Haunting (A Ghost Town Halloween Spooktacular)

Saturday, 29th October, 1977

It's a long way from Saffron to Goldenrod. One of these days, they'll finish building the maglev and it will only take three hours; until then, however, Tacoma is stuck at the cheap end of the sleeper train, crammed into a minuscule compartment with three other people and pretending not to care about the way they stare at her.

She's used to it by now. It's been almost a year since she died, pointlessly murdered on her way home to Mahogany for Christmas. Since then, she's gone back to uni in Saffron, picked herself up, started to adjust to the things that are different when you are a vaguely-human mass of purple fog. The stares. The peculiar bureaucratic nightmare of being legally undead. The money she no longer needs to spend on food.

Mostly the stares, though. And she is used to them, really. It's just that when you're stuck with strangers in a train car the size of a bread bin for fifteen hours, you cannot help but start to feel your difference.

But it's over now: she steps from the train onto the platform, squinting against the sunlight – it bothers her these days in a way it never did in life – and the instant she does so, she hears the voice calling out in her head.

Heya, spooky.

And Tacoma smiles for the first time she left her apartment yesterday afternoon.

How'd you know? she thinks, as hard as she can. She's not psychic, not really, but she's dead, and sometimes that's almost the same thing.

I always know, says the voice, evidently hearing her. I'm by the ticket offices.

Gotcha.

Tacoma moves with the crowd, aware of the eyes on her but no longer particularly caring, and pushes her way out past the turnstiles and onto the concourse, where―

“I lied,” says Jodi, flinging her arms around her. “I'm right here.”

Tacoma hugs back, gingerly. It's been a long while since they last saw each other, when Jodi made her last visit to Saffron, and as always after these breaks Tacoma is a little startled to rediscover how small Jodi is, how warm and bony and fragile. She'll need a couple of hours to get over the fear of breaking her.

“Hey,” she says, looking out over Jodi's head at the dozens of watching faces. “Everyone's staring.”

“At us? Yeah, Tacoma, they're doing that whether we hug or not.” Jodi pulls back a little to show her smile, making sure Tacoma takes this the way it's intended. “It's so good to see you,” she says, smile fading. “I feel like it's been forever.”

Something about the sound of her voice and the tightness of her grip cuts at Tacoma's heart. She almost asks what's happened, but this is definitely not the time or place, so she just hugs a little harder instead.

“Same,” she tells her, leaning in again, muffling her voice in Jodi's hair and its rose-shampoo scent. “Been an intense term.”

“You're telling me.” Jodi pulls away, tugs briefly on her hand. “C'mon. Let's get back to mine.”

A shiver runs through Tacoma's misty body, and she looks up to see a grey highland noivern clinging to the iron girders that web the space above their heads, supporting lights and departure boards and loudspeakers. He hoots softly, satisfied he has her attention, and launches himself into the air to glide towards the exit.

“Yeah, maybe sooner rather than later,” says Jodi, watching him go. “The staff here hate Lothian.”

“But he's so sweet,” says Tacoma, more out of the pleasure of being here and seeing Jodi than out of any real desire to argue, and Jodi shakes her head.

“Sure, when he has what he wants.” She starts walking, her cane clicking on the chipped tiles. Tacoma has wondered before when this place was built; it's nothing like its counterpart in Saffron, all iron and ceramic instead of glass and weathered linoleum. Feels colder. Although Johto always does. “Hey, are you coming or what?”

Jodi turns, a little exasperated, still smiling, and Tacoma sees her again as if for the first time, framed against the light of the street beyond the station doors. Bright eyes, heart-shaped face. Hair too dark and thick to be Johtonian. Eyebrows sharp enough to kill.

“Yes, ma'am,” murmurs Tacoma, her chest tightening a little with that angry kind of love that has become so familiar to her over the past year, and follows her out into the light.



Jodi lives in Four Crosses, a slightly shabby-looking part of town but one that is conveniently close by to Goldenrod University's Faculty of Psionics, always a bonus for a student with a bad leg and a mutant brain. Her flat is on the ground floor of a block of seven that Tacoma can tell at a glance must be inhabited by other students, although she's only ever actually been in a couple of them.

“Okay, finally,” says Jodi, leaning against the wall and going through her bag for her keys. “Sorry. I bet the Saffron buses are never late, huh.”

“They're sometimes late,” replies Tacoma. “Besides, it's fine. I, uh, don't mind waiting with you.”

Jodi clicks her tongue.

“Flatterer,” she says, unlocking the door. “Okay. Come on in.”

Tacoma follows her inside, holding the door for Lothian and Nikole. Kangaskhan are a little too big for overnight train rides; Tacoma kept her in her ball until after they were out of the station, and now she stomps in with a barely-suppressed energy that means Tacoma will have to walk her soon before she causes trouble.

It's strange, those first few minutes of being here. Tacoma has visited Jodi here several times – it's easier for her to travel than for Jodi, especially as these days Tacoma doesn't really need to pack anything – but there's still that sense of being a guest, of this being a space to which she is invited to visit rather than live. She wanders in, running her hand uneasily over the back of the worn-out sofa and breathing in the smell of cigarettes, and watches Jodi dump her handbag on the coffee table with the easy confidence of someone who pays the rent on this place.

“D'you want anything?” asks Jodi. “Like coffee or …?”

“Sounds good,” replies Tacoma. “Never get much sleep on the sleeper.”

“Guess they need to come up with a better name for it, then.”

“I guess so.”

They stand there for a moment, looking at each other. Behind Jodi, Lothian and Nikki are doing something similar, sniffing and shuffling as they reacclimatise to the presence of another large pokémon.

“Uh,” says Tacoma, hesitantly. “Something up?”

Jodi beckons. Tacoma bends towards her, and maybe her head's still a little fuzzy from the sleepless suspended reality of the train ride but she really doesn't see the kiss coming.

“That's all,” says Jodi, smiling at the look on her face. Or the feel of her mind. That's the thing about empaths; you never quite know whether they're reacting to what you say or how you feel. “Sit down, spooky. Back in a minute.”

“Um,” says Tacoma, going a deeper shade of purple. “Okay. Yes. Sitting.”

Jodi laughs and heads out into the kitchen, Lothian crawling after at her heels; behind her back, Nikki turns to Tacoma and shifts the scaly ridges on her face into a subtly different position.

“Yeah, yeah,” mutters Tacoma, throwing herself down onto the sofa with an aggressive casualness she does not feel. “It's just weird coming here, is all.”

Nikki sniffs deeply and leans back on her tail, faking contentment. Trying to help her partner feel at ease. It's cute enough that Tacoma is almost fooled into thinking she doesn't need a walk.

