Whisper (Riley Bloom 4)

“Uh, for your information,” I said, doing my best to keep my voice steady and my emotions in check, despite how annoyed I was getting. “This—” I jabbed my thumb toward the center of my chest. “This just so happens to be all the rage back on the earth plane. I’ll have you know that Miley Cyrus wore this exact same T-shirt when she stepped out for a latte and the paparazzi stalked her with a supersized telephoto lens just so they could get a really clear picture of her. And while I get that you’ve been dead for like a gazillion years, and probably don’t even know who Miley Cyrus is, let me just state that, for the record—”

“Riley, please—” She cut in, her hand raised, her palm flashing between us. “I know who Miley Cyrus is. I can move quite easily between ancient Rome and modern Rome, you know. Though admittedly, I do choose to spend most of my time here. And while I’m sorry to have offended you, I only meant to suggest that your modern clothing has no place in this world. If you want to blend in then you’ll have to first dress the part. And later, you’ll have to learn to play the part as well.”

“So, what then?” I asked, unwilling to give in so easily. I liked my look, my clothes were brand new, recently manifested, and in order to change them, I was going to need a little more convincing than she’d given so far. “You going to put me in some filthy gladiator tunic in hopes that I’ll somehow find a way to miraculously blend in among all those vicious killers? ’Cause, sorry for saying so, but I highly doubt that’ll work. I highly doubt I’ll fit in.”

I shook my head, started to mumble a few additional words not really meant for her ears, but didn’t get very far before I was surprised into silence when she placed her hands on her hips, leaned toward me, and said, “First of all—they’re not all vicious killers.” She paused, allowing enough time for her words to sink in and take root, her eyes glinting when she added, “I can see how on the surface you might think that—but if you want to complete your mission here, then you must never group them so carelessly together. You must never forget that there’s much more to their story than that which you’ve witnessed so far. Each and every one of them has their own unique reason for doing what they do. I think you’ll be very surprised to learn what they are. And second—you have a very difficult time trusting people, don’t you?” She looked me over, her gaze clearly saddened by the thought, though I was quick to correct her.

“No, not people. Just ghosts,” I snapped, mimicking her body language by placing my own hands on my hips and leaning toward her until our noses nearly touched. “And believe me, I’ve got my reasons. I’ve been burned more than once. And I don’t plan to ever let that happen again.”

I nodded to confirm it, making it clear that I was not one to be messed with, but Messalina turned away. Busying herself with a trunk full of shiny, silky, beautiful things she began sorting through.

“Well then, allow me to say that it is my sincerest wish that you will learn to relax and trust me.” She flashed me a smile from over her shoulder. “I truly hope that we can be friends. It’s been such a long time since I’ve enjoyed the companionship of a girl my own age.”

I shoved my hands deep into my front pockets and shot her a quizzical look. It’d been a while since I’d had a friend too, and it was something I was really starting to miss, but surely she didn’t think we were the same age? Surely she realized there were a handful of birthdays between us?

“But, until then,” she continued, deflecting my look with a wave of her hand. “What do you say we exchange your blue jeans and Miley Cyrus tee for this?”

My gaze shifted, and I watched in wonder as she pulled a stream of soft, silky, blue fabric from the trunk and dangled it from the tips of her fingers—the flame from the torches, along with the soft slant of light that spilled in from the windows, bathing it in the most astonishing, incandescent glow that left it shimmering before me.

It was my all-time favorite shade of blue—a deep and vibrant aquamarine. A color that instantly conjured up images of lazy days spent floating on a beautiful tropical sea. Not that I’d ever spent a lazy day like that, but still, that’s exactly what it made me think of. And as I watched her move toward me, the fabric swishing and rippling between us, I knew I couldn’t, wouldn’t resist. It was far too tempting to miss.

She pressed the fabric to my front and fussed a bit

with the shoulders and waist, her lips pressed tightly together as she yanked and tugged and tried to gauge the fit.

“What do you think?” she asked, as I peered down at myself. “Do you like it? I think it really brings out the blue of your eyes.”

“It really is beautiful,” I admitted. Though I also had to admit to myself that it would look a lot less beautiful once I was actually wearing it. Now that she held it against me, there was no denying it just wouldn’t work.

I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m really into clothes and stuff, and I like to think I’ve got pretty good taste despite what Messalina might think. But the kind of stuff I wear is usually a bit sportier than the dress she was foisting on me—a dress that was long, and flowy, and formal, and really kind of important looking.

The kind of dress you might wear if you were ever nominated for an Oscar, or a Grammy, or something.

The kind of dress that required a body that could actually fill up the fabric—the kind of body I’d long been denied.

Seriously, all you had to do was take one quick look to know that we were both headed for a major disappointment. The second I slipped on that dress it would cease to ripple and flow in that magical way. Instead it would sag and droop like an overcooked noodle.

“Um, do you have something else?” I pushed it away as though I found it offensive. “Something a little better suited to … well … someone like me?”

Messalina looked me over, her head cocked, brows drawn together. “This is suited for someone like you. Someone exactly like you, to be sure. C’mon, Riley, why not take a chance and try it on? I think you’ll find yourself quite surprised by the result.”

Her eyes coaxed, her voice bordered on insistent, but as tempting as it was to take her word for it, I knew better.

I just wasn’t up for that kind of humiliation.

I just wasn’t up for confirming what I already knew.

But despite my protest, Messalina remained persistent—she would not give in easily. “Don’t forget, you’ve left your world far behind. You’re in my world now. So please, why don’t you just try to trust me? Why don’t you just take a chance, try on the dress, and see for yourself?”

While I had no idea why it was so dang important to her, I did know there was no use in fighting her. From what I could tell, we were equally matched in the stubborn department, which meant the longer I fought, the longer it would take me to get down to business, finish the job, and get the heck out—something I desperately wanted to do.

I heaved a loud sigh—leaving no doubt as to just how reluctant I was to cooperate—then I surrendered to the dress, allowing her to slip that filmy, blue fabric right over my head.

Her fingers moved deftly, quickly, as she tucked, and draped, and tied, and pinched, and pulled, and fussed—all the while making soft, little clucking sounds as her tongue repeatedly hit the roof of her mouth. And even though I was tempted to peek, she’d given strict orders that I was to either close my eyes, or stare straight ahead. I wasn’t allowed to look at the final result, until she gave the OK.

The moment the dress was in place, she started messing with the rest of me as well. Twisting and pulling at my hair, pinning it in place with all manner of shiny jeweled ornaments she’d plucked from the table beside her. Then, after attaching some earrings to my ears, and clasping a heavy, jeweled necklace behind my neck, she told me to close my eyes—well, it was actually more like a demand—and since I was already in the mode of obeying, I did.

“And keep ’em closed,” she said, as soon as I’d done as she asked. “No peeking until I say when. Promise?” I sighed in reply, fully convinced she was setting me up for what would only amount to a major fail on both our parts.