Otherworld Chills by Kelley Armstrong

Author:Kelley Armstrong
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2016-09-02T12:03:45+00:00

TWO

I’m going to kill you,” I said when Mike finally answered his phone. “I’m going to murder you, then summon your spirit and stick you in a very small, very dark box. No, wait. I’ll stick you in front of a television, where you are forced to watch reality TV reruns for eternity. Reruns of your own shows.”

“I—”

“I did Death of Innocence as a favor because I owed you for my first Keni Bales appearance. So I signed on to help raise the ghost of Marilyn Monroe. And when it all went to hell, was it my fault?”

“No, but—”

“Your first big show was about to be canceled. But then one of your performers discovered a child’s body in the garden. Who did that?”

“You, but—”

“I found that poor girl, and soon no one gave a crap about Marilyn, because you had something even juicier. Death of Innocence: Satanism in Brentwood. A smash hit. Who gave you that?”

“Well, it was a joint—”

“Joint effort, my ass. It was me. I even went along with the wildly inaccurate satanic cult angle for you. I put up with Todd Simon and Bradford Grady, and I turned a train wreck into a ratings smash hit. Five years later, the video is still selling enough to send you to Venice every spring. And how do you repay me?”

“By giving you another smash,” he blurted. “Star billing in a brand new special. At double the rate I paid you for Death.”

“I am not—”

“With a cut of video sales.”

I paused. “Net or gross?”

“Net, of course. I can’t—”

I hung up. I counted to three. My phone rang.

“Okay, gross, but it will be a much, much smaller percentage than you’d get for net—”

“A smaller percentage of something is better than a huge cut of nothing. I know how your accounting works. I’ll take gross—if I agree to do it, and we’re a long way from that. Setting me up with that fake reporter tonight—”

“Fake?” he sputtered. “I don’t know what you’re—”

“Cut the crap and this will go much smoother. You sent her. She nailed me on camera. That means I have to at least listen to what you have to say or I’m the diva bitch who couldn’t spare a few minutes to raise public awareness of zombie-itus.”

“We’d prefer to call it—”

“Whatever. Yes, Cotard’s is a real condition. Yes, people suffer from it. But that’s not why you’re using it, so let’s cut the crap and stop pretending you care. You know that if I do this, I’ll treat it seriously, even if I’m the only one who does.”

I let him sputter. Then I cut in with, “So what’s the gig?”

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