Page 47

‘That was not an invitation to be worse,’ I say, pointing a finger at his floating head. His smile is the most devious thing I’ve ever seen on a headless man… or bodyless, I suppose. He blows me a kiss and vanishes.

Stars have mercy. It’s been a week of this and I’m damn near close to accepting homelessness. I could always go live in the forest. The chickens are perverted, but at least they’re tangible. They can’t, say, befriend a dead goat and convince it to bleat every morning in your face at 4am. Or command all the moths in the house to band against you and turn your clothes into an abstract art project.

‘Work today?’ His head reappears, floating inches away from my face. This time I jolt. Damn him.

I won’t have much more of this to look forward to. I saw that my application with Borridge has progressed, if I can just get Delilah to give me a couple of extra shifts next week, I reckon I’ll have enough for the bond.

‘Yes,’ I say, buttoning my shirt up over my singlet. The singlet I now have to sleep in because he’s fed all my bras to the dead goat.

‘Drats. I had a special line-up planned,’ he says, head floating to face the ceiling.

‘Oh?’ My trousers are thankfully unscathed, although they are incredibly creased. I don’t trust him not to burn them if I tempt the iron. Shit, I don’t trust myself not to burn them. I’d have made a terrible trad-wife.

‘You know, fear, loathing, general misery,’ he lists.

‘Damnit, all my favourites.’ I put one pantleg on at a time, hopping down the stairs. The head follows. I toe on my boots by the door and grab my bag off the hook.

‘I’ll be waiting when you get home,’ he calls.

‘Oh, stop teasing, you.’ I slam the door behind me and groan. I’m not sure what I’ll be coming home to later, but I can guarantee it’ll be nothing short of a nightmare. Speaking of, he hasn’t finished invading mine as frequently as my night terrors allow.

I suppose the one advantage of having to flee my haunted home is I’m always early to work, and as such, I always have time to spare. I round the corner and enter the store. This early morning hang-out has become somewhat of a tradition.

I lean against the counter and Hot Face continues his sketch in his lap. Scrunched pieces of paper are strewn haphazardly across the counter.

‘You have an accent.’

‘Do I?’ I do.

‘Yeah. Where you from?’

Biggest shithole on the planet. ‘Southport.’

Hot Face laughs and makes a face that says he knows something about it. ‘Woah.’

‘Yep.’ I’m leant against the counter flipping through last month’s Daily Dose of Ken. I don’t need an oracle to see a frown deepening in my future. I look for the column they didn’t bother printing. They didn’t bother paying me for it either. I stare down at the pages at a loss.

Hot Face leans over the counter and lowers the magazine with one tattooed digit. His smile is kind, knowing. ‘How’d you make it out?’ he asks, his voice equal parts sing-song distraction and genuine curiosity.

I sigh. ‘Cut a deal with a wizard who had a foot fetish.’ I put the mag down and try to forget about everything that is hellbent on toppling my fragile constitution.

‘Worth it?’ he asks, head cocked enough I can see the green dragon tattoo snaking down his neck, I wonder what kind of ink was used to make it glow like that.

‘I walk just as well now as I did with five toes.’

Hot Face laughs. I attempt a smile. It’s a pitiful thing.

‘Hey.’ He brushes my shoulder. ‘What’s going on?’ I hate how understanding he sounds. I hate it because it just makes it that much harder to keep it all to myself. But if I start talking, I’ll start crying, and if I start crying, I’ll be embarrassed. Sad and ashamed is marginally worse than just being a hopeless case.

I tsk and shake my head no.

‘It’ll ruin the fun.’

‘Wouldn’t ruin mine,’ he offers with inflection. ‘C’mon. Lay it on me,’ he says, slapping the counter. ‘You don’t have to tell me specifics. Just give me the gist and let’s try and work it out. I’m not saying I’m a wizard or anything. Can’t take your toes to get you out of a tight spot but, we can chat.’

‘Why?’ I narrow my eyes on him. I’ve never heard of a man being good for the sheer sake of it.

‘Sometimes it can help to just… talk it out.’