“Thanks,” she says, reaching out and swatting lazily at her claws. “Take you out in a bit, okay?”

Nikki sniffs again and levers herself back up, stalking off in search of something to do. Tacoma watches her go, wondering if she can be trusted not to break into Jodi's flatmate's room and cause havoc, but before she can get up to follow her Jodi is back, holding a chipped mug carefully in her free hand.

“Here,” she says, passing it to Tacoma and lowering herself stiffly onto the sofa. “Oof. Okay.”

“Lot of walking?”

“Late night.” Jodi drags her bad leg carefully up onto the sofa and curls up against Tacoma's side, leaning her head into her shoulder. “Concert in the Dark Lantern. Standing room only.”

“Even for you?”

“Even for me.” Jodi wriggles a little, like a cat making itself comfortable on a favoured cushion. One of those things she does that Tacoma forgets about during the months they spend apart, and which hits her when they meet again with doubled force. “It's fine,” she says. “I had fun.”

“With your terrible music?”

“Yeah,” says Jodi. “With my terrible music.” A tiny little sigh: happiness, or relief? Tacoma can still feel the edge of the thing that's bothering her, whatever it is, but the moment is just too precious to interrupt. “I missed you.”

“You're saying that literally as I insult you.”

“Wrong answer.”

“Oh.” Tacoma blinks, startled, then puts her arm around her. “I missed you too, Jodi.”

“Better.”

It is better. Tacoma sips her coffee, feels its warmth dissolve through her fog. Lothian watches them for a moment, chirping to himself, then turns away and peers down the passage after Nikole. Still won't leave Jodi alone, even now. He screamed his ball into little pieces after what happened last Christmas so nobody would be able to take him away from her again.

Okay. This is starting to feel real again now. It's been a while, and that makes it weird. But it's Jodi, and she really loves her, and despite the fact that they live in different countries for six months out of twelve this thing might just work, if they're willing to put in the effort.

Jodi can feel it too, it seems. She looks up and smiles.

“Feeling better, spooky?”

Tacoma smiles back.

“You know one day I'm gonna finally come up with a pet name for you as well,” she tells her.

Jodi snorts, shakes her head.

“Yeah,” she says, with that sarcastic gleam in her eyes that Tacoma finds so infuriatingly irresistible. “I'll believe that when I see it.”

And now she's being made fun of. Yes: this is definitely it. That sense of being at home. And look, Jodi seems happy too.

Tacoma sighs.

“Okay,” she says. “I really hope you weren't planning on doing anything this morning, 'cause I'm not sure I'm moving.”

“Funny,” says Jodi. “I was just thinking the same.”



They're still there half an hour later, when Jodi's flatmate Carmine bounces in with the godawful cheeriness of someone fresh from exercise that they have, in contravention of all the laws of nature, actually enjoyed. Tacoma has no idea how she does it. ESP takes a lot of energy; most psychics just can't get the calories to build muscle. But somehow Carmine's body is almost as strong as her psionics.

“Hey, lovebirds,” she says, as her jolteon flickers through the room in a vivid yellow blur. “Hang on, I'll say hi in a minute, gotta eat or I'll die.”

“Uh, you might want to―”

A sudden, startled yowl, and the yellow blur zooms out of the passage and into the kitchen after Carmine.

“―check on Naomi,” finishes Jodi, wincing. “Sorry. Nikki's here.”

Nikki lumbers out after her, claws held out in that particular about-to-make-trouble kind of way, and Tacoma is just thinking that she might finally have to get up when Lothian jumps in front of her, ears and wings spread, and she pulls back with a disappointed growl.

“Drop it,” Tacoma advises. “You're either gonna get electrocuted or thrown through a window.”

“What's that?” Carmine comes back in, holding a plate piled so high with food it's almost hard to see her behind it. Tacoma always wonders how these two manage to keep the pantry stocked; two psychics and a dragon all in one flat must make for a hell of an expensive household to feed. “Oh. Right. You again.” She wrinkles her nose. “Naomi, get back, it's just Tacoma's asshole partner.”

“Rude,” says Tacoma. “But, uh, fair, I guess. Nikki?”

She snorts and stalks off towards the door, swinging her tail back and forth. Lothian hoots into the kitchen, calling Naomi; a moment later, she creeps back in, looking hunted, and huddles down at Carmine's feet.

“You know it.” Carmine drops comfortably onto the other sofa, cramming bread into her mouth and lifting her plate for Naomi to jump into her lap. “Mmph. God. Having fun?”

“Lots,” says Jodi. “How was your run?”

“Gumffgph.” Carmine gestures at her overstuffed mouth, switches to telepathy. Great. It's a beautiful day.

“Good. I'm glad.” Jodi frowns. “Maybe stick to talking for now, though?”

Carmine rolls her eyes. She doesn't actually say yes, Mum, but then, she doesn't exactly have to.

“Mmph,” she says, swallowing. “Not gonna comment. So, Tacoma, you in town long? Thought you med students were busy.”

“Yeah, don't remind me.” Tacoma sighs. “I'm hoping I have time to catch up a bit on the train back. But, uh, yeah. Four days. Going back Tuesday night.”

“Groovy.” She bites off a piece of cheese so big Tacoma could swear she can see it going down her throat. It's hard not to stare. Tacoma can still drink, if she doesn't move around too much and dislodge the droplets from within her mist, but food will only dissolve inside her if she sits there and concentrates on it for twenty minutes. She misses being full, even as she knows she'll never hunger again. “Jodi's been looking forward to this for ages. When Tacoma comes this, when Tacoma comes that. Be nice to get some peace and quiet for a bit.”

“Hey, so you do listen,” says Jodi, raising an eyebrow. “I thought maybe you couldn't hear over the racket you and Sorayya make at night.”

Carmine almost chokes on her crust.

“Uh, well,” she says, coughing crumbs into her palm and almost dislodging Naomi from her lap. “God. I actually did not think you were capable of saying something like that.”

“She's said worse,” says Tacoma, although she's pretty sure she hasn't.

“Oof.” Carmine shakes her head. “I don't wanna know.”

A brief pause. That thing is back again, slinking around the room in the shadows, making Lothian shift uneasily on the rug and Jodi tense under Tacoma's arm. Is it time to ask about it? No. Probably not in front of Carmine.

“So,” Carmine says, one hand scratching absently between Naomi's ears. “Coming to the party?”

Jodi sits up suddenly, grabs Tacoma's hand with an enthusiasm that seems a little misplaced.

