"I know. But I wasn't this way, right? Some days I can't remember. I feel like it's always been like this."
"No," I say firmly. "It's just a phase. It'll pass."
"All things must pass," Dervish mutters. Then he looks at me sideways, his cool blue eyes coming into focus. "Why are you wet?"
"Took a bath. Forgot to strip." I rap his forehead with my knuckles, then point to the windows and the rain battering the panes. "Numbnuts."
"Oh," Dervish says. "I should have picked you up."
"No worries." I rise and stretch, dripping steadily. "I'm going up to shower and change into dry clothes. I'll stick this lot in to wash. Anything you want me to add?" I did all the jobs around the house when Dervish was a vegetable. Hard to break the habit.
"No, I don't think so. I..." Dervish stares at his left hand. There's a black mark on it, a small 'd'. "There was something I meant to tell you. What...?" He clicks his fingers. "I had a phone call, a follow-up to some e-mails I've been getting recently. Ever heard of someone called Davida Haym?"
"No, can't say..." I pause. "Hold on. Not David A. Haym, the movie producer?"
"That's her."
"I thought that was a guy."
"Nope. She uses David A. on her movies, but it's Davida. You know about her?"
"Sure. She makes horror movies. Zombie Zest. Witches Weird. Night Mayors-that's, like, Nightmares, only two words. It's about evil mayors who band together to set up a meat production plant, except the meat they process is human flesh."
"Win many Oscars?" Dervish asks.
"Swept the board," I chuckle. "I can't believe she's a woman. I always thought... But what about her? I didn't think you were into horror flicks."
"She phoned me earlier."
I do a double-take. "David A. Haym called you?"
"Davida Haym. Yes." Dervish squints at me. "Have I grown a second head?"
"Hell, it's David A. Haym, Dervish! That's like saying Steven Spielberg was on the line, or George Lucas. OK, not as big as those, but still..."
"I didn't know she was famous," Dervish says. "She told me the names of some of her movies, but I don't watch a lot of films. She made it sound like she was a cult director."
"She is. She doesn't make films with big-name stars. But her movies are great! Anyone who loves horror knows about David A. Haym. Though I'm not sure many know she's a woman."
"That's a big sticking point for you, isn't it?" Dervish grins. "You're not turning into a chauvinist, are you?"
"No, I just..." I shake my head. Water flies from my ginger hair and splatters the wall. "What did she want?"
"She's making a new movie. Asked if she could meet me. She'd heard I know a lot about the occult. Wants to pick my brain." He tweaks his chin, forgetting the beard isn't there. "I hope she didn't mean that literally."
"Did you say yes?" I ask, excited.
"Said I'd think about it."
"Dervish! You've got to! It's David A. Haym! Did she say she'd come here? Can I meet her? Do you think-"
"Easy, tiger," Dervish laughs. "We didn't discuss where we'd meet. But you think I should agree to it?"
"Absolutely!"
"Then meet we shall," Dervish says, getting to his feet and heading up to his office. "Anything to please Master Grady."
I tramp up the stairs after him, pulling off my clothes, thinking about how cool it would be if I could meet David A. Haym... and also how weird it is that one of the world's premier horror producers is a woman.