Page 10 of The Sisters of Crimson House

She could see Astrid studying her face, the question she wanted to ask reflected in her wide brown eyes. Charley quickly flipped the postcard to the back of the stack as well. At this point it just felt embarrassing. Charley the obsessed detective, her sister the case that haunted her more than any ghost soldier drifting through her bedroom. Miranda was either not ready to be found, or she was dead. Because Charley was not ready to even consider the latter, this would begin and end the Miranda portion of the conversation. As far as she was concerned, with Miranda and Celeste gone dark, Charley was currently the only Bryde paying her bills. This house wasn’t going to air-condition itself for free.

“Give me the roundup, Z,” said Charley, scrapping the tarot layout and reshuffling the deck.

“We sold a T-shirt,” announced Zavier, scratching Zilpha under her chin.

“Correction. I sold a T-shirt!” said Astrid, stretching out her chest so that Black and Bell was prominently displayed.

“Next print run is of you wearing that T-shirt on a T-shirt,” said Zavier, stealing a quick kiss.

Charley smiled at them. Black and Bell. Business partners. Lovers. Her roommates, who lived down the hall in the Peony Room and who almost always had money for the utilities. Time would tell which factors in this equation would win out.

“Tickets for the Halloween tour?” Charley asked. While tours typically didn’t net out huge numbers, the month leading up to Halloween was reliably steady. But nothing about an ongoing financial calamity in 2008 had proven to be reliable except people not spending their money on much of anything, let alone a Black and Bell tour. And forget bringing back the Spectacular. Charley had already tried. In 2006, perhaps egged on by a sympathetic article in the local alt weekly about her family’s legendary parties, she finally pulled the trigger on a Spectacular reboot, convinced that the Bryde name alone would be enough to pack the parlor like the days of yore. To say that she had been mistaken was the understatement of the year. No Miranda, no ticket sales. They didn’t talk about Halloween 2006. Halloween 2007 broke even. Now they just had to figure out how to save it in 2008.

Zavier gave her a remorseful look before clearing his throat, signaling the change in topic. “So, Warner Knight wants to meet?”

Charley sighed.

“Just hear me out,” said Zavier. “He appreciates what we’re doing here.”

“What you’re doing here,” Charley replied, shuffling the tarot deck so she’d have anywhere to look but at Zavier. Becoming best friends with the minds behind Black and Bell Haunted History Tours had been the most accidentally strategic thing she could have done to drive traffic to Crimson House. Loving them both had been a miserable by-product. She adored them. She depended on them. Two factors in her history that meant they were sure to vanish.

“He knew who we were without having to look us up. He said we’ve got a reputation,” Zavier added.

“For hemorrhaging money like it’s our brand?” Charley gave him a delirious smile. Once upon a time, having endless money in the bank still couldn’t guarantee a spot on the waiting list for a private session with Miranda Bryde. Now Zavier was discussing hiring yellow fever zombies to “elevate” their Memphis in Reconstruction part of the tour to scare up an audience.

“He said we have an impressive DIY atmosphere,” said Zavier proudly. Whether or not Zavier’s stories about the history of Crimson House and Charley’s family were 100 percent accurate, his guests were going to be immersed in aesthetics that were 100 percent Zavier Bell.

“I’m proud of you even though I’m not totally clear that was a compliment,” said Astrid, squeezing his hand.

“It means money!” he said, loud enough that Zilpha jumped off his lap in protest. Charley appreciated his restraint, knowing that the only reason he wasn’t screaming and jumping for joy was out of respect for her feelings. “He wants to come check us out as a potential acquisition target. His haunted houses sell out all over the country.” He looked at both of them, clearly shocked they weren’t levitating out of their seats. “The Warner Knight name is an official seal of approval. The Warner Knight House of the Dead in LA sold out its October run. In July.” Charley felt the ever-present ball of shame heavy in her chest. The days of the sold-out Spectaculars might as well be long-forgotten history. “People make pilgrimages to a Warner Knight haunted house just for the experience.”

“I thought that was what the Bryde family name was supposed to do,” said Charley quietly. No one spoke for a painfully long moment, Astrid and Zavier risking a quick glance that wasn’t lost on Charley. “I just don’t want to feel like a guest in my own home, you know?” She had rarely felt like a member of her own family when they were at the height of their powers. The irony of adding complete strangers to salvage any part of the Bryde family brand made her want to crawl under the covers and wait until her ghost joined the growing chorus of spirits haunting the halls of Crimson House. At least then maybe she would feel like she was making an actual contribution.

Zavier scooched closer to her, sensing an opening. “Yes, there would be more smoke machines. And it would be Black and Bell Productions in partnership with the Bryde family…presents Warner Knight’s Crimson House.”

“Mouthful,” chided Astrid.

“But”—he took a measured pause here for emphasis—“it would be honoring the Bryde family legacy. With Knight’s investment, your family’s story would get the attention it deserves. Potentially on a national scale.”

Charley groaned. “I don’t know, Z.”

He looked at her, his eyes sad despite that sunshine smile. He was the brother she had never known she needed and, in some moments, definitely didn’t want. Like at this moment.

“You said the thing you liked most about me is how I always tell the truth, even when I’m stretching it. Like these leather pants.” He made a show of straightening out a leg to demonstrate, coaxing a small smile out of Charley.

He wasn’t wrong. She’d been ready to tell him off for convincing a crowd of people on their tour of South Main that the Brydes had once exorcised a team of spirits out of Earnestine & Hazel’s bar (not true—they’d never been asked). But he made outright falsehoods sound mesmerizing. It was too easy to forgive him, especially because he never lied to her. “Our goal for Black and Bell is ultimately less creative ways to pay for upkeep, Charley. But we have to be realistic about what is currently working on the tour.” Zavier smiled at her and then looked away, not watching as the words unsaid became stones dragging Charley underwater. She wasn’t pulling her weight. Or, more to the point, couldn’t. “Or we use my remaining budget to hire those actors I talked about,” he continued, unable to hide the disappointment in his voice. “We add more history tours. We use that as a stopgap, and maybe Knight would be willing to talk next year if he likes us as much as he claims to.”

Charley sighed again. She might not agree with the amount of money he spent on smoke machines and lighting and what was now being categorized as an impressive DIY atmosphere, but Zavier was keeping tourists coming in and the occupants of Crimson House off the street for the time being.

“Gimme just a minute, okay? I’m not going to take any more of your budget. Let me talk to Sadie.”

Zavier smiled at her before reaching out to take Astrid’s hand.

“Charley,” Astrid said gently. “Know that whatever you decide, Sadie comes first.” She squeezed Zavier’s hand for emphasis. “For all of us. What do the cards say?”

Charley fluidly reshuffled the deck, offering it to Astrid, who examined her card.

Three of Pentacles. “Teamwork makes the dream work,” said Astrid, grinning at her. The card depicted a craftsman pausing his work, discussing future plans with two collaborators. Two benefactors? Charley wondered for the first time, considering the card anew. The Three of Pentacles had always been an empowering omen, a sign that like attracted like with the potential to create something new. But what if the collaborators were there to rescue the poor craftsman’s ass after he failed to bring in that month’s second mortgage payment?