The White Rabbit Chronicles

by Gena Showalter

  Why was he being nice?

  “We’re done here.” I pushed him out of the way and stood on shaky legs. Frosty was scrubbing his knuckles into Kat’s scalp while she laughed and batted at his arm. Bronx and Reeve were in the midst of a glaring contest.

  “We have more to do,” I said to the girls. Then I marched away without another word, my coat and bags hanging at my sides.

  Both Kat and Reeve followed me, ditching the boys without hesitation.

  “So...did you know that sleeping with twelve different guys is the same thing as sleeping with, like, four thousand?” Kat asked, breaking the silence, the tension.

  I could have hugged her. She hadn’t mentioned our guys, and wasn’t going to. She was trying to distract me.

  “No way,” Reeve said.

  We cleared the doors of the mall, entered the coolness of the day. I pulled on the coat.

  Kat nodded. “I crunched the numbers myself. I’m eighty-three percent sure that I’m one hundred percent sure that my math is perfect. See, if you sleep with a guy, you’ve then been with everyone he’s been with and everyone his other partners have been with and everyone their partners have been with. It goes on and on.” She held up one finger. “Frosty is my only, but he’s been with others and I’m sure they’ve been with others, so, I’m guessing I’ve been with at least fifty people—is there a scarlet letter on my forehead?”

  “I wonder how many girls Bronx has gotten into bed,” Reeve muttered.

  “Bronx? Did you say Bronx? Because I could have sworn you told me you’re over him and seeing someone else,” Kat quipped.

  Reeve pursed her lips.

  I took a breath—held it. Exhaled, slowly. Mist formed in front of my face. My first real post-breakup encounter with Cole was now history. I’d survived with the tiniest shred of dignity, and that was more than I’d expected. I was going to be okay.

  A twentysomething guy stepped into our path, blocking us. We drew to a halt as he said, “Hey, pretty girl,” with a wide, toothy grin aimed at Kat. “How about some company, hmm?”

  Another guy pressed into his side. He eyed Reeve up and down as if she were a stick of cotton candy and he was dying from a sweet tooth.

  “No, thanks,” she said, and tried to inch around him.

  He moved with her, continuing to block her. “Wait. You don’t want to go until we’ve exchanged numbers, do you?”

  The other guy leaned down to sniff Kat’s neck. “My own personal brand of crack, right there.”

  “Quoting romance novels?” Scowling, she leaned back, out of reach. “Lesson of the day—you don’t smell a girl until she gives you permission. Ever. It makes you a creeper.”

  He pouted.

  I doubted the two were dangerous. I actually thought they were going for sexy and charming rather than disturbing. And maybe I could have tried to reach a verbal resolution with them. Maybe not.

  Despite being “okay,” anger still pulled at an already thin tether.

  Nope. Wrong. The tether snapped.

  I jabbed my palm into his nose, and cartilage shattered. Blood spurted. Cursing, his friend grabbed hold of my arm. To stop me from running—unnecessary—or to stop me from another attack, I wasn’t sure. I only knew he’d made a mistake. I clamped onto his wrist and twisted with all of my strength, forcing his body to turn with the motion to save the bone from breaking.

  Before he could lurch free, I kicked the back of his knee, sending him to the ground. An elbow to the temple finished him off, and he collapsed the rest of the way. He sprawled on the concrete, motionless.

  Satisfaction filled me, followed swiftly by guilt.

  “Come on,” I said. I tugged the lapels of my coat closer as I walked away.

  “That was both cool and frightening,” Kat said with a shudder, keeping pace with me. “I don’t know whether to pat you on the back or run and hide.”

  “Where did you learn how to do that?” Reeve asked, her gaze darting back to the boys.

  “Col— Around.” My gaze landed on the tattoo shop across the street. Bright red letters—TATTIE’S INK—flashed on and off.

  I stopped.

  The girls backtracked.

  “I want one,” I found myself saying.

  “One what?” Kat asked.

  “A tattoo.” The slayers marked themselves with the names of the loved ones they’d lost in the war against the zombies, or symbols to represent them. I had none, yet I’d lost my parents, my sister and my grandfather.

