Page 42 of Haunt the Mall

“I know. It’s bullshit,” I told him. At least I’d showered last night.

By the time I got to work, it was five minutes past when we were supposed to open. My heart rammed against my ribcage faster than my feet could carry me. I rushed into the store and flipped switches and buttons, half-tripping over inventory. The gates rattled on their ascent.

We were open for business. Almost.

Black spots danced behind my eyelids. Bending over, I coughed, trying not to heave on my empty stomach. There had to be some leftover candy from the party in the cashiers’ desk. I blindly reached under the register and smacked my hand on a broken hanger. Those were supposed to go in the trash. But at least I did find a hard candy and a crimson tube of lipstick. I sucked on the sugary treat and examined the familiar purplish-red pigment: Poisonberry. That had to be Bree’s. She wasn’t supposed to be leaving her personal stuff around here.

I sighed, tossed it under the register, and trashed the candy wrapper along with the broken hanger.

Housekeeper, peacekeeper, and starving marathon sprinter. This was management.

I wasn’t sure why Bree was even salty about not getting the promotion. She hated people, ignored schedules, and avoided work in general. She had probably partied too hard last night. I checked her social media for confirmation.

Yep. Bathroom selfie central. She was grinning wide, her gaze hazy and arms slung around her friends.

Why couldn’t she at least have found a cover? Or not gotten drunk? Or, I don’t know, taken any amount of responsibility?

I shook my head. Maybe it wasn’t my business to look up what she’d been doing last night. I’d hate it if my boss pulled that kind of shit. Of course, I wouldn’t have let them view my page in the first place. But I also never blew off a shift without actually being sick.

I didn’t know what to think. Did she need grace or a kick in the ass? If I’d stayed out last night…

A phantom warmth caressed my skin, but I was a second too late to catch it. My fingertips lingered on the pleasant ache on my collar. Victor’s bite.

Last night, I’d indulged myself. Too much? Or not enough?

I cradled my phone to my chest to prevent myself from pulling up his contact information. He hadn’t texted me last night, and I had a lot of work ahead. Like re-hanging all of last-night’s discarded costumes.

I put on an album to drown out my worries, then got out the shepherd’s-crook hanger assistant for high hooks.

A few hours later, AJ strolled in. “Hey, Bree, how’s it—” He stopped in his tracks and raised his brows at the sight of me. “Hanging?”

“Swell, thanks,” I grit through my teeth, straining to hook a corset-dress up high.

He tugged on the back of his beanie. “Sorry, I thought Bree was supposed to—”

“She was, but she’s ‘sick,’ so…” I huffed and tapped the base of the rod on the floor, half-hoping it’d shoot sparks from the end. “I guess I’ll open and close. The official guardian of the gates. I might as well blow up a mattress in the back.”

He frowned at his phone and slumped against the desk. Less than a minute into the shift and he was already dissociating? I’d unloaded too much negative energy in his vicinity. It wasn’t his fault Bree bailed on me.

I forced a smile. “At least you’re here now. So, how’ve you been?”

“Huh? Oh, I'm fine.” He pushed his glasses up, then straightened his spine. “Did you see the trailer for the Mothman game?”

“No, but I am keen on bug-related-men,” I joked, though I was pretty sure spiders were their own category and only Victor and I would get the reference. “Did it look fun?”

He launched into a play-by-play as some customers walked in.

“Sounds great,” I said, fighting a yawn so AJ wouldn’t think he was boring me. I needed sleep.

“No, you need to see it.” He opened the video app right at the cash register. Was our whole staff high on recklessness this weekend?

“Not in front of the customers,” I whispered.

“Oh, right.” He lowered the screen and muted it. “You can read the captions at least.”

I rubbed my forehead and chuckled. This was going to be a long day.

For hours, I shuffled around the store with the single-minded survival instinct of a zombie. Make sales. Clean the floor. Don’t fantasize about spider-boys.