“Mrs. Posokov…Mrs. Posokovano—Irena! How are you?”
“You weren’t so concerned about that yesterday.”
“No, I was. I really was. Sorry about that.” Charlie smiled, thinking it was his most charming smile. “I hope you don’t have that pepper spray with you.”
“I don’t,” Irena said.
Charlie looked at Audrey. “We had a little misunderstanding—”
“I have this,” Irena said, producing a stun gun from behind her back, pressing it to Charlie’s chest and sending a hundred and twenty-five thousand volts surging through his body. He could see animals, or animal-like creatures, dressed in period finery, approaching him as he convulsed in pain on the floor.
“Get them both tied up, guys,” Audrey said. “I’ll make tea.”
Tea?” Audrey said.
So, for the second time in his life, Charlie Asher found himself tied to a chair and being served a hot beverage. Audrey was bent over before him, holding a teacup, and regardless of the awkwardness or danger of the situation, Charlie found himself staring down the front of her shirt.
“What kind of tea?” Charlie asked, buying time, noticing the cluster of tiny silk roses that perched happily at the front clasp of her bra.
“I like my tea like I like my men,” Audrey said with a grin. “Weak and green.”
Now Charlie looked into her eyes, which were smiling. “Your right hand is free,” she said. “But we had to take your gun and your sword-cane, because those things are frowned upon.”
“You’re the nicest captor I’ve ever had,” Charlie said, taking the teacup from her.
“What are you trying to say?” said Minty Fresh.
Charlie looked to his right, where Minty Fresh was tied to a chair that made him look as if he’d been taken hostage at a child’s tea party—his knees were up near his chin and one of his wrists was taped near the floor. Someone had put a large ice pack on his head, which looked vaguely like a tam-o’-shanter.
“Nothing,” Charlie said. “You were a great captor, too, don’t get me wrong.”
“Tea, Mr. Fresh?” Audrey said.
“Do you have coffee?”
“Back in a second,” Audrey said. She left the room.
They’d been moved to one of the rooms off the foyer, Charlie couldn’t tell which. It must have been a parlor for entertaining during its day, but it had been converted into a combination office and reception room: metal desks, a computer, some filing cabinets, and an array of older oak office chairs for working and waiting.
“I think she likes me,” Charlie said.
“She has you taped to a chair,” Minty Fresh said, pulling at the tape around his ankles with his free hand. The ice pack fell off his head and hit the floor with a loud thump.
“I didn’t notice how attractive she was when I met her before.”
“Would you help me get free, please?” Minty said.
“Can’t,” Charlie said. “Tea.” He held up his cup.
Clicking noises by the door. They looked up as four little bipeds in silk and satin scampered into the room. One, who had the face of an iguana, the hands of a raccoon, and was dressed like a musketeer, big-feathered hat and all, drew a sword and poked Minty Fresh in the hand he was using to pull at the duct tape.
“Ow, dammit. Thing!”
“I don’t think he wants you to try to get loose,” Charlie said.
The iguana guy saluted Charlie with a flourish of his sword and pointed to the end of his snout with his free hand, as if to say, On the nose, buddy.
“So,” Audrey said, entering the room carrying a tray with Minty’s coffee, “I see you’ve met the squirrel people.”
“Squirrel people?” Charlie asked.
A little lady with a duck’s face and reptilian hands wearing a purple satin evening gown curtsied to Charlie, who nodded back.
“That’s what we call them,” Audrey said. “Because the first few I made had squirrel faces and hands, but then I ran out of squirrel parts and they got more baroque.”
“They’re not creatures of the Underworld?” Charlie said. “You made them?”
“Sort of,” Audrey said. “Cream and sugar, Mr. Fresh?”
“Please,” Minty said. “You make these monsters?”
All four of the little creatures turned to him at once and leaned back, as if to say, Hey, pal, who are you calling monsters.
“They’re not monsters, Mr. Fresh. The squirrel people are as human as you are.”
“Yeah, except they have better fashion sense,” Charlie said.
“I’m not always going to be taped to this chair, Asher,” Minty said. “Woman, who or what the hell are you?”
“Be nice,” Charlie said.
“I suppose I should explain,” Audrey said.
“Ya think?” Minty said.
Audrey sat down on the floor, cross-legged, and the squirrel people gathered around her, to listen.
“Well, it’s a little embarrassing, but I guess it started when I was a kid. I sort of had this affinity for dead things.”
“Like you liked to touch dead things?” asked Minty Fresh. “Get naked with them?”
“Would you please let the lady talk,” Charlie said.
“Bitch is a freak,” Minty said.
Audrey smiled. “Why, yes; yes, I am, Mr. Fresh, and you are tied up in my dining room, at the mercy of any freaky thing that might occur to me.” She tapped a silver demitasse spoon she’d used to stir her tea on her front tooth and rolled her eyes as if imagining something delicious.
“Please go on,” said Minty Fresh with a shudder. “Sorry to interrupt.”
“It wasn’t a freaky thing,” Audrey said, glancing at Minty, daring him to speak up. “It was just that I had an overdeveloped sense of empathy with the dying, mostly animals, but when my grandmother passed, I could feel it, from miles away. Anyway, it didn’t overwhelm me or anything, but when I got to college, to see if I could get a handle on it, I decided to study Eastern philosophy—oh yeah, and fashion design.”
“I think it’s important to look good when you’re doing the work of the dead,” Charlie said.
“Well—uh—okay,” Audrey said. “And I was a good seamstress. I really liked making costumes. Anyway, I met and fell in love with a guy.”
“A dead guy?” Minty asked.
“Soon enough, Mr. Fresh. He was dead soon enough.” Audrey looked down at the carpet.
“See, you insensitive fuck,” Charlie said. “You hurt her feelings.”
“Hello, tied to a chair here,” Minty said. “Surrounded by little monsters, Asher. Not the insensitive one.”
“Sorry,” Charlie said.
“It’s okay,” Audrey said. “His name was William—Billy, and we were together for two years before he got sick. We’d only been engaged a month when he was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor. They gave him a couple of months to live. I dropped out of school and stayed with him every moment. One of the nurses from hospice knew about my Eastern studies course and recommended we talk with Dorje Rinpoche, a monk from the Tibetan Buddhist Center in Berkeley. He talked to us about Bardo Thodrol, what you know as the Tibetan Book of the Dead. He helped prepare Billy to transfer his consciousness into the next world—into his next life. It took our focus off of the darkness and made death a natural, hopeful thing. I was with Billy when he died, and I could feel his consciousness move on—really feel it—Dorje Rinpoche said that I had some special talent. He thought I should study under a high lama.”
“So you became a monk?” Charlie asked.
“I thought a lama was just a tall sheep,” said Minty Fresh.
Audrey ignored him. “I was heartbroken and I needed direction, so I went to Tibet and was accepted at a monastery where I studied Bardo Thodrol for twelve years under Lama Karmapa Rinpoche, the seventeenth reincarnation of the bodhisattva who had founded our school of Buddhism a thousand years ago. He taught me the art of p’howa—the transference of the consciousness at the moment of death.”