  Bad Ali.

  “I want one,” I said again, more confident this time. I headed across the street.

  The girls followed after me.

  “What are you going to get?” Kat asked, clapping happily. “A skull and crossbones? Snake fangs dripping with blood? A unicorn?”

  “This is a mistake,” Reeve said.

  A bell jingled over the door as I entered. The walls were covered with art, pictures of lions and tigers, dragons and aliens. Hearts. Stars. The sun, the moon, fish and lightning. Naked women. It was overwhelming.

  A heavily tattooed man with piercings all over his face stood behind the counter, cleaning equipment. He glanced up, grunted with disdain. “You guys even close to eighteen?”

  “No,” Reeve and I said in unison.

  “Yes,” Kat said, and elbowed me.

  He dried his hands on a rag. “You’ll need a permission slip from your parents, and you’ll need at least one parent present.”

  Kat offered her sweetest grin and wound her arm around my waist. “We knew that. That’s why I’m here. I’m her mother, and I’ll sign whatever form you’ve got.”

  A gleam of amusement in his eyes. “She must take after her father.”

  “All of my children do,” Kat quipped.

  His gaze landed on me. “Let me guess. You want a flower. Or a butterfly.”

  Not quite. “I want a white rabbit,” I said.

  He thought it over, shrugged and slid a pad and pen in Kat’s direction. “Fill this out all properlike for your daughter, since I’m guessing your IDs will tell me you have different last names, and you,” he said to me, “come on back. I think I have something you’ll dig.”

  “Ali,” Reeve said, latching onto my wrist. “A tattoo is permanent.”

  Yeah, and mine would be the only permanent thing in my life. Nana wouldn’t live forever. And, as I’d been told time and time again by Mr. Ankh, the moment Reeve learned about the zombies she would be ripped out of my life. Not even the vivacious Kat was guaranteed a tomorrow.

  “I have to do this.” I pulled from her grip to trail Artist Guy behind a crimson curtain. There were several rooms, each blocked by one of those curtains. He led me to the one in back, swept the fabric aside and motioned to a lounge chair. I sat.

  He flipped through an art book. When he found what he was searching for, he showed me the page. “What do you think?”

  “I like the ears of this one,” I said, pointing. “But the body of this one, and the tail of that one.” Perfect for Emma. “Also, I’ll want a second tattoo. Two daggers in the shape of a cross.” I could think of no better representation of my parents. I wasn’t sure what I’d get to represent Pops, though. His would have to wait.

  Artist Guy frowned and set the book aside. “I’ll have to draw both from scratch, and that’s gonna cost extra.”

  “I’m fine with that.” For the first time today, I wasn’t going to worry about spending the allowance Nana had given me. I removed my coat, pushed up the sleeves of my shirt.

  He peered at my pale, unmarked flesh and shook his head. “All right, then, where do you want them? Exactly?”

  “One on each wrist. And I want them to face me, not the people looking at me.” I wanted to be able to see the designs without having to contort.

  What would Nana say when she saw them?

  “I’ve got to sketch what you want, so give me about...oh, half an hour.” He left without another word.

  An opportunity to leave. Not goi
ng to happen.

  I closed my eyes and counted.

  By the time he returned, I’d reached 1,532. I wondered what Kat and Reeve were doing in the lobby.

  He gathered the necessary supplies and sat beside me.

  “Still want to do this?” he asked. “Because once I start, there will be no backing out.”

  “Absolutely.”

  He used a piece of paper to transfer the first image onto my wrist. I saw big ears standing tall, a fat body and a bushy tail, just like the rabbits Emma had created in the sky time and time again to warn me of coming zombie attacks.

  “Perfect,” I said, a bit surprised.

  “I only do perfect work.” He sounded offended.

  “Prove it.”

  My snark clearly surprised him, and he shook his head. “You know this will hurt, right?”

  “I’ve known hurt. This will be nothing.”

  He snorted. “Sure, princess. Whatever you say.”

