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Bubba gave him a droll stare. "Have you seen Ms. Thomas next door? That's the ugliest witch on the planet. I swear she's a Gorgon. "
"A what?" Nick asked with a frown.
Bubba snorted at him. "Get your head out of comic books and read some Greek mythology. Gorgons . . . women who were so ugly just looking at one could turn a man into stone. "
"Ahh . . . in my high school that'd be my English teacher, Ms. Richard. She's such a snotty jerk, I swear she thinks the school's named after her. "
Bubba didn't say anything as he started picking up glass from the shattered counter. "So why were the zombies here, anyway?"
"They said they were after. . . " Nick's voice faded off as he put everything together. Madaug freaking out. Nerd boy. . .
Holy dog snot. He looked up at Bubba. "Madaug St. James. You know him?"
"Geeky little kid who reminds me a lot of Mark?"
"Hey!" Mark said indignantly.
Bubba ignored him. "What about it?"
"He said it was imperative that he talk to you. He'd just left when the jocks came in, looking for him. "
Mark shot a glance to Bubba. "You think he has something to do with this?"
Nick dug the number out of his pocket. "I don't know. But I'm beginning to think that's a real good start. " And the more he thought about it, the more sure he was.
Madaug had to be behind this. Nothing else made sense. And if he was and Nick turned into a zombie because of him, brains were going to be spilled.
Lots of them and Madaug was the first person on his list. (Not that he had a list because that would get him thrown out of school and probably jailed—but should said hypothetical list exist, not saying that it did currently, or would in the future, Madaug was definitely target number one. )
CHAPTER 6
They tried for several hours to reach Madaug but he wouldn't answer the number he'd left. Flippin 'figures . . .
Nick watched as Mark hung up the phone again before he spoke. "I'm telling you, Fingerman, he was eaten by the jocks. They could smell him from the few minutes he was here and they were hell-bent to get him. I think they ran him down and had a banquet. "
Mark smirked. "Zombies have dulled senses, Nick. They're not bloodhounds or werewolves. You don't move, and they'll walk right past you, never seeing you. Believe me, on the scale of scary monsters, they rank way down the 'crap in my pants 'cause they're after me' list. I'll take a zombie over a vampire or werewolf any day. "
"What about the duck urine then?" Nick reminded him.
"I was sweating in a swamp and the wind carried my scent. That's different. Their senses are dulled, not nonexistent. "
Nick started to argue the point, but really. . . wasn't whether or not a zombie could smell you the most ludicrous thing on the planet to fight about? Werewolves weren't real and he still wasn't completely sold on the whole zombie thing either.
Something was up with the jocks, no doubt, but he didn't believe in the supernatural. He never had. It was bunk made up by moms to scare kids, and Hollywood to make a profit. The true monsters in this world, the people like his dad, were real and human through and through. Which was what made them so dangerous.
You didn't see them coming until it was too late.
Bubba, who'd been ignoring them, stood up from his stool to tower over both of them. He pointed to the clock over the door. "It's four o'clock, guys. I'm going up to watch Oprah. Unless the shop catches fire or we're under massive zombie invasion, I don't exist for the next hour. " He took a step, then paused. "On second thought, don't even bother me if it's zombies—I'll deal with them later. Today's a special episode on how to make peace with people who piss you off. And I definitely need to find my Zen. "
Mark snorted. "Your Zen's shooting stuff, Bubba. Embrace your inner violence. "
"Fine, then. My inner violence says I'll cut your throat if you bother me until Oprah ends, so sod off. "
Nick laughed until the time sank in. "Ah, man, I gotta run. "
Mark furrowed his brow. "For what?"
"My new boss was supposed to pick me up after school. " Which was thirty-five minutes ago and he'd forgotten all about it. "Ah, geez . . . hope I'm not fired my first day. "
Bubba hesitated. "Want me to write you an excuse?"
Nick shook his head. "Nah. I better run. See you guys later. Let me know when you find Madaug. " Grabbing his backpack from the floor, he hit the door at full speed.
Luckily he was used to running for streetcars, and his school was only five blocks away. Something he made in record time.
There was still police tape cordoning off the front yard of the school and a couple of officers there to enforce it. They watched him closely as if expecting him to start biting on them or something.
Ignoring them, Nick slowed as he studied the cars that were lined up on the opposite side of the street. Only one had someone in it, and it wasn't Kyrian. / am so fired. . . . Crap.
My mom w'll kill me. More than that, he'd probably have to pay the hospital bill—which at last check had already added up to more than his first two years of college tuition combined —out of his own pocket.
Why couldn't Alan have shot him in the head and ended it all?
/ was cursed from birth. Couldn't he ever catch a break with anything? Disgusted, he hung his head and started back toward Bubba's store.
"Nick Gautier?"
He turned at the unfamiliar voice to find the man he'd seen sitting in the black BMW, now stepping out of it. He was probably mid to late thirties. With dark blond hair and extremely clean cut (in other words he stank of serious money), he reminded Nick of someone, but he couldn't quite place it. "I don't know you. "
The man smiled. "No, you don't. My son, Kyi Poitiers"—gah, he said that name like a true snotty blue blood: "Pwa-tee-aa"—"is one of your classmates. Kyrian asked me to pick you up after school and take you to his house. So here I am. "
Yeah, right. . . "How do I know any of that's true?" Other than the fact that he did look like Kyi, which was why he'd seemed familiar. That still didn't make him safe or friendly.
"You don't trust me?" Mr. Poitiers asked.
