“I require payment,” he says.
Of course he does. “Isn’t it enough I haven’t buried you?”
“I want to binge-watch the first season ofBridgertontonight.”
I raise my eyebrows as I consider this. How long has it been since I had time to binge something without needing to do other work at the same time? I’ve been waiting at least three years to catch up onCrash Landing on You, Jungkook’s all-time favorite K-drama. My shoulders unknot a bit.
“That’s… a surprising choice, but doable,” I say. “I’d shake on it, but I’m not sure how.”
“To the streets!” Bulan calls out, as if I weren’t standing directly in front of him. And as if he has a say in the matter, which he doesn’t.Because while I may be temporarily adopting my grandmother’s pet talking head and enlisting him in my regrettable schemes, I can hold off my paranormal-adjacent life for business hours tomorrow.
Before that, I’m going to order dinner delivered straight to Grandma’s house. You know, a Last Meal, like prisoners get before execution.
A Last Meal with a side ofBridgerton.
6THE ONLY NORMAL PERSON IN SALEM
WHILE IT’S TRUE I’VE DECIDEDto help two lovestruck vampires enter a state of bloodless nuptial bliss, and I’m missing out on my first day of work—the day I’ve dreamed of for years—there is one silver lining: I get to attend an extra session of my Becker live online class. This licensing exam review is a critical trauma-bonding experience for all new CPAs. So I join the Zoom room five minutes before 9 a.m. on Monday, settling in as usual with my phone, a spiral notepad, and less-than-as-usual, with one of Grandma’s gaudy skull-capped gel pens. Come on, Grandma Rose—haven’t you ever heard of Bic? Number 2 pencils? Sharpies?
I do admit the nub glides smoothly.
Anyway, it’s midday once I’m done streaming the lecture, reorganizing my notes, and reviewing my daily flash cards. I still haven’t heard back from anyone at EFG about my illness or the fact that I haven’t come in for my first day of work.
So that’s encouraging.
I should probably try and block it out.
Outside on the streets of Salem, a cold front has breezed across the sidewalks. My walk crackles with unnecessarily crisp, earthy, autumnal scents. The witchy, woo-woo foot traffic picks up steadily as I approach downtown. To make myself feel better, I decide to thinkof the experience like a Target run the week before Christmas: a lot of bustle, a bit of tired, a hint of manic, and a pickle-juice shot of weird.
Not that I’m helping the situation by walking around with a severed head under my arm.
“Let’s start with Derby Square,” Bulan says, because he’s merciless.
“Eww.”
“What’s wrong with that?” he objects against my backpack strap.
“That’s where all the ghost tours meet up.”
Never mind that we’re essentially going on a paranormal tour of Salem too. Here’s what’s different: I’m not in Halloween socks, vaping herbal medicine, or carrying a hand-carved pagan wand. Already I hate that my lack of seasonal fervor makes me stand out against the crowds and the moody, burgundy-hued brick buildings—my just deserts for being the only normal person in Salem.
Also, this alley smells like pee.
Nose twitching, I nonetheless carry Bulan, who is proudly wearing a purple-sequined bucket hat, to the stately rear of Old Town Hall. This is where we are assaulted by a tourist holding a wet gyro wrapped in a map.
“Are you here for the two p.m. crypt tour too?” he asks. He looks like he’s been couch surfing. No judgment there. Having slept on countless sofas myself, I can churn up a sense of kinship for this tourist. We both know what it’s like to test the limits of dry shampoo.
Inexplicably, before I can answer the disheveled brunette, Bulan announces: “We’re here for an exorcism!”
“Wow.” The tourist laughs around his sloppy cabbage. “You’re an amazing ventriloquist!”
There goes the kinship. “Thanks.”
“Do another!”
“Well, how about—” says Bulan, but I bustle us away before the cabbage eater asks how far my puppetry skills go. Or how I’m performing with both hands visible. I wonder if Bulan enacted some kind of magic when he held a Sharpie in his teeth and drew on the inside of his newly acquired hat. It would make as much sense as anything else he did.
As I leave the tourist and Derby Square behind, Bulan dolefullyturns his eyes up at me. They’re annoyingly blue and adorable and devious, like a husky puppy’s.
