond him. Did it extend beyond the complex to the street below? There could be a specific spot in the parking lot where a car from the past might suddenly appear in a driver’s path, or a rose bush that seemed to always have roses no matter how often you cut them. “This is the Artists’ District. Maybe you can market it as a feature instead of a bug. The eccentric ones will go for it.”
Ximena shook her head, mouth pulled into a grim line. “I should retire early is what I should do.”
“Who lived in twenty-six three years ago?” The last thing he needed was to move into a new apartment with more disturbances than his current one.
“A little old lady with a cat. She was a fiber artist. Very nice. Quiet. Lived there for years before moving into a retirement home.”
“I’m not sure we’ll have much in common, but maybe she can teach me to crochet.”
“You aren’t scared by all this?”
“‘Scared’ isn’t the right word. I don’t know what would happen if I met myself, and I don’t want to find out. But having Cosmo haunt my studio only succeeded in giving me a crush. And he thinks the whole thing is fascinating.”
Her laugh was exasperated but not unkind. “You’re right. The eccentric artists will probably be fine.”
“Coffin Crew, this is–”
“Don’t tell me your name. I don’t want to know.” Micah twirled a pencil between his fingers, the phone pressed to his ear. “But pronouns are okay.”
“Is this a robbery? Because there’s only like sixty bucks in the till, and I don’t have the key to the safe.”
“Not a robbery.” Micah leaned toward his laptop screen and expanded a picture of a cemetery. “I just have some questions I was hoping you could answer.”
Static rustled through the speaker. “Are you the old guy with the fro-yo sitting on the bench by Epic Shoes? Look, man, I’ve seen you eyeing the neon fishnets in here more than once, and it’s totally okay for you to buy them. The orange ones would probably look rad on you.”
Micah smiled. “Orange sounds like a great choice, but I’m nowhere near the mall. I’m taking someone on a date, and he’s kind of into the gothic thing. He planned and attended his own funeral party, with an obituary and a grave and everything.”
The cashier made an appreciative noise.“Damn. That’s cool as hell.”
“We’re going to picnic in a graveyard, but I’m not sure what to wear.”
“Ooh. Okay. Well, you don’t want something too fancy because you’ll be sitting on the ground. A button-up shirt is always a good choice. And it doesn’t have to be black. Red or purple, maybe. Leave the top button undone, roll up the sleeves to your elbows. Wear some nice black jeans.”
Micah jotted down notes. “This is good. I thought I might have to dress like Vincent Price.”
“Nah. Plus, you want to be your true self for your date, right? If you go overboard, it’s going to look fake.”
“So I should save the plastic fangs for the third date?”
The cashier chuckled. “I gotta go. Fro-yo guy is coming this way. Oh, hang on. You’ve got cologne, right?”
