by Anton Strout
“Well, if he’s not here,” Jane said, “how is he doing this?”
“He is here,” I said, “we’re just not looking in the right place.”
I looked above the crowd, and there was my answer. The one spot that overlooked the whole interior of the tent from the far end of the room, a well-concealed slit that gave the perfect view into the tent from the New York Public Library.
I glanced around the room. The cavalry had arrived and a dozen or so D.E.A. agents were working their way through the crowd now. I spied Director Wesker and Inspectre Quimbley pulling a zombie off one of the stick-thin models and throwing it to the ground. It was nice to see the divisions getting along for once. Zombies always brought people together.
“He must be in the library. The Fashion Week tent is in good hands,” I said. “Let’s go.”
“Where are we going?” Jane said. She had Godfrey by the arm and dragged him along behind us as we picked our way through the crowd.
“We can stay here doing damage control,” I said, “or we can get to the root of the problem and take care of it.”
“No more making with the squishy brains?” Jane said.
“Please don’t talk about that right now,” Godfrey said, his voice weaker than usual. “Trying not to throw up here.”
I looked behind me, and sure enough, Godfrey looked a little gray in the face. Not as gray as some of the leathery corpses shambling through the crowd, but close enough that I stopped talking about it.
“Fine,” I said, leading the two of them off toward the main branch of the New York Public Library. “Let’s go check out some books.”
39
Jane held her own, weaving through the crowd, but Godfrey was more or less stunned by the chaos erupting around us and Jane pulled him along behind. When we emerged from the tent, she let go.
“Go on, Godfrey, get out of here,” I said, and looked up at the architectural marvel that was the library.
“I can help,” he said, all meek, still looking rather shell-shocked.
“You can help by not dying,” I said. I turned to him and shook him until he looked directly at me. “Don’t be a fool. Those things are vicious and there’re way too many of them.”
“Yes,” Jane added, “and they’re icky.”
“That, too,” I said, nodding. “Go across the street and keep an eye out for the Inspectre until the police arrive.”
Godfrey nodded, adjusted his glasses, and headed off across the street through traffic. Several cars slammed on their brakes and honked, but by then Godfrey had made it across safely.
“Come on,” I said to Jane, and set off in search of a way into the library.
As long as I had lived in New York, I had never really taken stock of the library, but running around the foot of it while we searched for an entrance, I was impressed by its old-world grandeur and the sheer size of it. The library ran an entire two blocks from Fortieth to Forty-second streets, and was massive. We circled the building hand in hand and came around to the main entrance on Fifth Avenue, its many stairs and two stone lions gated off from the regular sidewalk.
“If those lions come to life or anything,” Jane said, “I may just pee on myself.”
“Sexy,” I said. I started climbing over one of the police barriers. I held my hand out to help her over. “It’s okay. I think I already did earlier.”
“And that’s why we make such a perfect couple,” she said.
Since Jane was still in her full-length evening gown, she sat sidesaddle on top of the barrier as I steadied her and threw her legs over it. Taking our time, we made our way up the steps, looking for any sign of movement, especially from those menacing-looking lions.
“You know, this would be terribly romantic if it weren’t for all the undead stuff,” she said.
Most of the doors to the library were revolving ones, but all the way toward the right side was a set of standard doors. I retracted my bat, reholstered it at my side, and fished around inside my tuxedo pocket for my lock picks.
I hesitated as I recalled pulling them out to use for Mina’s break-in. Then I looked Jane square in the eyes and pulled the leather case out. I unrolled it, exposing the pick sets.
I gulped. Though things had been much better between us lately, the stuff Jane had said about being more open in our relationship was something I really needed to work on. “Jane,” I said. “You’re not the only one with a dark past around here. I haven’t been honest about everything lately . . .”
She glanced down at the lock picks, eyebrows raised, then stopped me by putting her hand on my arm.
“There will be time for all that later,” she said, “but right now, I think we have a problem.”
“That’s the understatement of the evening,” I said, almost laughing and feeling relieved just for having opened up and owning a small part of my past.
Jane rolled her eyes, then pointed toward the door. “A more immediate one,” she said. “Are you sure those picks are going to work?”
I looked where she was pointing, only to realize that the door had an electronic lock. I slid the lock picks back into my pocket and started feeling around in my jacket.
“Crap,” I said.
“What’s wrong?”
“I can’t pick it, but I can use my power on it.” I thought about the last time I had done this. Mina had put a gun to my head that time at the Museum of Modern Art, but I figured I could read the lock the same way, and without that kind of pressure on me this time. “Thing is, I’m out of Life Savers, and if I use my power, I don’t want to pass out once we get in there.”
“You’re out?” she asked. “You always have them on you!”
“They’re in my regular jacket,” I said. “Sheesh, when you switch out purses, haven’t you ever left something in the old one by mistake?”