“Right, the party! You remember we talked about it?”

Tacoma pulls a face.

“I mean …”

“C'mon, it'll be fun. And it's all cool people, you know? Like it's a real Redmonk party.”

“Can confirm,” says Carmine. “Gonna be the 88 crowd. So, y'know, you two won't even be the weirdest people there.”

“And that's supposed to make me feel better?” asks Tacoma, but it's a losing battle, she knows. She avoids parties these days – avoids people, really, same as she avoids mirrors, and open spaces, and sunlight. But part of what it means to have Jodi care about you is that you do not get to wallow in your own self-loathing any more, and so she's aware that there is only one way this conversation can end.

“No, just supposed to be true,” says Carmine, grinning. “Seriously, nobody's gonna give you a second glance. 'Sides, it's Halloween, dude. There's gonna be a lot of ghosts there tomorrow night.”

“Carmine,” says Jodi, her voice hovering right on the edge of a warning, and Carmine sighs.

“Yeah, okay,” she says. “Sorry. Didn't mean it like … that.”

Tacoma doesn't need to be psychic to know that that isn't true. But if Carmine did mean it like that she doesn't now, and she's sorry, so fine, Tacoma will take the apology.

“'S all right,” she says, trying and failing to keep the bitterness from her voice. “I get it.”

Carmine forces a smile.

“Cheers,” she says. “Look, uh, I'm gonna leave you guys to it, have a shower. But it's good to see you, Tacoma.”

“Mm.”

If Carmine left the room any faster, she'd probably be sprinting. Tacoma watches her go, and keeps watching long after she's gone, too ashamed to look at Jodi and see her disappointment or disapproval or whatever the cold thing is that's seeping from the edges of her mind.

The shower comes on, and only then, with the water to mask her voice, does Jodi speak.

“I'm sorry,” she says. “She's probably not thinking straight at the moment. She's trying really hard to act normal and I think it's mostly coming out as kinda rude.”

There is a right response to this statement. Tacoma can see it, hanging there before her, but even as she does she knows she'll never take it.

“So you're saying it was okay for her to say that?” she asks.

Jodi breathes in, and out. Lothian stands up suddenly, making Nikki tense, but Jodi holds out a hand and waves him back down.

“No,” she says, in that calm voice she only ever seems to use when dealing with Tacoma's bullshit. “You know I would never do something like that.”

This is a second chance. There is a right response here too, and this statement is a warning to Tacoma that she should take it, now, because if she doesn't she is going to end up fighting over this and neither of them want that to happen. And she's right. Tacoma doesn't want to fight, ever. It's just that her emotions have other ideas.

Say it, she orders herself, and maybe the last year has had some kind of an effect on her because she actually manages to obey.

“Sorry,” she says. “I know that's not what you meant.”

Jodi's mouth moves a little at the corner. Not a smile, but not not a smile, either. It has some kind of strain behind it – more than can be explained by Tacoma being an argumentative little shit, for sure.

She probably ought to ask about it. After all, she's already spoiled things. That golden moment of reunion is over now.

“So,” says Tacoma, slow, uncertain. “Uh … what's wrong? Sorry, maybe I shouldn't ask, but I know something's up. Has been since the station.”

Jodi kneads her forehead for a moment. Lothian forces his way up onto the sofa next to her, unbidden, and pushes his head underneath her arm.

“Let's take Nikki for a walk,” she says, hugging him close. “And, um, I'll tell you all about it.”



There are eyes on them the second they step outside, of course. Four Crosses is student territory, where Jodi has some allies and a not inconsiderable number of enemies, but Tacoma can tell herself that she's stopping anyone fucking with her and feel okay(ish) about the stares. Redmonk, when they pass through it, is a little quieter, a little friendlier; here, some of the looks are from people who wave and to whom Jodi waves back. Hi, Max, she calls, and a woman whose piercings and leather jacket Tacoma half fears and half covets calls back for the two of them to get a room. Already have one, Jodi tells her, and Max laughs. Right on, kid, she says. Right on.

Jodi turns back to Tacoma, glowing a little, and takes hold of her hand.

“Is that okay?” asks Tacoma, looking around nervously.

“For like two blocks,” says Jodi. “You'll know when.”

And it is okay, and Tacoma does know when. Redmonk has a very definite kind of end; you turn a corner and see the barely-contained chaos of King's Junction up ahead, crawling with traffic and tourists here for the statue and tired Goldenrodders wishing they'd had the good sense to avoid this place on a Saturday. And Jodi quietly but firmly takes her hand away.

“C'mon,” she says, without apparent emotion. “This way.”

They skirt around the edge of the Junction, sticking to the side streets where there are no tourists but a lot of rich girls with expensive hairstyles and flared jumpsuits lounging in front of cafés, coffee and cigarettes in hand. It's probably the lesser of two evils, considering the alternative is cutting straight through the grotesque crush; still, it's not pleasant. Sometimes Tacoma goes to this kind of place in Saffron, in the evenings when her powers wax and she can spook assholes like these by flying from rooftop to rooftop, disappearing when looked at. Here in Goldenrod, with Jodi, she cannot help but be aware that their eyes are cutting her girlfriend to ribbons.

Neither of them speak. They haven't really since they left the apartment, but this is not the companionable silence of the first twenty minutes. But Tacoma is scary, and Lothian keeps gliding overhead in a way that tells people that he is with Jodi, and Nikki looms as only seven feet and five hundred pounds of claw and muscle can; and so they keep going, keep not speaking, until they pass under the trees bowering the path across the Old Rath Common and Tacoma has to smile at the sight of Nikki thundering across the green, chasing Lothian as he zooms away overhead.

“He misses her, you know,” says Jodi. Her face is pale, serious. “Nobody else's pokémon is brave enough to chase him.”

Tacoma knows what she means. They're not the only ones who have come to exercise their partners today, and already she can see smaller pokémon scattering before Nikki and Lothian like fish fleeing dolphins. Some people look a little annoyed about it, but she refuses to feel bad. You just have to learn to accept these things, with partners like theirs.

“I'm coming back,” she says, as they leave the path and start following the pokémon. “When I graduate.”

“Here?”

“Yeah.” Shrug. “No ties to Saffron, really.”

“Not what I meant.”

Tacoma thinks for a moment.

“Mahogany?” she asks. “What, you think I'm going back there?”

“I don't know,” says Jodi. “I guess not.” She glances up at Tacoma, biting her lip. “I'm sorry, I … it's home.”

She needs a hug. But there are too many people right now, pausing in their walks to stare at the freaks, and Tacoma just isn't brave enough to stand that.

