Call the Shots (Swim the Fly #3)(51)

“Theme?” I say. “What theme?”

“Exactly.” Nessa sits in the antique desk chair, which lets out a little creaking groan as she settles in. The light from the computer screen casts a blue glow on her white face, making her seem fairy-like. “What are you trying to say with this film?”

I move to the desk and look over Nessa’s shoulder, forcing myself not to look at her cleavage. “I don’t want to say anything. I just want to scare people.”

She shakes her head. “Writing something just for the sake of scaring someone is pointless. And not particularly scary, to be honest.”

“I don’t understand. Isn’t that the whole point of a horror movie?”

“Yes and no.” Nessa looks up at me. “The great thing about horror, any horror, is that it forces you to confront the dark side of life. To make you think about things you might not want to think about.”

“Why would you want to be forced to think about things you don’t want to think about?”

Nessa smiles. “Because, Sean. It’s like I said. It makes you feel more alive. Seriously, how would you know what was good in your life if you had nothing bad to compare it to?”

“I guess. But how can seeing zombie-vampire-chimps make people feel more alive?”

“That’s what we need to figure out,” Nessa says. “What do you want to say to the world? About what’s important in life?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug. “Don’t experiment with human and chimpanzee DNA?”

Nessa gives me that frown that teachers and parents give you when they don’t feel you’re trying your hardest. “All right, let’s do a little thought exercise, see if we can uncover something. Tell me, what’s been on your mind lately? What concerns do you have?”

My mind flips around like a broken television searching for channels. The baby, the movie, moving into Cathy’s room, trying to ditch Evelyn so I can actually have a shot with Leyna.

And then of course there’s Nessa’s cleavage, which I really don’t want to focus on.

Her porcelain. White. Cleavage.

“Well?” Nessa asks. “I can see the wheels turning. What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing.” I chew on my tongue. “Everything. It’s hard to focus on one thing, I guess.”

“All right, then.” Nessa pops up from her chair. “Let’s do your tarot cards. That should focus things.” She walks over to her nightstand and grabs a black satin pouch. “And once we get the personal, we can transform it into the universal.” She dangles the pouch in the air and grins. “Are you ready for me to probe your innermost psychic secrets, Sean?”

Suddenly I’m very aware of the closed door, the candles, the incense, and Nessa’s low-cut shirt. Oh, God. What have I gotten myself into?





“GRAB THAT CHAIR and bring it over here.” Nessa lays a square of purple velvet on her desk and slides the tarot cards and a small clear crystal from their pouch.

I drag the antique wooden throne from the corner of the room and take a seat beside her.

“Come on, now, don’t be scared.” Nessa reaches over and pulls my chair really close to hers. I shift my legs to keep our knees from touching. “I don’t bite.” She grins. “Unless you want me to.”

“Um . . . I . . .” My eyes dart around, trying to look at anything but her on-display dirigibles.

“Okay, now.” She takes my left hand and places the tarot deck in my palm. “Hold the cards and clear your mind. Try not to think of anything. Just breathe and let your thoughts float away. We want the tarot to reveal what you need to know. When you’re ready, cut the deck three times, then place the cards at the bottom of the square here.” She taps the velvet at the bottom edge opposite the crystal. “Any questions?”

“No,” I squeak.

The cards are slippery and a little clumsy in my hands. They’re bigger than regular playing cards. And there are more of them. The backs are black with a framed gold weave pattern all around and a squiggly ruby-red sunburst at the center. Kind of mesmerizing, in a way.

I have to say I’m a little nervous. Most people don’t believe in this kind of stuff. But I believe in pretty much everything. Ghosts, UFOs, alien abductions, psychic abilities, curses, Bigfeet, the Bermuda Triangle, the Loch Ness monster. You name it. Coop makes fun of me all the time. Says I’m way too gullible. But I don’t care. There are too many strange things in the world to discount it all.

I take a deep breath and close my eyes. Try to clear my mind, to let all of my thoughts and feelings drift off. Which is harder than you might imagine. Especially when there are very specific thoughts that are insisting on your attention — like Nessa’s plunging neckline. Or the bejeweled cross that’s bobbing ever so gently between her breasts.

My eyes fly open. “I can’t do it. I can’t stop thinking.”

Nessa smiles, her dark lips full and glistening. “You don’t have to stop thinking. Just don’t focus on any one thing. That’s all.”

“Yeah, I can’t do that either.” I squeeze my legs together, my Stormtrooper starting to stand at attention. All of a sudden I feel guilty. Like I’m cheating on Leyna or something. Which is ridiculous because we’re not even dating yet.