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PERISHABLES

MAURA ELIZABETH STRUK traced her trembling fingers over the lettering on the smooth black door. DUH. An unforgivably stupid name, and yet she could feel the energy in the etching, like a living frost. A restless soul, swirling within.

Or maybe it was her own pulse.

Her head spun. Dizzy. Hot. Every inch of her trembled. It felt exactly like it had on the Met steps, just before she fell. Hypoglycemic. Half-dead.

She was so fucking Hungry.

She pushed open the door and made her way into the foyer—dim, cool, a body cavity—to wait by the host stand, where Konstantin said he’d meet her. Her heels echoed across the floor, the pale silk of her skirt swirling like a phantom over all the shiny surfaces, her face reflected, ghostly, in the mirrored glass.

She drank in the space, feasting her eyes.

DUH was breathtaking, the stuff of designer dreams and architectural hard-ons. But Maura couldn’t shake the feeling it gave her—the feeling it was intended to give—like she was surrounded by Death here. By spirits. By places so thin you could slip right through the barrier to the other side without even realizing you’d gone.

No , she warned herself. Don’t you dare.

She chewed her lip, studied the gauzy curtains, the way they floated over her reflection, a corridor of apparitions.

A sea of ghosts.

Maura swallowed.

She was to blame for how out of hand this had gotten. She’d played it fast and loose with Konstantin. Had been negligent, willfully so. Had swallowed down every objection and hesitation and warning, for her own reasons at first, yes, but then because she was in love with him. And now it had caught up with her.

There was no other choice, not if she wanted to stop what was coming.

She had to tell him everything. Tonight.

It might already be too late.

“DON’T MOVE,” KONSTANTIN’S voice drifted through the dark. “I want to remember exactly how you look, standing in my restaurant.”

She felt the warm weight of his gaze and turned.

He was watching from a doorway. His white shirt glowed against the black velvet behind him. His eyes were wide, taking her in, his dark hair disheveled. He was in his element here. It was beautiful.

He beamed, and she felt her stomach flip, momentary relief from the Hunger clawing through her. The way he looked at her—it felt like things might wind up okay.

“So?” he said. “What do you think?”

“Stan, this place”—she spun around, gesturing—“is unreal.”

“I was planning on being humble tonight, but fuck it. It’s pretty sick, right?” He walked toward her, his giddy laugh echoing off the walls. “Welcome to DUH.”

“Oh,” she teased, “you pronounce the H ?”

“Take it up with Viktor.”

“I’d like to air my grievances directly to the chef, actually.”

She scooted up in her heels and wrapped her arms around him, a tremor scaling her spine. When she kissed him, relief coursed through her, right down to her toes. The shiver in her hands, her arms, receded. Like antivenin.

The Hunger loved Konstantin.

His fingers curled around her waist. “You hungry?”

She put on her brightest voice to drown out the ache of pulling away, the stomach-sinking knowledge of what she was about to tell him.

“Always.”

HE LED HER through the cocktail lounge and dining room, the clean, dark, Afterlife–meets–Apple Store aesthetic in full swing in each of the private dining chambers they passed. She was expecting something similar when he guided her down a flight of steps to the kitchen, but seeing it, she gasped.

“It’s like going back in time.” Her gaze swept the arched ceiling, the etched glass, the wall of antique windows.

“I know! I still can’t believe it’s mine. Did you catch my name on the door? Here—sit at this station.”

He led her to a barstool at a stainless-steel prep counter, two slender glasses awaiting them, bubbles rising in bright champagne.

“To you, being here,” he said, handing her one.

“To us.” Maura raised her glass. “To being together.”

They clinked. Sipped. Then began to speak at the exact same time.

“Speaking of being together—”

“I have to tell you something—”

He laughed, held up a hand.

“Can I go first? Please? I’ve been working up the courage and I’m afraid I’ll lose my nerve.”

Maura bit her lip, hard enough to focus through the Hunger. “Sure.”

“Okay.” He took a breath, his neck going pink beneath his collar. “Right. I love you, Maura. And I want to share everything with you. My whole life. I asked you here tonight because I wanted to share DUH”—he swept his arm out toward the kitchen—“with you, too. And I said I had a surprise, but it’s more of a question, really.”

Maura’s heart pounded. Did he want them to move in together? A wedding? A life? They were things she’d wanted one day, too, with him—with only him—but which seemed impossible now.

“And I know there’s stuff in your past that you don’t talk about,” he continued, lifting a plastic shopping bag up onto the counter, “but it doesn’t scare me. I’ve thought a lot about this. And I want to help. I want to get you the closure you need. To let go. To move on.” He reached into the bag and removed a package of Reese’s Cups. “To be free of Everleigh, and whatever her death has done to you. I think we should bring her back again. Tonight. Give up that ghost, once and for all. You in?”

Maura went pale. Whatever she’d imagined, it hadn’t been this. Summoning Ev was the exact opposite of what they should be doing. The very thing that had gotten them into this mess.

“We can’t,” she gasped.

“Sure we can.”

“Stan, you don’t understand—”

“Hey,” he said gently, “I get it. It’s scary. But you can trust me. It’ll be fine; I’ve really gotten the hang of—”

“It’s not fine!” she shouted. “You have no idea how broken things are!”

“What are you talking about?”

“We messed up, Stan. You. And me. There are so many things I wish I could take back.”

He came around the counter, slow, like he was afraid she’d startle away.

“Maura? You’re freaking me out.”

She blinked at him, her breath shallow. Coming hot and fast.

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

“Just the words every guy wants to hear.”

“About the ghosts you raised. About the Afterlife. About a lot of things.” She blinked, and a stream of thick, hot tears rolled down her face. She pushed them back with the heel of her hand. “It’s a long story.” Her voice was shaking. “You should sit down.”

He pulled up the chair beside her. Sat.

“Um, okay?”

“I just need you to listen,” she said. “Please.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“God, will you still say that when you know?” She shook her head, smeared more tears across her face. “No, it doesn’t matter. Just let me get it out. All of it.”

The 6 Train flashed past then, bathing them in ghostly light.

“The first time I died,” she began, “it was an accident.”