Bovicide, Zombie Diaries, and the Legend of the Brothers Brown

by Stephen Bills

  * * *

  Paddington slammed his front door, checked for shapes in the shadows, then swore loudly. He stomped to the back room and grabbed everything he could find on the Beast of Gévaudan and threw them all into the bin.

  What was he supposed to have said? He was here for her. He’d rescued her from the cell. He’d done everything he could since handing her over. Yes, he shouldn’t have handed her over in the first place, but he’d admitted that. What more could he do?

  Would she ever look at him the same? How long before they were back to normal? Or was that impossible? Had he ruined the best thing to ever happen to him?

  Again.

  Paddington took deep breaths and forced himself to calm down.

  “Do you love her?” he asked, needing to make the question real. He wasn’t sure how to answer, but in a deep way he always would love her. Without her, he didn’t know what he was doing or who he was… and yet he’d handed her over. If he could do that to someone he loved, wasn’t she better off without him? Was it best to stay away, for her sake?

  He slammed his open palm into the table. He wanted to do more, to smash something or shout until he passed out, but that wasn’t a long-term solution. Instead, he sat at the table and pulled Lisa’s laptop toward him.

  He had to get rid of Mitchell. How long before the Mainlander beat the truth out of someone? Before he found Quentin’s, or a citizen admitted seeing something, or the Team had a stroke of good luck? To save Lisa, he had to lose Mitchell. To lose Mitchell, he had to kill Dominic.

  “Can you kill Dominic?” Paddington asked the empty room. Could he look himself in the mirror afterwards? Who would stare back? And what of helping people? Of defending the innocent? What happened to that when the policeman was the slaughterer?

  He booted up the computer and searched for werewolves again, as he had that afternoon, but stopped after a minute. Werewolves were no good: too many people said too many contradicting things. Instead, he looked up real wolves.

  And even if he killed Dominic, cut his heart out, how would he convince Lisa to eat it? Killing Dominic wouldn’t endear him to her. He’d become a monster in her eyes. Well, a worse monster.

  “She’d never speak to you again,” he said, debate closed.

  There were other debates, though.

  Like how did the duke know about Lisa’s problem? The Andrastes hadn’t been friendly with Lisa, so why was Adonis so keen to help her now? Or was he only helping her to get rid of Mitchell so Mitchell wouldn’t find out about the Andrastes and start asking for more stakes?

  Paddington opened a new window and looked up vampires.

  How much did Adonis know? Surely the prophecy was in the Book of Three; why hadn’t Adonis mentioned it? If Mitchell was the demon, wasn’t getting him off Archi a bad idea? Or did Adonis want the prophecy to succeed? Was that why Adonis wanted Paddington to cure Lisa? By killing Dom, he made the demon leave and saved the world.

  “Doesn’t matter. You’re not killing Dominic.” Saying it made it real. The silence understood: no matter what happened with the prophecy, Lisa had to come first; no matter what happened, murder was out. But he had to do something. Something to show Lisa that he loved her. That he would do anything for her. That she could trust him completely. That he was with her, no matter what.

  One thought occurred.

  “No, that’s ridiculous,” he told the screen. “How would that even help?”

  The silence accused him of cowardice.

  “It would make things worse. Besides, she’d never agree.”

  But the idea had found a home and Paddington couldn’t evict it.

  “Fine. But how?”

  His finger clicked. His eyes read. His brain absorbed. But his thoughts were elsewhere, searching, and they found his answer.

  “Dominic!”