Jane turned away and looked toward the street. I thought she was pissed at me. We really didn’t have time for this.
“Will a pretzel do?”
“What?” I said. I turned and looked. One of New York’s thousands of street vendors was set up at the corner of Fifth and Forty-second.
I nodded and knelt down in front of the lock. “Umm, sure. The carbs in it should convert to sugar. I’ll get working on the lock if you go get me one.”
I handed her a five.
“Keep the change,” I said. “And thanks.”
“What change?” she said. “When’s the last time you bought street food?”
Jane hiked up her dress and ran down the steps toward the vendor cart. I turned back to the door and grabbed the electronic keypad in both hands. This time I felt an immediate connection with it, and my mind slipped into the psychometric past of the object.
It was nighttime in my vision, and I was in the head of a guard. He was at the door, punching his code in, and quick as that, I had what I needed. I pulled myself out of the vision to find that Jane had returned and was holding out a pretzel.
“You look kinda creepy when you do that whole thing, hon,” she said.
Feeling shaky, I stayed on my knees and took the pretzel from her.
“Your face kinda glazes over and your eyes go all dull.”
“Sorry,” I said. “I’ll work on that.”
Jane shrugged. “No big. Just thought you might want to know.”
I wolfed down the pretzel and waited several minutes until I started to feel better before pulling on my gloves and punching in the code for the door. Anything I could do to keep my power in check under the craziness that was tonight helped. The little light on the electronic lock turned green. I pushed the door open and stepped into the spooky darkness of the library.
I eased in, my eyes taking a moment to adjust to the darkness. Jane followed right behind me, clutching my hand.
“You sure this is where Cyrus is?” she whispered.
I spied something off to the left of the interior doors. It was the unconscious body of the guard I had just seen in my psychometric flash.
We had to be brief, but we took the time to check him to see how badly he was injured. Aside from a lump on the back of his head, the guard looked like he was in good enough condition to leave there for now.
“Well, if we just follow the trail of bodies, we’ll be okay,” I said. I grabbed Jane by the hand and the two of us headed farther into the library.
The sound of the battle outside in Bryant Park was hard to miss as we entered the library’s main room. Books ringed the room behind rails that led down to a sunken research area filled with long wooden tables and hooded lamps. The ceiling rose several stories above us, marble walls and vaulted windows to either side. Four-tiered chandeliers hung from a faux blue sky with fluffy white clouds on it. It was a calming scene, given the circumstances. I thought maybe I should start using my library card after all this was over.
Jane and I stopped when we reached the center of the cavernous room.
“Where do you think he is?” Jane whispered, continuing to look around.
“I’m not sure,” I said. I listened for any sign of him, but all I could hear was the sound of continuing chaos outside the library in the big Fashion Week tent. “But we’ve got to start somewhere. Any suggestions?”
Jane thought a minute. “How about we start with the N’s?”
“Why there?” I asked.
“Well, that’s where I’d keep a necromancer,” Jane said, giving a wan smile. “Under the N’s.”
Her logic made as much sense as anything else tonight, so we set off toward the shelves around the edge of the room.
The N’s turned out to be along the wall facing Bryant Park and, lo and behold, when I entered the aisle, I could make out the silhouette of Cyrus Mandalay standing on the ledge of one of the high-arched windows up ahead. His attention was focused outside, and given the noise, we didn’t need to be especially careful in sneaking up on him.
About two-thirds of the way down the aisle, I motioned for Jane to stop and wait while I continued ahead. All I needed was to get close enough to knock his legs out from under him with my bat as he stood on the window ledge. The backs of his calves were about eye level, perfect for my natural swing.
Winding up behind Cyrus’s back, I caught his face in the reflection of the glass. It was a mask of concentration as he stared down into the park. The thought occurred to me that if I could see Cyrus’s face in the reflection, then he could probably see mine, which explained why his reflection shifted from the park to me in that instant. Before I could swing, his foot lashed out and caught me in my temple. A flash of blinding whiteness hit my eyes and I couldn’t help but drop my bat and clutch my head as I reeled backward.
Cyrus jumped down from the window ledge and landed in front of me. Even without the added height, he still towered above me at well over six feet. He grinned, his facial tattoos warping as his sharklike smile spread wide.
“See?” Jane cried out from behind me. “I told you he’d be under N for necromancer!”
Cyrus grabbed me by the hair, wrapped his arm across my throat, and held me there. “What?” he said. “Is this really the N section?”
I nodded, my chin digging into the taut muscles in Cyrus’s arm.
Cyrus chuckled, and the sound echoed throughout the quiet hush of the library. “Nice detective work, Ms. Clayton-Forrester, but I’m afraid you’re wrong. It’s just a coincidence that you found me in this section of the library. It simply had the best view that I needed for today’s theatrics.”