“You know we can't stay there,” she says, trying to put all her feelings into the tone of her voice instead. “You feel it too, right? Every time we go back for the holidays.”

“I know.” Jodi takes a deep breath. “Did you hear that Sam and Gabbi are moving away?”

“What? No. Are they?”

“Yeah. Think they're just waiting for a buyer for the station now.”

“Shit,” says Tacoma, hopelessly. “Where are they going?”

“Here, I think.” Jodi sighs. “They really love Mahogany, Tacoma. Or they did, before we found everything out. I really wish I hadn't …”

“It's not your fault.”

It's mine, she wants to say, but of course it isn't, and she doesn't.

“No,” agrees Jodi. “I know. But I wish it anyway.”

They stop in the middle of the green, Lothian swooping back towards them. Nikki drops briefly to all fours, trying to catch up, and skids to an inelegant halt at their feet, pushing herself at Tacoma, demanding her attention.

“Hey,” says Tacoma, rubbing her snout. “Go on now, keep playing. We're fine over here.”

Jodi stares up at Lothian without speaking, some arcane communication passing between them, and all of a sudden he ceases to circle and flings himself back across the sky. Nikki pulls away suddenly, watching him go, and then when she is sure he has a decent lead charges off again, sending someone's growlithe running for the cover of the trees.

“I guess I wish we hadn't too,” says Tacoma, keeping her eyes on Nikki, ready to intervene if she gets too close to the children playing tag the other side of the path. “Dunno what else we could've done, though.”

“I know.”

Jodi starts walking again, moving slowly. It's always a struggle to readjust, after months alone in Saffron; Tacoma is a fast walker, and when it's dark finds it hard to resist the temptation to flex her powers and fly. But it's just work, right, like everything else, and if she cares enough to want to be with Jodi she figures she cares enough to make an effort to be someone Jodi can be with, too. So. Slow it is.

“Anyway, that's not what I wanted to talk about,” Jodi continues, fumbling in her bag for cigarettes. “I was gonna tell you what's wrong.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Jodi holds out the packet; Tacoma takes one, and lights both hers and Jodi's with a brief burst of pallid spectral fire. “Um, so.” Long drag on her cigarette. Her hand is shaking, just a little, and Tacoma is filled with a sudden violent desire to declare someone responsible for this and hurt them. “Every night for the last month and a half, Carmine's had the same dream.”

This cannot be anything good. Jodi and most of her psychic friends score between fifty and sixty percent on the psychic test; Carmine is a seventy-four, and her formidable powers are evenly split between telekinesis and precognition. When she has a recurring dream, it usually means something horrible is going to happen to someone.



“And Carmine can hear something outside, like waves. She sees this shadow fall over the room through the window, and she's trying to get up and get her friend away but she's moving really slowly, you know how it is in dreams. She never manages to get to the door before the window breaks and this wave of blood comes in, really thick and sticky like it's turning to scabs right there around her, and then … then she and her friend get sucked in and drown.”

Long silence. A pair of spearow flutter out of the trees to land nearby, looking up at Jodi with curious eyes. Pokémon are like that with her. Tacoma is pretty sure it's an empath thing.

“Last week she was visiting me,” says Jodi, watching the birds. “I drowned with her in the blood.”

Tacoma breathes out.

“When?” she asks.

“Not sure. Four years from now, maybe? Five? There are symbols, Carmine knows how to read them better than me.” Jodi turns her attention to Tacoma, eyes wide. “People are gonna die,” she says. “So many people. The kind of people who … it's something in the blood, we think, some kind of disease. Carmine doesn't remember who she's asking after, but the people she meets are … and they're gonna keep dying for years, and … and I don't even know what we'll …”

Her voice dries up in her throat, and just like that Tacoma no longer cares about the people looking; she puts her arm around Jodi, pulls her close.

“Hey,” she says, death-glaring a passing jogger into breaking eye contact and hurrying off. “Hey, it'll be okay.”

“No, it won't―”

“No,” she agrees, feeling stupid. “Guess it won't. But we'll figure it out, okay?”

“Okay.” Jodi sniffs and pulls away quickly, blinking hard. As if by magic, Lothian appears and lands next to her, humming something that makes Tacoma feel strange inside. “Thanks, Lothi,” she says, bending to pet his head. “You're sweet. And you,” she adds, straightening up. “Thank you. I've, um … been sitting on that for a while.”

“'S fine. What else am I here for?”

That one gets a smile at least.

“I dunno,” she says shyly. “I can think of a couple of other things.”

“Huh? Oh. Right. Yeah.” Tacoma scratches her head, embarrassed. Why are there always so many people around to see the scary ghost get all tongue-tied and awkward? “Well, uh … maybe later?”

Jodi's smile broadens for a moment, fades away.

“Yeah,” she says. “Maybe later.”

They turn together, looking across the green. Children, joggers, a young couple who do not have to hide their affections. Wild pokémon and partnered. A harassed-looking squirrel watching the spearow from the safety of a tree.

“So I don't know,” says Jodi. “I guess I just wanted to go to a party with you and forget about everything for a while.”

Tacoma considers her response, wanting to make Jodi smile again the way she just did, then scrunches up her face in faux-thought.

“Hmm,” she says. “What's your Halloween costume?”

“A witch. Thought about being a vampire because I already have a giant bat, but then I realised my cane could be a magic staff or a broomstick.”

“That sounds sufficiently cute,” announces Tacoma. “Guess I'll have to come.”

She's done her job well for once. Jodi smiles, and the horror of Carmine's dream recedes a little, back into the future.

“Thank you,” she says, letting her hand oh-so-accidentally brush against Tacoma's. “I promise it will be fun. Or at least that it'll have music and alcohol.”

Tacoma takes a melodramatic drag on her cigarette and sighs out a mouthful of smoke.

“Guess that'll do,” she says. “C'mon. I can't see Nikki any more, which, uh, considering she's a kangaskhan, that's probably criminal negligence.”

“Probably,” agrees Jodi. “Lothi? Go find Nikki and make sure she hasn't got in trouble, would you?”

He hangs back a little, nose vibrating in a way that Tacoma assumes means he's arguing, but Jodi gives him a firm look, and after a few seconds he squeaks petulantly and jumps back up into the air, the wind from his wings blowing little wisps of fog out of Tacoma's body.

“We will do something,” Tacoma says quietly, as they start walking again. She's fairly sure Carmine is on the government watchlist of dangerously powerful psychics; there must be someone who'd believe her if she went to them with apocalyptic dreams. The question is whether they'd care. After last Christmas and the disastrous aftermath, Tacoma does not really think that they would. “I promise.”