  Leaning over me, gun in hand, he got to work. And okay, it hurt more than I’d anticipated, stinging and throbbing, but a part of me welcomed the pain. I liked that I was feeling something other than anger and panic.

  Panic. The word got stuck in my mind, echoing.

  I’d panicked earlier.

  I’d panicked big-time.

  Mr. Ankh had been right, hadn’t he? The episodes were panic attacks, triggered by...what? Emotion? Maybe. I was living with the guilt of knowing Emma’s life would be forever unfulfilled. The ache of forging a new one for myself as the old one burned behind me. The uncertainty of navigating a spiritual world I’d been unprepared for. The fear of the unknown.

  But emotions couldn’t be the full story. Otherwise I’d never have moments of calm. I thought back. Lying in my bed, after Cole had walked out on me, I’d lamented about the new direction of my life. Then, boom, the panic had come. Then, later on, Kat had mentioned the newness of my appearance and boom, panic again.

  New things.

  Change, I realized. The thought of change had to be the trigger.

  And okay. All right. Now that I knew, I could deal. But...

  That wasn’t the full story, either. It couldn’t be. Panic failed to explain the double heartbeats...the hunger...and the fact that I’d wanted to bite Reeve. And what if I’d been wrong about the smudges? What if they weren’t part of my imagination, but this...whatever this was?

  That would mean...what?

  I didn’t know, but one thing was certain. More changes loomed on the horizon.

  Just like that, perspiration beaded on my brow and upper lip, and an invisible elephant sat down on my chest. The pressure... I struggled to breath, barely even able to wheeze.

  “Hey, are you okay?” the guy asked me.

  “Fine,” I managed to huff. “Just hurry.”

  “You don’t rush quality. And I told you it would hurt.”

  My sister was my calming force, so I drew her image to the front of my mind, concentrating on her. I saw a mass of straight, dark hair. Sun-kissed skin. A mischievous gleam in her dark eyes.

  “You’re the prettiest girl in the whole world, Alice,” she said, beaming up at me.

  “No, brat, that would be you,” I replied, gently tapping the tip of her nose.

  “No way. A boy at my school told me he heard his dad say only blondes are worth doing.”

  “First, I never want to hear you say the words worth doing again. Do you even know what that means? Second, that boy’s dad is an idiot. And a pig!”

  So hungry... Must eat...

  The whispery voice intruded on the memory, and I frowned at Artist Guy. “Did you say something?”

  He didn’t glance up, even as he moved to my other wrist. “Nope.”

  Hungry. Hungry! HUNGRY!

  I shook my head, as if my mind had somehow locked on a different radio frequency and a little motion would change the channel back. But it didn’t, and I found I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the vulnerability of Artist Guy’s now-glowing neck.

  “Be still,” he commanded.

  “I’m sorry. I just... Did you hear that?”

  “Hear what?”

  “That voice. That whisper.”

  He paused long enough to dab at a bead of blood with a cotton ball. “Great. The pretty princess is one of the crazies. I should have known.”

  Bite him. Feed on him.

  “Emma,” I said.

  “You want me to add a name?” he asked.

  “No.”

  My sister appeared a few seconds later. “You’re getting tattoos?” she squealed. Then she saw my face, and the excitement was replaced by concern. “Alice?”

  “Something’s wrong with me,” I told her.

  “I know.” Artist Guy sighed. “That’s what I just said.”

  “Cole?” she asked.

  I snapped my teeth, then glanced at Artist Guy, trying to show her what the problem was.

  “You want to bite him?”

  I nodded.

  Frowning, she traced her fingers through my hair, and the urge to bite instantly vanished, thrilling me...baffling me. “I’ll ask around and return when I’ve learned something.”

  She disappeared. And maybe I passed out from relief. I don’t know. One moment I was relaxed in my seat; the next Artist Guy was saying, “All right. All done. What do you think?”

  I opened my eyes to see he was setting the equipment aside. I waited for the voice or urge to return, but...there was only silence. No hunger. I uttered a quiet prayer of thanks.

  He crossed his arms and watched my expression. “Well?”

  The ink was perfect, as promised, and exactly what I’d wanted. The white rabbit was on one side, and the daggers on the other. The skin around the ink was red and swollen, though, and throbbed insistently.