I pushed against Cyrus’s arm, but it was no use. He had been an imposing fellow when he had been the owner of Tome, Sweet Tome, but cultish crazy had pushed him into the realm of unearthly strength, and there was no way I was breaking free.
“Jane, run,” I shouted.
Part of me half hoped she had some kind of ace up her sleeve, but she smartly turned back and ran up the aisle, which was impressive given the heels she was wearing.
That was, she ran for about ten feet, before a new obstacle presented itself. A column of zombies had started working its way down the aisle toward us and Jane ran smack-dab into them. She spun swiftly to escape, but decaying hands latched on to her and held her in place. In a last-ditch effort, she dug into her sequined clutch and pulled her phone free, but Cyrus made a gesture and one of the zombies knocked it free from her hand. The rest of them grabbed both her arms and pressed her up against one side of the shelves.
“Bad girl, Jane.” Cyrus tsked. “You were such a promising Sectarian, too. I saw you when you went all Tesla coil on that double-crosser Mina back at the Guggenheim, my dear. We won’t have any repeats of that. I think we’ll just keep you pinned right there against those books like a butterfly on a specimen board, far from anything electrical.”
Cyrus grabbed my head like he was palming a basketball and turned me so I looked up at him. “And as for you,” he said, “I think I have an exciting little surprise to share with you.”
Holding me in his viselike grip, Cyrus helped himself back onto the window ledge and then lifted me up to join him, my bat still lying useless on the library floor.
With his free hand, he pointed down into the crowd through the hidden slit in the roof of the tent. He was pointing at Argyle Quimbley, who was earnestly protecting a pack of supermodels from a horde of zombies using a folding chair, quite adeptly, I thought. No wonder F.O.G. had appointed him to teach me Unorthodox Fighting Techniques. Still, the odds were against him. Zombies never tired.
“Lucky you,” Cyrus said. “For all the trouble you’ve caused me, you’re getting ringside seats to watch as I tear your precious Inspectre apart, limb by limb.”
“For all the trouble I’ve caused you?” I said, laughing. “Are you kidding me? I’ve just been trying to protect my city.”
“What with you foiling my plans twice, I’m a pariah with every cultist in the tristate area,” Cyrus shouted, his anger increasing along with the pressure of his arm around my neck. “You and that partner of yours made a laughingstock out of my grand plans that night at the Met. Now you’ve ruined Para-lyzed.”
“Sorry . . .’bout . . . that . . .” I said, gasping for breath.
“So first you get to watch the old man die,” Cyrus said, delighted with himself, “and then the girl.”
At the mention of the Inspectre and Jane, I started to panic. Well, panic more than I already was. Unfortunately, the more I struggled to free myself, the more air I used. Stars began to pop and burst before my eyes as darkness started to take over.
“Um, excuse me,” a familiar voice called out. It was meek and nervous and 100 percent Godfrey’s. Cyrus relaxed his grip a little and turned us toward where it had come from. Godfrey stood farther along the bank of windows. He looked fantastic in his tux, yet nervous as hell, but he stood there, unmoving. “I think you should let go of him . . . now.”
The nerves in his voice kept his threat from seeming anything more than silly, and even I wanted to join Cyrus when he laughed out loud. He jumped down from the windowsill and started walking us toward Godfrey.
I was worried about slipping on my bat, but I didn’t have the best lines of sight from my chokehold position, and I couldn’t see it anywhere.
Cyrus gestured and a few zombies broke from the pack and also headed toward Godfrey. Godfrey started backing away, but Cyrus closed the distance in a flash and smashed him in the face, breaking his glasses. They tumbled to the floor and Godfrey clutched his face, blood running through his fingers.
“Oh, God,” he said. “I think I’m about to throw up.”
“I’ve got it from here, Godfrey,” another familiar voice said from behind me. Connor. “Thanks.”
There was the unmistakable dull, metallic thud of my bat, and I felt Cyrus’s arm release me as he toppled over and hit the floor hard. I spun around and, sure enough, there was Connor, holding my bat. He was covered head to toe in bits of rotting flesh, and he twirled my bat around in his hands.
“That f
elt good, kid,” he said. “Maybe I oughta get me one of these.”
“Oh, boys,” Jane called out. “A little help here?”
The zombies still had her, but with Cyrus unconscious, they seemed a little less focused on holding her now. In fact, they looked far more intent on trying to eat her.
“I thought if we neutralized the necromancer, the zombies would drop,” I said to Connor.
“That seemed like the likeliest of scenarios,” he said, handing my bat back to me. “This is the other, I guess. The dead have been raised, but now they’re just not in anyone’s control anymore. Let’s have at ’em, kid.”
Connor dashed off into the sea of undead. Already many of them were just wandering around aimlessly, while others suddenly became focused on the two of us as we joined the fray.