“I know,” says Jodi sadly. “I know.”



Sunset comes earlier every day. It's dark now, and in the gloom of Jodi's unlit kitchen, Tacoma concentrates and sucks in shadows from the countertop, forcing them out through her brow and shoulders. They put up a fight – they always do – but it's after dusk and two days before Halloween, and Tacoma's powers are more than sufficient to subdue them. She twists her new horns into place, flexes her batwings, and gets to work on a tail.

There's no need for this, of course. Tacoma could show up at a costume party as her usual spectral self and nobody would think anything of it. But being a ghost isn't a costume, it's what she is, and the idea of turning up and saying she's come as a spooky ghost girl sickens her. So: demon it is. Simple, but impressive – especially the wings; she did them once before and scared the shit out of some drunk kids hanging out at a Hungry Knight. She's not proud of it, but sometimes Tacoma just can't help but give in to her ghostly urge to terrify people.

A few minutes later, after shaping her fingers into talons, she steps experimentally back into the light of the living room, and is relieved to find that the grafted shadows don't immediately melt.

“Whoa,” says Carmine from the sofa, eyes wide. “Nice one, Tacoma. Do they move?”

Tacoma spreads her wings and lashes her tail. Naomi hisses, moves to jump from Carmine's lap, but her partner holds her back.

“Just Tacoma, dude,” she says. “With a killer costume, gotta say.”

Tacoma smiles, self-conscious.

“Thanks,” she says. “'S not all that. Takes like five minutes.”

“And, y'know, literal magic powers.”

“Hey, you're the one who can pick people up with your mind.”

Carmine grins wickedly.

“That's why you're the demon and I'm Darth Vader,” she says, flicking a finger and making her helmet jump off the table. “You think people will recognise this?”

Tacoma considers. The black is about right, as are the cape and combat boots; the cardboard buttons on her chest are somewhat less impressive, and the helmet looks exactly like a threepenny skull mask painted black and extended with papier-mâché. Which Tacoma suspects it probably is.

“No lightsabre?” she asks.

“It broke,” admits Carmine. “I may have tested it a bit too vigorously for something that cost fivepence. But hey, still got my Force powers, young Padawan.”

“Hah. Yeah.”

An awkward silence. Tacoma sits down, immediately discovers her tail and wings mean this is not a good idea and moves to the arm of the sofa instead, where they aren't so much in the way.

“So,” says Carmine, after a few more uncomfortable seconds. “Jodi seems happier.”

Tacoma tries to smile.

“Yeah,” she says. “We, uh. It's been a good day.”

Carmine nods. Her gloved fingers move restlessly through Naomi's fur, crackling with static.

“She, uh. She talk much about what's been bothering her?”

Ah. So that's what this is about. What's Tacoma meant to say here? The truth, probably. As awkward as that is.

“Yeah. I … know about the dream.”

Carmine nods again. Something about the movement seems strained, and as if this is the key Tacoma suddenly detects the tenseness in the way she holds herself. She might be sprawled over the sofa, but she is not at all at her ease.

“Okay,” she says. “Can I, uh, ask a favour?”

“Sure,” replies Tacoma, a little afraid. “What is it?”

“Make sure she has a really good night tonight.” Carmine sits up a little straighter. “You know what empaths are like. She's taken this really hard.”

“What about you?”

Carmine laughs.

“I,” she says, “am gonna take some pills, do some shots and make out with Sorayya, so y'know, I think I'm pretty good.”

Tacoma isn't sure she believes her, but she also isn't sure that she knows Carmine well enough to call her out on it. Fortunately, she doesn't have to: Jodi's door opens at last, and both of them turn together to see her make her way down the hall, looking nervous in her tattered black dress and artfully-bent hat.

“Cutie,” says Carmine, raising her eyebrows. “Like the magic staff.”

Jodi's relief is palpable. Tacoma doesn't quite get why she's so anxious about this – she has more style in her little finger than Tacoma has in her whole body, and her make-up is never anything less than flawless – but she's glad anyway. Jodi is beautiful. She would like her to know this, utterly, forever.

“Thank you,” says Jodi. “It does this.”

She leans against the wall and lifts her cane up, showing the wicker ball taped to the end; something clicks under her thumb, and inside the ball a coil of fairy lights turn on.

“Abracadabra,” she says, in a self-deprecating kind of voice. “Kinda dumb, but I had fun making it.”

“It's great,” says Tacoma, jumping up. “You're great.”

She grabs her hand and leans in for a kiss. Tonight Jodi's eyeshadow is like storm clouds, dark and extravagant, and her lipstick is the kind of purple that you could mistake for black. Tacoma can taste it, dissolving through the fog inside her mouth.

“You're pretty great yourself, spooky,” says Jodi, her cheeks flaming. “I like your horns.”

“Thanks. I like your hat.”

“That's not even the best bit.” Jodi clicks off her magic staff and looks over her shoulder, back towards her room. “Lothi!”

He bounds out after her, humming merrily to himself. For a moment Tacoma doesn't get what she's looking for, and then she notices it.

“You've put … little fake wings on him? On your noivern?”

Jodi grins.

“He's dressing up as a bat.”

“I like it,” says Carmine, craning her neck to stare past them. “See, Naomi? Lothian's a good sport.”

“He is,” agrees Jodi. “And we are running late, 'cause I screwed up my eyeshadow twice. So, um – we're not waiting for Sorayya, right?”

Carmine shoves Naomi off her lap and jumps up, her helmet flying to her hand.

“Nope. She's meeting us there.”

“In which case!” Jodi glances at Tacoma. “Nikki's settled in her ball?”

“Yep. All tired out; shouldn't cause any trouble.”

“You ready to make my friends jealous, spooky?”

Tacoma isn't sure if she's teasing or not; who wants an ugly shadow monster for a girlfriend? But Jodi's smiling, so she decides to smile back and nod anyway.

“Sure,” she says. “Let's go.”



Honey Street only really comes to life after dark, when the bars and clubs open and the monsters come out to play. All the way along the last stretch to the 88, Tacoma can feel a weird electric tension bouncing around inside her, part fear and part excitement. Look at all these people, these vampires and werewolves and Princess Leias: these people are all like her, like Jodi and Carmine. People who skulk, who lurk. All those who've learned to shun the light.

Jodi glances up at her from beneath the brim of her hat, eyes bright. Kind of excited, kind of desperate.

“I'm really glad you came,” she says.

“Me too,” replies Tacoma, and right now at least she thinks she means it.