  “They’re wonderful.”

  Grunting with satisfaction, he smothered each with ointment, then covered them with bandages. “Remove the dressing in about an hour and add more ointment. Keep the ink clean, but don’t take long showers or baths for at least two weeks.”

  “Okay.”

  He ushered me to the front of the building, where Kat and Reeve waited.

  Grinning when she spotted me, Kat jumped up and clapped. “Let me see, let me see!”

  Reeve stood more slowly, as if she wanted to avoid looking at the tattoos as long as possible.

  “Give me a minute to pay,” I said.

  The moment we were outside, I peeled back the bandages.

  “Very cool! Cole will regret the day he let you get away,” Kat said. As we climbed into Reeve’s Porsche, she added, “I’m making it my life’s mission. Well, that, and torturing Frosty.”

  I claimed the center of the backseat and buckled up. “Where are we going now?”

  “To Reeve’s. Then you and I are going to Cole’s—uh, house, yes, to his house to work out,” Kat said. “You’re going to train me, as promised. No more treadmilling. And yes, I just turned a noun into a verb.”

  “Train you?” Reeve eased the car into traffic. “For what? I mean, I know you guys have been working out a lot, but I’d had no idea there was a purpose to it.”

  “Self-defense,” I replied. “Like what I did today.”

  Kat nodded. “Only maybe not so hard-core.”

  “I promised I’d teach you,” I said, flickers of dread lighting me up, “and I will. Just...not today.” I wanted to go home and wait for Emma.

  “Well, I’d like to learn, too,” Reeve said.

  “Uh...hmm.” I peered out the window, watching as cars whizzed past. Trees. Power lines. “I’d love to include you, but you’ll have to get permission from your dad first.”

  Her brow furrowed. “He’ll say yes.”

  Not even if she begged him.

  “I mean, why would he say no? Especially after what happened today,” she added.

  My gaze snagged on a cloud in the sky—a cloud cut in the shape of a rabbit. The zombies would invade tonight. I frowned. Was I read
y?

  Better question: Would I be invited to help?

  “Uh, guys. I think someone’s following us,” Reeve said, her voice trembling with apprehension. “What if it’s the guys from the mall? What should I do?”

  I turned in my seat, peering out the back window. “Call—” I stopped myself before I said his name. “Which car?”

  “A black SUV, dark-tinted windows.”

  It was two slots back, on the left. As big as it was, six people could be inside. The odds weren’t great, but they weren’t terrible, either. “Take the next exit ramp and pull over.”

  “What!” she and Kat demanded in unison.

  “Just do it. Please.” I was armed. I was also in a terrible mood.

  If Anima hoped to scare me, they’d soon learn the error of such a fruitless endeavor. If the guys from the shopping center craved revenge, I’d give them something else to cry about. If this was just one big misunderstanding, I’d make sure it never happened again.

  Reeve obeyed, reluctantly, and the moment the car came to a stop, I palmed my daggers and jumped out of the car. The SUV had tracked us off the highway and slowed down as it approached us. A window rolled down.

  “Miss Bell,” said a man I’d never before met. He was old enough to be my grandfather, with a full head of salt-and-pepper hair, thick glasses, an aquiline nose and dark brown skin. “I’d like a word with you.”

  He knew my name, and he’d come at me in the most secretive of ways. He had to be a Hazmat.

  I didn’t need to know any more than that. I threw one of my daggers, just as Cole had taught me, and the tip embedded in one of the SUV’s tires. Air hissed out.

  The man scowled at me. “Was that really necessary?”

  “Probably not.” I held up my other dagger. “I doubt what I do next will be, either, but I’m sure it’ll be fun.”

  He flashed me a look full of disappointment. “Very well. When you’re curious about your condition, you’ll have to come to me.” He tossed a card out the window, and as the paper floated to the ground, the SUV sped away.

  Chapter 7

  Of Rotting Monsters and Tasty Men

  Normally, I would have hunted Cole down and told him what had happened. Today, I decided to tell Mr. Ankh.