Page 9 of Aftertaste

“Hey!” he called. “What the hell was in this?”

But the coward retreated through the swinging door and was gone.

“Hey, loser,” Anna said then, and the familiar rasp of her voice—a voice he’d have paid anything to hear just one more time—snagged something in his chest.

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

She leaned toward him and whispered, “Your line is ‘Hey, bitch.’?”

IN THE SANCTUARYof The Library’s supply room, Konstantin was trying to wrestle his heart back down his throat. There was a lady ghost on the bar. Alady ghoston the bar. A lady ghost! On the bar!

Shit.

He took several deep breaths and then a swig of Tito’s from the family bottle.

Okay. Okay okay.

He’d made a drink. And his drink had brought someone back from the Dead. No need to panic. Nothing to see here.

No. Big. Deal.

He took another swig of vodka.

In a weird-ass twist of fate, the kind of bullshit plotline only a novelist could devise, he had somehow managed to prop open a portal, allI-see-dead-peoplestyle, only without the crazy color-coding. Wasthiswhat the ghosts had been waiting for all these years? A fucking snack?

Kostya clambered onto a step stool and peered through the smeared window of the swinging door. There she was, firework bright, gesticulating, sending sparks. He nudged the door open, just enough to hear.

They were arguing. About celebrities.

“… and I was just kind of expecting you to look more like Bradley Cooper by now.”

“You’re impossible, you know that? It’s not like you came back as Zoë Kravitz!”

“You still into her? You know there’s, like, no chance, right?”

He grinned. “Screw you.”

“I’d love to, babe, but I’m not exactly corporeal. Though I guess we cou-ld-d—” She suddenly jittered, her spangled image blinking in and out like a bad connection.

“Anna?” He gasped as she blipped out of sight. “Anna!No!”

He was shouting, his hand trying to grab hold of hers, closing in on itself.

“No-no-no. Come back!”

“Drink!” her voice instructed, disembodied somewhere.

He fumbled for his glass—spilling half in the process—and took a big gulp.

A moment later, there she was again, all chartreuse and sparkles, a movieland extra from the Emerald City.

“Sorry!” she gasped. “You have to keep drinking. The taste of that thing—I think that’s what’s keeping me here.”

He frowned at her, dubious.

“Really?This?”

“Don’t you remember it?” She gave him a meaningful look. “From Santorini? That place with the boats?”

---