The 88 itself is an unassuming little place with heavy shades over the windows and a tiny neon-pink sign above the door; it doesn't look big enough to host a party this size, but Tacoma is familiar with buildings like this, the way they seem to mushroom to startling new sizes once you get through the door. The bouncer, in green make-up with a fake bolt through his neck, stops the three of them at the door and glances at Lothian. Tacoma tenses, half expecting trouble, but he just grins.

“You dressed him up as a bat?” he asks.

Jodi flashes him a smile.

“Sure,” she says. “He was gonna be a cat but I didn't know where to stick the tail.”

The bouncer laughs.

“Okay,” he says. “Sorayya told me she's waiting at the bar. You four have a nice night now.”

“You too, Craig. Don't work too hard!”

Jodi tugs on Tacoma's hand, drags her inside. It takes a long few seconds for Tacoma to realise that Craig never even seemed to notice the fact that she was dead. She doesn't have much time to dwell on it: the inside of the 88 is a riot of sound and light and laughter, dozens upon dozens of people drinking and dancing and trying to make conversation over the pounding of the opening to 'Spirit in the Sky'. Tacoma stares, caught between the flickering glare of the disco ball and the wonderful, terrifying realisation that the gorgeous woman tending bar is almost certainly as gay as she is, and doesn't manage to recover until Jodi pulls on her hand again.

“Come on,” she says, smiling at the look on her face. “We're in the way, spooky.”

“Oh,” murmurs Tacoma, letting herself be dragged deeper into the club. “Uh, sure …”

Everything seems to be happening by itself, moving along tracks she cannot seem to make out. Lothian and Naomi seem to have disappeared somewhere along the way; Carmine has her helmet on, is moving on ahead with great stomping Vader steps. Tacoma drifts, wincing as the disco ball tosses fragments of light across her face, and surfaces only when they all arrive at the bar and a girl with ragged clothes and stitches drawn all over her face pops up in front of them.

“Mr Vader,” she says. Tacoma can't place her accent. Somewhere far away, for sure. “Missing a lightsabre, huh?”

Carmine shakes her head.

“Please,” she replies, in her best Vader voice. “Mr Vader was my father. Call me Darth.”

The girl snorts. She has made up her face in a dozen different skin colours between the stitches, as if she was sewn together from remnants.

“Sure thing, Darth.” She pulls off her helmet and kisses her (and nobody cares, Tacoma realises, nobody even notices), then turns to Jodi. “Hey, you,” she says. “And this must be Tacoma, huh? Sorayya, nice to meet you.”

“Hi,” says Tacoma, trying to sound like this is all completely normal for her. “Likewise.”

“Heard a lot about you. Not that you were so good at costumes, though,” she adds, casting an admiring eye over Tacoma's horns and wings. “Gotta say, that is particularly cool. You know there's a costume contest, I think? Grace is going round taking pictures.”

“Oh,” says Tacoma. “Uh, cool.”

Sorayya grins, a little mean but mostly kind, and nods her head at the bar.

“What are you drinking?” she asks. “First one's on Carmine.”

“Oh, thanks,” sighs Carmine. “Just 'cause the government pays my rent―”

“Full stop,” interrupts Sorayya. “Just because the government pays your rent. What are you drinking?”

Jodi wants a dark and stormy; Carmine and Sorayya are doing tequila shots. Tacoma murmurs that she'll have a shot too, wanting to give herself as little to dissolve as possible, and Sorayya nods in approval.

“Your girlfriend has excellent taste,” she tells Jodi. “Okay, I approve.”

“Thanks,” says Jodi dryly. “I know we were both waiting for that.”

Sorayya laughs and gets the drinks, motioning for Carmine to pay with a royal sort of gesture, as if she herself is above base coinage. Tacoma stares at the bartender's dark eyes and bright blue hair for a few moments too long, gets an amused smile and a raised eyebrow, but before she can try to come up with any kind of excuse they all have glasses in their hands and Sorayya is holding hers out, saying cheers.

Here's one cue she can take at least. A clink! and the spreading warmth of alcohol billowing through her substance like cream swirling into coffee. Sorayya smacks her lips, puts her glass carelessly down on the bar and throws her arm around Carmine.

“Okay,” she says. “Carmine and I have some business to take care of. Catch you in a bit, yeah?”

Presumably this is code for taking ecstasy. Tacoma glances at Jodi, wondering what she thinks of this – she seems very much like she isn't a drugs person, though Tacoma has nothing to base this on – but she's just nodding like this is every night out for her. Hell, maybe it is.

“See you,” says Jodi. “Don't do anything I wouldn't do.”

“We'll do a fuck of a lot more than that,” says Sorayya, grinning. “Allons-y!”

She spins Carmine around and marches her off, the two of them vanishing in among the wookiees and witches so completely that it half seems they were never there at all. Maybe they weren't. Maybe none of this is real and Tacoma is just dreaming―

“Hey,” says Jodi, touching her arm. “You okay?”

Right. Empath. Tacoma gives her the best smile she can manage; it feels uncomfortably nervous.

“I think so,” she says. “I just … it's weird, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.”

A pause. The crowd ebbs and flows, intelligible only in tiny fragments: two guys dancing in the corner there, one a Dr Jekyll and the other a Mr Hyde; a Barbarella who really does look like Jane Fonda; two butches who are both Luke Skywalker, clashing their lightsabres in a jokey kind of way as a cover of 'Black Magic Woman' that Tacoma doesn't recognise hums through the air around them. Sometimes Tacoma thinks there are people looking at her, but nobody seems afraid, or even surprised. Does everyone here really know Jodi that well?

“Where did Lothi go?” she asks, after a while. “I thought he wouldn't leave you.”

“Only when you're here.” Jodi smiles. “And, well, he doesn't like loud noises. There's a room upstairs where pokémon can hang out. Not the best soundproofing, but he refuses to wait at home, so here he is. Keeping an ear on me.”

Only when she's here. That's a hell of a responsibility; Tacoma hopes she's up to it.

“C'mon,” says Jodi, taking another sip of her drink. “Let's not just hang around by the bar being afraid. I wanna introduce you to Damien. Oh, and Rochelle. Oh, and― wait, that's Sam!”

“Sam?”

“Goldenrod Sam, not Mahogany Sam. C'mon!”

Jodi moves away from the bar, towards the crowd. Tacoma hangs back for just a second, watching her say hi to her friends and luxuriating in how superfluous she feels, and then makes herself shove her self-loathing aside and follow.