"I don't trust nobody. My mama ain't raised no fools. I don't get in cars with people I don't know. Ever. You could be a pervert or psycho or something. No offense. "
Mr. Poitiers laughed. "None taken. Tell you what. . . " He pulled out his wallet. "I'm going to give you fifty dollars for a taxi and write down Kyrian's address. I'll see you at his house.
Nick hesitated. The offer did nothing to alleviate his suspicions. "How do I know you're sending me to his house and not someone else's? For all I know that's the address where you take all your victims. "
"God, I hope my son's as streetwise as you are. " He pulled out a cell phone and dialed a number. After a few seconds, he spoke. "Hey, Kyrian. Sorry to bother you. I'm here with the kid, but he won't get in the car with me. He's even more suspicious than you told me he'd be. " He held the phone out to Nick.
Nick narrowed his eyes on the man as he placed the phone to his ear. "Yeah?"
"Hi, Nick. Phil won't hurt you. Get in the car and you'll be over here in a few minutes. "
Uh-huh. Nick still wasn't sold. The voice was familiar, but. . . "How do I know you're Mr. Hunter?"
"Because I'm the only person, besides you, who knows you were helping your friends mug those tourists when you changed your mind and saved them. "
Nick's stomach hit the ground at those words. He hadn't breathed a word of that to a single soul. Not even his priests. That was a secret that was supposed to be between him and God and no one else. "How did you know that?"
"I was there longer than you suspected and I saw everything. Now get in the car. "
Nick hung up the phone and handed it back to Mr. Poitiers. "Okay, I believe you. " He held the money out to him too.
Phil refused to take it. "Keep i
Nick shook his head. "I really can't take this. "
"Yes, you can. Just consider it a reward for being a smart kid. "
Unused to people not being angry at him, Nick was still reluctant to accept the money. "You're not mad at me?"
"For protecting yourself? Not at all. I tell Kyi all the time to behave just like you did. It does me proud to see a kid with a brain. Now get in. "
Nick hesitated. How weird for someone like Phil to not look down on him. It felt really weird.
He got into the car and buckled himself in.
Phil pulled away from the curb then turned his radio down so that he could talk. "I should have brought Kyi with me to ease your mind. "
"It wouldn't have eased it. My mom says pervs use other kids to lure vies too. " Not to mention Kyi didn't exactly travel in Nick's circle of friends. He was a stuck-up snot who annoyed him almost as much as Stone did.
That being said, his father seemed to be decent enough in spite of his perfect speech. Made him wonder where Kyi got it from.
They didn't say anything else as Phil navigated traffic. It didn't take them long to reach Kyrian's house that was down in the Garden District. This was the coveted highbrow area where antebellum mansions went on row after row like hulking beasts from a bygone era of gentility and manners that most people nowadays lacked.
Nick and his mom would sometimes come walking down this way. . . mostly 'cause his mom's favorite author lived here and she wanted to catch a glimpse of her whenever she could.
His jaw went slack as they pulled up to a gate that opened into what had to be the biggest house he'd ever seen. It was a huge Grecian-style home with Doric columns supporting what seemed to be a never-ending porch. Top and bottom.
Phil pulled around the circular drive until he got to the front steps. "We're here. " But he didn't turn off the engine.
Nick frowned. "Are you staying?"
"My orders were to deliver you to the door. Mission accomplished. "
Weird, but okay. . .
Nick had no idea why he was so intimidated, but something about the house seemed eerie and forbidding. It wasn't like he hadn't known Kyrian had money, but knowing something and seeing such obvious proof were two different things.
What in the world would it be like to have this kind of wealth?
For that matter, he couldn't even imagine not having to count pennies to eat at McDonald's.
Gathering his courage, he got out of the car, grabbed his backpack, and headed up the stairs to the front door. Made of mahogany and etched glass that reminded him of cut crystal goblets, it looked like something out of a movie. He lifted his hand to ring the bell, but the door opened to show him a tiny Hispanic woman who eyed him like a warden greeting a new inmate. Dressed in a coral shirt and jeans, she had her dark hair pulled back into a tight bun.
"Nick?" It sounded more like "Neek," which was a much prettier version than the normal drawl he was used to.
"Yes, ma'am. "
She stepped back to let him enter. "Mr. Kyrian is waiting for you upstairs in his office. " She reached for his backpack.
Nick shied away from her.
"You no trust me?" Her tone was offended.
"No disrespect meant to you, ma'am, but I don't even know your name. "
Her face went completely stoic. "I am Rosa and I keep Mr.
Kyrian's house for him. Nowwould you like me to put your bag away while you're here?"
He felt foolish for not letting her have it. It just wasn't in him to let anyone take anything from him without a fight no matter how worthless it was. It was the same reason he hadn't wanted Brynna touching it earlier. "I guess. " He shrugged it off.
She umphed as he surrendered the full weight of it. "Goodness, you're much stronger than you appear. How you carry this without being hunchback?"
Nick shrugged. "It's what I have to have for school. "
She gestured at the mahogany staircase that curved up to the second floor. "Third door on the right. No need to knock. He will hear you coming. "
Yeah, okay, that was creepy too.
Nick headed up, taking his time to scan every inch of the impeccable palace. The banister had what he was pretty sure were gold medallions in the center of the black iron railing and the polished floors were some kind of something really expensive—like marble or tile or. . . whatever. Part of him wanted to run back to the street.
/ so don t belong here.
He felt like a fraud or unworthy. Until he realized what really made him so uncomfortable. There was no daylight. . . . -->
