"Let's just take it slow for now, okay? There will be time in the future to get to know Bijou, if that's what you want to do."

"Sounds like a plan," Kelly said tiredly. She maneuvered her wheelchair in the direction of her room, pushing herself along with both hands.

"Can I get you anything?"

"Answers would be nice."

I sighed. "Can't help you there."

CHAPTER 7.

"Good Lord, woman. You said you'd be 'dressed to kill,' not maim."

I sauntered toward Joe on four inch stiletto heels, slapping a leather riding crop against the palm of my left hand.

"What's the matter," I asked huskily. "Scared?"

He gave me the slanted grin that always set my heart tripping. "Absolutely," he said. "Scared stiff."

The avid way he was eyeing me was no joke, so I took my time modeling this year's Halloween costume, enjoying his undivided attention.

"What would a Wicked Witch be without her whip, hm?" I trailed the riding crop across my much-more-prominent-than-usual cleavage. I'd glued a single plastic spider on the curve of my right breast. "Or her black corset?" I could barely breathe in the thing, but it was worth it to see the look on his face. I flipped up the hem of my flirty orange and black skirt so he could see the garter belt I was wearing beneath it. Of course, I'd stayed true to my goth roots by making sure the fishnet stockings were ripped in all the right places, and added fake spiderweb tattoos on both shoulders for good measure. My hair was streaked with orange glitter gel beneath my pointed witch's hat.

"I can't believe how gorgeous you are," Joe said. He shook his head admiringly, obviously enjoying the view. "You are hot. Black lipstick might be my new favorite."

"Well, you know what they say." I gave him my sexiest pose, hand on hip, one leg forward. "If you've got it," a flirtatious wink, "haunt it." Then I blew him an air kiss.

He laughed appreciatively, and I felt good all over. We were going to have a great time tonight.

"It's a good thing I chose a 'tough guy' costume over 'Dr. Phil Good,'" Joe said. "I'm going to need to look tough to keep the other guys at the Vortex away from you."

"Are you kidding? When the girls get a look at you in those leather pants, I'll probably need to use this whip for real."

Joe had morphed into a sexy 'bad boy' in his biker clothes-all handpicked by Evan, of course. Tight leather pants, chunky black combat boots, and a sleeveless Harley-Davidson T-shirt. His beautiful body was usually hidden under surgical scrubs-I could get used to having a boyfriend with a regular gym habit. Nice shoulders, lean belly, and great biceps, now sporting fake tattoos even cooler than mine. He'd refused to let Evan style his hair, though, and slicked it back himself. The gel made it even darker than usual.

A flutter in my belly made me look forward to the end of the evening.

"Wow." Kelly thumped into the living room on her crutches, smiling. "You guys look great."

"You can still come with us," Joe said. "It's not too late for me to get a hospital gown and a wheelchair. You can go as an accident victim."

"Ha ha." Kelly gave him an exasperated look, but she was grinning. They seemed pretty easy with each other. The divorce papers had been signed with no fuss. She had even gone back to her maiden name, Charon.

Styx and Charon-the river of the dead and the boatman who ferried lost souls across it. Pretty weird when you thought about it.

"I don't want to go like this," Kelly said. "Maybe next year."

Next year. That's right. There would always be next year.

In the weeks since the funeral, Kelly and I had lived pretty quietly. She had the house to herself during the day, and at first she spent a lot of time watching TV in her room. She was an early riser, like me, so we'd fallen into the habit of having our coffee and newspaper together.

"You'd have fun." I tried to tempt her into getting out of the house. "Maybe even meet somebody."

Something flitted over Kelly's face before she looked away. "I guess I'd just prefer to meet Mr. Right when I'm looking my best," she said, still smiling. She looked back, and whatever it had been was gone. "You guys have fun for me. Tell me all about it tomorrow."

"You just wanna get back to that computer." I turned to Joe and said, "Kelly's been doing research into the paranormal, reading a lot of ghost stories on the Internet."

I normally didn't tease her about the amount of time she spent online, because I didn't blame her one bit. What else was there to do when you were recovering from two bum ankles and a couple of broken ribs?

"You should try reading up on the paranormal sometime, Miss Ignorance Is Bliss," Kelly answered, giving as good as she got. "Particularly now that we have to live with it."

I didn't wanna think about that tonight. After all, a ghoul's just gotta to have fun sometime, doesn't she?

"Presenting," Evan's voice boomed from the hallway, "the incredible Miss Liza Minelli," Evan and Butch stepped into the room in full costume, "and the love of her life, Mr. David Gest!"

We greeted them with the gasps of amazement they deserved, followed by bursts of laughter.