Goldenrod Sam is a man a few years older than them, dressed as a homebrew Jedi of uncertain provenance and bearing an uncanny resemblance to Bert Convy. He is delighted to see Jodi, starts to tell her about someone called Yvette and her recent promotion, and then interrupts himself to make conversation with Tacoma. Apparently he agrees with her about how awful Jodi's taste in music is. They joke about this for a few minutes, the conversation getting easier as the tequila diffuses through Tacoma's mist, and then someone catches his arm and peels him away from them back into the smoky noise of the crowd.

It doesn't even matter. Jodi is already moving on, lighting up her magic staff and waving over someone else, and Tacoma trails after, hypnotised by the light in her eyes. Some of it is what she expected, that desperate kind of excitement, but some of it is pride. And in the absence of any alternative explanations, Tacoma is forced to conclude that she might actually be proud of her.

An uncomfortable thought, but fortunately not one she has much time to consider; there are too many people to meet, too many sets of eyes to negotiate. Tacoma shakes hands, smiles, tries to deal with the fact that most people don't seem to be scared.

One of the few who does is Damien, a handsome young man whose fangs keep falling out when he opens his mouth to talk. He is nervous, in a helpless kind of way that informs Tacoma immediately that Jodi has taken it upon herself to be his guardian angel; she suspects he would be afraid of literally anyone, and that the scary ghost girl is probably the least of his worries. Jodi hovers protectively at his shoulder, and when they part carefully hands him over to his boyfriend, like she's been babysitting for him.

“You're the cutest motherfucker on the planet,” Tacoma tells her, as they turn away, and Jodi laughs and tilts her head back to kiss her.

“Only so I get to hear you say it, spooky.”

Rochelle is a girl like Jodi, made up as a ghost bride with some kind of glow-in-the-dark face paint that she immediately tells Tacoma is probably radioactive and taking ten years off her life. Tacoma laughs, the sound half lost in the sound of Mick Jagger introducing himself as a man of wealth and taste, and gets a gratified smile in response. Rochelle says she has a sense of humour, huh, can we keep her? And Jodi says well, what do you say? And Tacoma says I guess I could be persuaded.

So it goes, this delicate little three-way flirtation, and it's not what Tacoma was expecting at all but damn if it isn't fun; and afterwards as they find a seat so Jodi can rest she can be fake-jealous at her like so you flirt with other girls often? and Jodi can be fake-defensive back like oh not that often; and then a woman in a catsuit with whiskers drawn on her face is there with an instant camera, telling them to smile. Jodi asks her to turn the flash off please, Grace, and Grace nods in understanding, aims a finger gun at Tacoma.

Gotcha covered, Tacoma, she says, although Tacoma hasn't introduced herself yet. Right, light up your staff, Jodi, and if you can just spread your wings …

A click, a whirr, and they get a Polaroid to wave around and stare at happily – but only for a second, because then that goddamn music from the cantina in Star Wars comes on and the half of the party who came in costumes from the movie pile onto the dance floor, laughing and cheering.

“I didn't even know it was out in Johto,” says Tacoma, watching them. The two of them saw the Kantan release, when Jodi spent a weekend with her in Saffron a few weeks ago.

“It's not. We've just all seen bootleg Kantan versions.”

Jodi is swaying a little in her chair. Drunk on one dark and stormy? She is a lightweight, but that's probably not it; Tacoma thinks it might be the atmosphere. This desperate excitement, the joy everyone here takes in this special time of year when monsters like them are the heroes – that's got to Tacoma, and she isn't even psychic. It's almost surprising that Jodi's still upright.

“Kantan, huh.” Tacoma shakes her head. “Is that what it takes to get Johto and Kanto talking to each other? Space wizards?”

Jodi shrugs.

“I think we all just have crushes on Carrie Fisher.”

“That's fair,” says Tacoma, laughing. “That's more than fair.”

She lounges against the wall, one wing curled a little around Jodi. This is about as long as she's ever maintained shadowy prosthetics like these, and they're not even starting to flake. Sometimes her powers sicken her, but tonight, here with all the other freaks, she's definitely proud.

There's Carmine and Sorayya over there on the dance floor, flinging themselves at each other with an ecstatic kind of energy with Carmine's helmet flying around in circles above their heads. Tacoma is about to point them out when she realises Jodi is already looking at them.

“We danced once,” she says, kind of wistful, kind of sad. “Remember?”

Tacoma squeezes her shoulder with one taloned hand.

“Yeah,” she says. “We did.”

Jodi sighs.

“Well, never mind,” she says, rubbing absently at her bad leg. “Cigarette?”

“Sure.”

They light up, sending their own plumes of smoke climbing into the haze above their heads. The moment is perfect, an insulating peace welling up from the glowing tips of their cigarettes and pooling around them, pushing the party back a little. The cantina music is over; now it's something Tacoma doesn't recognise about not fearing the reaper.

Carmine is still dancing – dancing even faster, actually, far faster than is appropriate for the music, her hair lashing at the air around her like a nest of angry serpents. She doesn't look like she's enjoying herself. Next to her Sorayya stumbles, coughing and clutching at her chest, and then the guy on the other side of Carmine, and a vampire drag queen next to him―

Jodi's fingers tighten on Tacoma's arm.

“Hey,” she murmurs, struggling to her feet, “hey, help me up―”

A sharp crack of fingers on flesh, and Carmine staggers backwards into the vampire, staring at Sorayya and her raised hand as if at the risen dead. Her hair falls back down to her shoulders, and as the breath rushes back into the people around them Sorayya puts an arm around her and takes her swiftly away into the crowd.

“It's okay,” says Tacoma, turning back to Jodi. “It's okay, Sorayya's got her― hey, are you – watch your―” She catches Jodi's falling cigarette with a shred of shadow, crushes it out before it can hit the alcohol and polyester. “Okay,” she says softly, holding her close. “Okay, Jodi, we're gonna go outside, okay?”

“Okay,” mutters Jodi, so quietly that Tacoma does not hear but only feels it, in the movement of Jodi's mouth against her side. “Okay.”

It's clearly not okay. But it's the only thing Tacoma can think of.



Outside, the night has thickened, left Goldenrod a different city to the one they walked through to get here: distant traffic, the humming of the bass through the walls, a deepening chill that Tacoma is aware of without truly feeling. She guides Jodi past Craig, who is dealing with a brace of late arrivals, and a little way down the street to the safety of a dark recess between two buildings. Only once she's there does she remember that live humans generally don't feel as safe in the dark as she does, but whatever, she's committed now, she'll just have to stick with it.

Something chirps. Tacoma looks up and sees Lothian crawling around the wall of the 88 like a spider, his cardboard wings hanging limply off his back. Of course he knows. With his ears, he probably heard it coming before any of them even realised.

