Secondhand Souls (Grim Reaper 2)

“So?”

“He’s our Charlie,” said Audrey.

Jane punched him in the arm. “Freak.”

She went to the closet and picked a subtle, dark gray plaid wool suit, handed it to him, then took Audrey out into the great room to wait for him to emerge. The suit felt very familiar, yet not. Watching Mike’s expression change in the mirror when he moved was strange, like he was remotely working a robot, but he was getting used it. He wasn’t comparing it to old, human Charlie, so much, as little, crocodile Charlie, so the differences, for the most part, were positive. He straightened the lapels and presented himself to the judges, who were seated on the couch.

“Turn around,” Jane said.

“Very nice,” Audrey said.

“A little snug in the shoulders and arms.” Jane rose, pulled at the shoulders, brushed at some imaginary lint. “That’s how guys are wearing their suits now, though. I think you’re good to go. Do you have shoes?” Jane looked at Audrey, who nodded. “Sweet. You guys want something to drink?” She headed to the kitchen.

“I like my tea like I like my men,” Audrey said.

Jane looked at her quizzically.

“Weak and green,” Charlie said. “You know, that line was a lot funnier the first time I heard it, when I actually hadn’t spent a year being weak and green.”

“Oh, yeah,” said Audrey. “Sorry. Jane, do have you any wine?”

Jane scoffed. “I have red, I have white, I have pink, I have green.” She looked at Charlie. “Get over it, Chuck, you’re not green anymore.”

“Red, please.”

Before Charlie could ask for anything to drink, there was the ratcheting sound of a key in the lock and the door opened, flying back on its hinges. In marched Sophie, pink backpack dragging behind her, followed by Cassie, carrying two bags of groceries. Sophie slung her backpack up on the breakfast bar and jumped up onto the stool.

“I need a snack up in this bitch or I’m going to plotz,” said the darling little brunette with the heartbreak blue eyes.

Jane looked past Sophie to Charlie and cringed, then to Cassie, who was trying to land two bags of groceries on a counter with only one bag’s worth of space. “Cassandra, what kind of filth are you teaching this child?”

Cassie finally let one bag of groceries slide into the sink and looked over. “Oh.” She combed her red curls with her fingers. “Hi.” Then she recognized Audrey, having only really seen her once, and her eyes went wide. “Oh, hi!” She looked at Charlie, really more checking him out than looking at him, as if she might be sizing him up to figure out a fair price for him. “So . . .”

Sophie looked over her shoulder quickly, then to Cassie, and whispered, “Who is that guy wearing Auntie Jane’s suit?” Her whisper skills were still developing and were decidedly wetter than required.

“Family meeting,” said Jane. “In the kitchen. Family meeting.” She crouched down so she was behind the breakfast-­bar pass-­through. “Family meeting.” Her hand shot up and grabbed a handful of Cassie’s sweater, pulling her down.

Sophie spun on her stool, her eye on Audrey. “Hey, I remember you. You’re th

at shiksa that came here with Daddy.” She squinted at Charlie ­suspiciously.

“Yes,” said Audrey. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“Family meeting!” said Jane and Cassie as they stood, each taking one of Sophie’s arms and dragging the child over the breakfast bar into the kitchen and out of sight in the depths below.

Furious whispers, some of them damp, Jane peeked up, ducked, more whispers.

Audrey patted Charlie’s arm. He’d stood when Sophie had come in and looked on the verge of either crying or being sick to his stomach.

Frantic whispers, a pause, then a little kid voice: “Are you fucking with me?!”

“Jane!” Charlie barked.

Jane stood, “You taught her that one.” Back down.

Cassie stood, nodded confirmation, ducked.

Charlie looked at Audrey for help. “It is kind of your catchphrase,” she said.