It struck her at that moment—she had no idea where Clyde came from. She was so slacking when it came to her medium duties these days. “You’ve been here before?”
“Once or twice,” he replied, the fog he was in refusing to lift.
Delaney tweaked his arm. “Hello in there. Just a reminder. You’re a fully grown man in a pink bathrobe out in broad daylight. All you need is a shopping cart full of soda cans to complete your crazy portrait.”
He looked down at her, the glazed-over look in his eyes clearing. “They have Slurpees . . . 7-Eleven has Slurpees. I love Slurpees.”
“Do you think you might love the nuthouse?”
“What?”
“The nuthouse. Because if you keep wandering off in your bathrobe and bare feet, I can almost guarantee you, they’re going to drag you off to the place called crazy. Now come on. I’m late as it is.” She grabbed his hand, dragging him close to her side so he couldn’t escape while everyone they passed stared at them. “Move, people! Crazy guy in a bathrobe here,” she said to them by way of explanation. “Totally harmless unless he misses his meds. Then shit gets ugly. We only have about ten minutes before everything goes south. So excuse us, because when he realizes he has the color pink on, I make no promises he won’t react. Violently,” she added with a shiver of horror for the gawkers, giving them all a furtive glance.
The ten or twelve people who’d gathered around Clyde parted, allowing her to drag a reluctant, heavy-footed Clyde behind her. “Do you think on the way back to your place we could get a Slurpee? I haven’t had one in a while. They used to be my mainstay. I hope they have banana. I love banana Slurpees. Helped me get through many a long night while I studied. But I’d settle for a Full Throttle Frozen Blue Demon.”
“Throttle and demon. How ironic those words being in the same phrase,” she commented.
“So would you mind?”
“Mind what?”
“If we stopped on the way back so I can get a banana Slurpee.”
The mention of banana Slurpees made her stop almost cold. The memory of why something as ridiculous as a banana Slurpee was relevant slipped away like a cube of melting ice in her grasp. She shook off the faint recollection and plodded ahead. “I can’t think of anything worse for your innards than a Slurpee. The sugar alone is enough to leave you snockered.”
“I think I’m beyond worrying about my cholesterol levels and blood pressure and pretty much anything that has to do with my health. Again, I remind you, I’m dead. If I drank a hundred Slurpees consecutively, I wouldn’t stop ticking because I no longer tick. And don’t you ever live a little? Like have a cheeseburger or some greasy fries? Or do you always eat food fit only for gerbils and goats?”
“I try to maintain a nontoxic existence. I’ve gone green, I avoid preservatives, additives, dairy, and most bread, and I believe for every bottle of aspirin out there, there’s a form of meditation or a root extract that’d be just as helpful.”
His chuckle was deep. “Are you one of those people who hums while you’re in downward dog position in search of your happy place?”
She made a face at him, giving him a jab in his ribs. “It’s downward facing dog. Don’t make it sound so crazy. I’m not the fruitcake in this deal, bathrobe man. Yoga’s good for you. It not only increases your flexibility, but releases energy blocks, and with the lot of you bunch running around, always jumping into the middle of my life, I could use less in the way of energy blocks. Christ knows I need more energy to keep up with all these ghosts. You’d be surprised how calming yoga can be.”
“Doesn’t change the fact that I’d like a banana Slurpee on the way home.”
“We’ll see. Right now, I’m almost forty-five minutes late with lunch. Now step on the gas.” She let go of his arm and hurried up the steps of her brother’s apartment building, punching the buzzer for his apartment.
“Christ, D. Where you been?” Kellen barked out of the intercom. “I only called you five times. That’s what the cell phone is for—so I can call you. Then you answer. It’s called keeping in touch.”
She cast a gaze of admonishment in Clyde’s direction when Kellen hit the buzzer, opening the door. They climbed the stairs together in silence. It was just now occurring to her that she was going to have to explain Clyde to her brother. As they stood at Kellen’s door, she looked up at him. “Just let me do the talking. Don’t say a single word or I’ll superglue your lips together.”
Clyde leaned his bulk against the black enamel door frame, tightening the robe around his waist until it almost met. “So this is the Kellen whose name I heard in Hell. Your brother, right?”
“The one and only, and though he knows about the dead people thing, and he knows about you, too—he’s not much of a demon lover.”