Page 5 of Deja New
THREE
They’re insane. I should be terrified.
And perhaps she was. Deep down inside, where she crushed most of her fears. Mostly she was fascinated. It was like observing a pack of Archers in the wild, and she was the hapless nature lover trapped in the high hide, praying the predators were vegetarians. Or at least full, and thus would not eat her.
Angela had begun by introducing her brothers and cousins. Or her cousins and brothers; there were a lot of them, they all vaguely resembled each other, and they all spoke in unison.
“Guys, this is Archer’s fian—”
“Hi.”
“Do you know who James L. Brooks is? Will you tell us?”
“Arch captured you, right? Set some sort of bizarre trap and you fell right into it? Blink twice if you want an extraction team.”
“Man, not cool. Archer doesn’t like ‘Arch.’”
“He also doesn’t like when you insinuate he makes a habit of felony kidnapping.”
“He didn’t like Toe Cheese, he didn’t like The Thing That Smells Like Gym Shorts, now he’s yanking ‘Arch’ from circulation... Cripes, whatdoeshe like?”
“It’s nice to meet you, Leah.”
“Angela made me put on pants. You’re welcome.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” Leah managed. Probably. There were a half dozen of them, all gangly and dark-haired and energetic. The youngest—Jack? Jordan?—was still in his teens, the oldest—Mitchell? Paul?—was in his early twenties. Angela was the oldest of them all, at twenty-five. “All of you.”
“What?”
“What’d you say?”
“Hon, you’d better speak up if you want to be heard over our actual voicesandall the voices in our heads.”
“She said—shut up—she said she—shut up, you guys, let me talk!She said it was nice to meet you!” Angela made a visible effort to calm herself.“Which is a lie, obviously, but she’s being a good guest.”
“I’ve been called many things,” Leah said, and found a smile, “but never once ‘a good guest.’” Possibly because she was rarely invited anywhere. Who’d want to be around someone who could see all your sins from all your lives? Answer: no one who didn’t need something.
“Aw, Angela.” Archer was grinning at his cousin, who looked capable of murder, or at least assault. Leah didn’t blame her; she couldn’t imagine growing up in such a din. “I missed how you shriek us into submission.”
She let out a snort. “Sure you did.”
“But listen, can I get a ginger ale or something for Leah? It was a long drive and she—”
“Long drive?” a cousin (or brother) asked. “From where? We all live in Chicago.”
“Yeah, but they’re suburban, we’re city.”
“Which suburb, though?”
“Unless the suburb is five hundred miles away, it’s not a long drive.”
“A suburb five hundred miles away isn’t a suburb, you deeply pathetic idiot.”
Then the ghost drifted by, and Leah—who hated clichés—nearly jumped out of her skin. At least, that’s what it felt like. She did a double-take and realized that this woman—whoever she was—was just a shell. A living breathing shell, a walking talking ghost. “You need something to drink?” the ghost asked vaguely. “Nice flight?”
“They drove, Mom,” Angela put in before Archer could say anything. Leah noted that he shot his cousin a sympathetic grimace. “They don’t live very far away.”
“Actually, they live in a suburb five hundred miles away.”