Evan was glorious as Liza, fake-eyelashed to the hilt, wearing a spiky black wig and a dramatically regal expression. "Liza" modeled a white fake fur over a tea-length black dress, heavy makeup, and stockings with high heels. No way was Evan gonna miss his annual chance to get campy-last year he'd gone as Cher, and looked damned good doing it.

But Butch stole the show.

Looking taller than usual in a heavy black overcoat, normally bald Butch wore a half wig, slicked straight back, and a giant pair of dark sunglasses. He was dressed in formal wear, white silk ascot around his neck, long white evening scarf dangling. He held his mouth as though he'd just tasted a lemon.

It was hilarious. Alone, Evan would just be another Liza Minelli impersonator and Butch a constipated goon in an overcoat, but together they were a celebrity freak show event.

"Wait, wait," Evan said between giggles, "you have to see him without his glasses."

Butch-trying hard to stay in character-took a moment to straighten his face, then pulled off his sunglasses without saying a word. Evan had taped his eyelids, stretching the skin on his forehead to a ridiculous degree. The result was a plastic surgery nightmare.

Joe was laughing harder than I was, and Kelly was dying. I saw her grab the back of the couch to keep from falling off her crutches. She looked younger when she laughed, and prettier, too. The bruises on her face were finally gone, her long brown hair freshly washed and tucked behind her ears.

"I've got to get pictures," Kelly said, when she could stop laughing. There was a camera on the counter, and she got some great ones of the four of us, then more of us as couples-Joe and I, Liza and Butch. Evan camped it up even more for the camera, and we all laughed again at how well Butch held his plastic escort pose.

Then we were off to the Vortex for some Halloween fun.

Atlanta's Little Five Points took October 31st seriously. An annual costume parade, a fall festival and pumpkin carving contest, lots of different bar parties. Halloween night was the night to get together and get weird-and in an area known for its weirdness, that was saying quite a bit.

We parked and walked down Moreland toward the Vortex, taking our time. "Liza" and her big goon strolled the sidewalk arm in arm, while Joe and I walked behind, admiring the other freaks we passed along the way.

The air was full of music and laughter, lifting my spirits like the smoke from the fog machines in Findley Plaza. Reggae music spilled from the open door of Hey Mon's, not quite drowning the thump of heavy metal coming from The Crypt. Two women dressed as vampires passed, eyeing Joe like he was a pint of plasma and they were a quart low. I gave them a cheerful "too late, girls" grin. SpongeBob SquarePants stumbled by, led by a woman in a harem outfit. Poor SpongeBob had either had too much to drink or was about to get lucky, I couldn't tell which.

A leering scarecrow with corn-husk hands and a burlap head jumped out at us from an alley between the buildings, and a guy in a Bill Clinton mask tried to pinch my butt. Once I realized what he wanted, I let him, then playfully smacked him with my riding crop, enjoying the anonymous flirting.

"See? What'd I tell you?" Joe shook his head, grinning from ear to ear. "Forget Dorothy and her ruby slippers, you're the sexiest Wicked Witch the Land of Oz has ever seen." He was watching the milling crowd of partygoers, looking everywhere at once. "This place is wild."

I laughed. "Good girls like Dorothy may end up with cute shoes, but bad girls have more fun." Joe was holding my hand, and it felt like it belonged in his. "Anybody can buy shoes."

We reached the Vortex, where an even bigger crowd was gathered. I was glad to see Fat Mitch was the bouncer tonight-he knew Evan and I both from the store. We were always good for an extra lunchtime burger from The Five Spot, or the occasional bottle of Grey Goose, and he let us in.

The place was jumping, all loud music and moving bodies. Constantly shifting purple and orange lights streamed from a giant disco ball; spotlights cast shadows of witches, black cats, and skulls over the crowd. Spiders and spiderwebs dripped from the ceiling, while skeletons and ghosts dangled from the rafters. The music was so loud it made the walls tremble. It was crazy and deafening, and I loved it. We made a beeline for the bar, easing our way through a seething mass of humanity.

I'd no sooner been handed my Black Magic when I felt a hand on my ass.

I whirled, pointed my whip at a man in a gorilla suit and threatened, "Watch it, buddy. Don't make me send my flying monkeys after you!"

Gorilla Man raised his hands and shook his head, backing off. I wasn't sure if he was claiming no responsibility or apologizing, but it didn't matter either way.

"What are you drinking?" Joe was right beside me, but he wasn't having much luck getting the bartender's attention.

"Vodka and Kahlua, with a twist of lemon." I took a greedy sip, savoring the rich flavor of Kahlua. I was restricting my mixed drinks for special occasions now-hard liquor isn't as good for the heart as red wine. "Want a sip?"

He shook his head. "I'll stick with beer, if I ever get one."