“Hey, you,” she murmurs, beckoning him with a jerk of her head. “Do your thing.”

He hums a note that makes her insides feel strange and comes a little closer, leaning away from the wall to put his head against Jodi's. Making those soothing vibes Jodi's always on about, presumably.

“Thank you,” says Jodi, looking up a little. “Thank you, Lothi.”

Tacoma says nothing, just hugs her. She thinks about stroking her hair, but she doesn't know if that would be comforting or patronising. These are the disadvantages to spending half the year apart.

“I'm sorry,” says Jodi, without meeting her eye. “This was meant to be fun.”

“It has been.” Is it okay to lift Jodi's face so they can see each other? Probably; Tacoma thinks she might have done that before. She does it now, and is relieved to see that Jodi doesn't seem to mind, just stares nervously at her like she thinks she's about to be told off. “I've had a great night. Am having a great night.”

“Hmph.”

“No, really. You were right, it's fun. And the people are cool.”

“And they're all gonna …”

“We don't know that,” says Tacoma, trying to sound firm. She's not used to this at all. This conversation usually goes the other way around; she's the depressed one, the dumbass trapped between her guilt and her undeath, who needs to be talked back to life by Jodi every time they meet. Only once or twice has she ever had to comfort Jodi. “Not all of them.”

“A lot of them. And poor Carmine―”

“Carmine's got Sorayya,” interrupts Tacoma. “Okay? Let's deal with you first.”

This sounds like something Jodi would say. Maybe Jodi hears it too, because she sighs and squeezes Tacoma's arm.

“You're right,” she sighs. “She's her own person, I can't – shouldn't try to look after her all the time.”

“Uh. Not what I said, but okay, that sounds smarter.”

That one gets a smile. Just a little one, but still. Tacoma will take that.

“I just don't want it to end,” says Jodi, eyes wet. Behind her, Lothian peels a little off the wall, the intricate flaps of his nostrils quivering with ultrasonic vibrations. “Whatever's coming, Tacoma, it's gonna be so …”

“Not tonight, though. You said you wanted to forget about it and have a good time, right?”

Jodi sighs again.

“Right,” she says, reluctantly. “Right. That was just … harder than I thought it would be.”

“Carmine?”

“Yeah. That wasn't the drugs. Or it was kind of the drugs? Probably they took her out of her head enough for her to have a vision, and then the feedback triggered her telekinesis.”

Tacoma nods, giving herself time to figure out some kind of answer, and says:

“Does she need your help with it?”

Jodi hesitates.

“… no.”

“Then let it go,” says Tacoma. “Just for a minute, okay? We can, uh, talk to her in a little bit. I'm guessing she probably just wants to get over it and head back to the party, right?”

Jodi opens her mouth as if to argue, but when the words come out, there's no argument at all.

“I guess this is how you earned that scholarship, huh,” she says. “Yeah. Yeah, that'll be what she wants.”

Thank God. Tacoma really didn't know what she was going to do if that didn't work. Jodi can probably tell this – could probably tell even if she wasn't psychic – but whatever. One of the things that Tacoma is trying to learn is that it's what you do that matters, not what you feel.

“Okay,” she says. “In which case, I have a suggestion. We go back inside, check Carmine's okay, and I buy you another drink while we watch people dance and meet some more of your friends.”

For a long moment – too long – Jodi stares. The water in her eyes thickens into tears, trailing eyeshadow down her cheek, and if Tacoma had a heart it would have stopped, because clearly she has somehow managed to fuck this―

“I love you,” says Jodi.

Now it's Tacoma's turn to stare. This is pretty much exactly the opposite of what she was expecting.

“Sorry.” Jodi bites her lip. “I guess I made things weird.”

“No! Um – I mean no, it's not weird, I just―” She breaks off, tries to recover. “What I mean is, um … I love you too.”

It's the first time. Tacoma knew how Jodi felt, of course – it spills out from inside her – and as an empath Jodi certainly knew how Tacoma felt, but, well. For one reason or another, neither of them have ever actually said those exact words.

Until now.

“So yeah,” says Tacoma, feeling a little like she wants to die again and a little like she wants this moment to last forever. “There's that.”

“There's that,” agrees Jodi. “There's that.”

Silence. Someone goes past their alcove without seeing them, whistling loudly. Further away, a bus coughs along down the street, the light spilling from its windows in that unearthly night bus way. Tacoma has always thought that would what a UFO would be like, if you ever saw one. That same flat, alien glow.

“We beat the bad guys once,” she ventures. “Whatever's coming, we'll fight it. Until we stop it or we die.”

Jodi laughs briefly.

“That much I already knew,” she says. “But, um … thanks. It's good to hear you say it.” She turns to Lothian, still dangling weirdly off the wall. “You're in, right Lothi?”

He stretches his head out toward her hand immediately, chest puffing out as if insulted she even had to ask, and Jodi smiles and scratches between his ears.

“Knew I could count on you,” she says. “Okay. Back in, spooky?”

“Back in, pumpkin.”

Jodi draws her head back, eyebrows raised.

“'Pumpkin'?”

Tacoma shrugs, embarrassed.

“I did say I'd come up with a pet name …”

“Maybe go back to the drawing board on that one,” says Jodi, putting her arm through hers. “C'mon. I think you said something about― a drink?”

She almost said Carmine, Tacoma can tell. But all right. This is good enough for now.

“Yeah,” she says, as they go back around the corner to the 88, towards the sound of music and a roomful of delighted dancers. “I did.”

Friendly nod from Craig. Lothian lingering for a moment, then vanishing off to the pokémon room. And then: into the dark again, the flickering lights, the excitable crowd, the grave and unmistakeable intonation of Bobby Pickett.

“They did the mash,” sings Jodi quietly, her eyes searching the crowd for a homemade Vader and a ragged zombie. “I like this one.”

“Everyone does,” replies Tacoma. “Look at them dance.”

“I am,” says Jodi. She sounds wistful again, but Tacoma does not think she is thinking of their one dance this time. “I am.”

There: that's Carmine and Sorayya, back on the dance floor, next to Goldenrod Sam and some guy whose costume seems to chiefly consist of being painted blue.

“See?” she says. “It's okay, Jodi. Just let her―”

“Yeah. Yeah, I will.” Jodi slips her fingers through Tacoma's. “Mine's another dark and stormy, by the way.”

“Right,” says Tacoma, squeezing gently. “Coming up.”

Still a few years to go, right? At least. And tonight, the music is loud and the company is good, and she and Jodi love each other.

Maybe it's not much, but it'll do.