Speakeasy Dead: a P.G. Wodehouse-Inspired Romantic Zombie Comedy (Hellfire Universe Historicals) by Loebel Vicky

Author:Loebel, Vicky [Loebel, Vicky]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Pentachronistic Press
Published: 2013-10-05T21:00:00+00:00

XII: Hard Hearted Hanna

Never put all your eggs in one casket.

—The Boy’s Book of Boggarts

Bernard:

I DREAMT OF RUTH dancing the Charleston, au natural, on top of the Fellowship’s slate roof. Inside, on the ground floor, bottles rolled sideways along two ninepin bowling lanes. Each time one of the bottles hit a pin, booze fountained upward and rained down burning ash.

“Hey, sweetie.” Cinders caressed my cheek. “Surprise!”

“Luella?” I blinked awake in utter darkness. “Is that you?” Cold, pungent fumes clawed at my useless eyes. My head was throbbing. “How about a light?”

Luella’s fur coat was wrapped about my shoulders. Her scent, Narcisse Noir, tickled my nose. But it was not Luella slicing my linen vest with razor claws.

“Ruthie?” I sat up on the coffins, seeking the radium dial of my father’s Waltham wristwatch. Eight thirty. Apart from tiny glowing numbers, I couldn’t see a thing. The air seemed vaguely smoky. “What’s going on?”

The coat slipped from my shoulders. I shook my muddled head, wishing for water to wash the fuzz out of my mouth. I’d spent the afternoon with Gaspar, playing Bunco with a set of ghostly dice. He’d won Babe Ruth, Mae Murray, and taken my i.o.u. for trading cards from ten packs of American Caramels before I’d given up and switched from playing dice to drinking gin.

My vest popped open. Feminine fingers grasped the neckband of my broadcloth shirt.

“Ruth.” I hiccupped and fumbled unsuccessfully for my lighter. “Ruth, cut it out.”

The broadcloth ripped. Buttons flew off with little pinging pops.

Gaspar—with me as host—had not been able to lift objects or, more to the point, unlock the icehouse door. At dusk, I’d tried to send him through the walls for help, but the building had been surrounded with a ring of rock salt that the ghost couldn’t get past.

So I’d sipped booze, rationed my cigarettes in the dark, and watched the glowing hands of the Waltham creep past eight o’clock, wondering whether or not my baby cousin was still alive.

Construction note: the double thickness of an icehouse wall is sturdier than a crate of booze, no matter how furiously you hurl the second item against the first.

“What happened with the judging?” I couldn’t have been asleep more than ten minutes. “How’s Clara? Where is Hans?”

Ruth climbed into my lap. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

She wasn’t wearing…. My brow furrowed. That is, she didn’t seem to be?

“I’m thrilled,” I said. “I can’t see anything. It’s dark.” I tried to concentrate. “Will you please make a light.”

“Sure thing,” Ruth purred. A gentle glow suffused the air.

She wasn’t nude. There was a feathered headband in her hair.

“Bah— bah—” My head was woolly. Perhaps that’s why I bleated like a sheep.

Ruth leaned forward, sliding her palms downward along my union suit.

“Bah—” She was the loveliest woman I’d ever seen. I turned my head to keep from looking. “Th-thank you,” I stammered. “Now how about opening the door?”

The genie licked my ear.

“Ruth, please.” I grabbed her shoulders and held her at bay. “Tell me what happened with the dance.

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