"There's another bar in that corner." I pointed. "The bartender's a woman. Go flash those dimples at her."

He laughed. "There you go, treating me like a sex object again."

I reached around and smacked him on the butt. "You love it."

Joe leaned over and spoke directly in my ear. "You're right-I do." He bit my earlobe, and my knees went weak. "Stay here, Little Miss Wicked. I'll be right back."

I watched him walk away, admiring the view, then took a sip of my drink.

"Hello, gorgeous."

The voice was unfamiliar.

I turned, and met the eyes of one of the hunkiest guys I'd ever seen in my life. Spiky blond hair, cheekbones a fashion model would kill for, and a wicked grin. He was wearing a sleeveless black leather vest, no shirt, and tight jeans with the cuffs laced into combat boots-the perfect "bad boy."

He winked at me like we were old friends, raising his glass. "Looks like we're kindred spirits," he said. "I can't get enough of that old Black Magic either."

Old habits die hard, I guess. Besides, a little flirting never hurt anybody. I tilted my head and touched the tip of my whip to my chin.

"Let me guess... Spike, from Buffy the Vampire Slayer."

He shook his head, still grinning. A silver earring glinted from one ear.

I guessed again. "Billy Idol?" God, I loved a man in black eyeliner.

"That old punk?" He laughed, pretending to be insulted. "Way overrated."

"Who are you, then?"

"I'm the man of your dreams, baby."

I'd heard that one before, so why did it sound so different when he said it? I watched as he took a sip of his drink, blue eyes never leaving me.

"How original. Is that the best you can do?" Despite the lousy come-on, I found myself intrigued, and more than just a little attracted. His eyes were an unusual shade of blue-very pale, and very striking. Warning bells should've been going off, but I felt wrapped in silk. Smooth, slippery silk.

He took a step closer. "Talk is cheap. Let me prove it to you." He smelled like cloves, a spicy scent that made my mouth water. I didn't pull away when he leaned in close to whisper in my ear. "I'll bet I know just how you like it: you on top, and me inside you. Hard, hot, and eager to please."

His breath was tickling my neck, and my belly fluttered at the mental image that popped into my brain. Up close, I could see that the silver earring was actually a small skull and crossbones.

Walk away, Styx. Walk away.

I wanted to, but my body seemed to have a mind of its own. One lean, muscular shoulder was right in front of me, and I wanted to lick it-just once-to see if he tasted as good as he smelled.

"Nicki? Yoo-hoo, Nicki!" Evan's voice broke the spell.

I jerked back, avoiding eye contact with Mr. Eye Candy.

Evan was at my elbow, looking garishly feminine in his wig and fake eyelashes. The look he was giving me was laced with warning.

"The costume contest is about to start." The look turned more pointed. "Where's Joe?"

"Joe?" I was flustered, off-balance. What'd they put in this drink, anyway?

"Joe." Evan was beginning to get that tone in his voice. "Your boyfriend-remember?" Someone jostled my elbow, and I glanced over to find Butch standing on my other side, giving my new friend an expressionless stare. I sighed, recognizing the drill. I was in the middle of an overly protective "Minelli" sandwich.

"He's right over there." I pointed toward the corner bar, and saw Joe watching me across the room. The crowd shifted, and I lost sight of him, but I'd seen enough to tell that he wasn't smiling anymore.

My Billy Idol look-alike glanced that way, then turned back to me. He ignored my gay security squad and raised his drink in an admiring salute. "'Abashed the Devil stood, and felt how awful goodness is, and saw Virtue in her own shape how lovely; saw and pined his loss.'"

My jaw dropped. It was weird enough to hear some guy spouting quotes in a bar, but his choice of quotes...

"Milton. Paradise Lost," he added, with another wicked grin. His pale blue gaze flicked over Evan and Butch. "And apparently it is." He winked at me. "For now, anyway. See you around, Nicki Styx."

Then he walked away, his blond head quickly lost in the throng of people on the dance floor.

"Who the hell was that?" Evan didn't mince words.

"I don't know." And I wasn't sure I wanted to. "Just some guy, that's all."

I'd never told him my name.

The music seemed louder than ever, the bass from the speakers thumping in time with my heart.

"Earth to Nicki." Evan was getting impatient. "Put your tongue back in your mouth, will you? The costume party is about to start." He hated being last in line for anything, and a group was starting to gather near the main stage.

I didn't bother to take offense. "Butch, put your sunglasses back on, and Evan, let me check your makeup." I used my thumb to wipe away a nonexistent smudge of lipstick and gave him a quick hug, sending him off to the spotlight. "As they say in show business, break a leg."

"Please," Evan said. "These legs are worth more than Liza's. Prettier, too."