Indian Missy

“Is Otie with you?” Her door creaked open. There was no one there. “Tillie?”“Let me go first,” Demie said, stepping in front of me before we entered Tillie’s apartment. “Tillie?” She strode forward carefully.We found the siren lying on her couch, her face locked in a familiar rictus of pleasure. Eros had kissed her as he escaped, sucking her soul from her body. Now deceased, her innate ability to appear as someone’s greatest regretful love was gone, and I saw her as she really was, a brown-haired, somewhat plain woman. Demie confirmed to me that it was her, despite the change in appearance.“Fuck!” I cried out in despair. While the siren had almost killed me when she had been starving, she and I had since become friends, and she and Otie, the changeling formerly known as Other Tom, with my form and recent memories, had become even more. “Otie!”We checked the rest of the apartment, but it was empty. Discouraged, we headed back to our apartment to call the coroner, or 911 ... did you. “Wow, that’s some grip you’ve got there,” she smiled, pulling her hand back and shaking it. “Go easy on me, girl.”“Sorry.” I think I may have blushed a little. “Force of habit: I do business with a lot of men, you learn, you know.”“Oh, what business are you in?”“Look, Ursula wasn’t it?” she nodded. “I’m just having a quiet drink here, end of a long day and all that, so can you cut to the chase and tell me what you’re selling?”She’d moved her lips then, pushing them close together in a look that it took me a second to recognise as pity. She moved a hand up to brush the hair back from her cheek and looked away, eyes fixed on some place over the bar.“They found the note. Once they’d dragged his body out of the water and identified him, they found the note he’d left and, I guess, someone posted it onto the internet anyway. I read it on Facebook, made me think you know?”“Yeah, I guess. Anyway, lovely meeting you,” and I raised the glass, taking a swig with one hand, checking my watch with.
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