by Chris Lowry
I hate zombies.
New Orleans was a refuge for Haitians, especially after the devastating earthquake there in 2008. Hurricane Katrina did little to slow the immigration of the Hattian community to a town that embraced their traditions and witchcraft with a level of acceptance unseen anywhere in the U.S. There were several hundred thousand Haitians living in NOLA.
Which meant there was a lot of belief rolling around in the air.
Belief a good wicked witch could pull on to enhance her magic. Not to mention tens of thousands of dead Haitians who while alive, believed.
"Hannah," I gulped.
We were staring at two dozen Haitian zombies spread out across the road.
She squeaked. I took that to mean, "What?"
"You have to get me to the Haitian cemetery."
"Squeak."
I translated that to mean, "Can you get us past the Haitian zombies blocking our path and closing in on us?"
"I'm going to take out this group," I told her. "But I need to get to the main cemetery and lock it down or they're just going to keep coming."
"Squeak." Or yes.
At least that's what I think she said. I'm a little rusty on my terrified noise translation. I have trouble enough keeping my own in.
Zombies are slow. They have one advantage and that is in overwhelming numbers.
If they catch you, they rip you apart. No eating brains, no coming back to life as a zombie if they bite you, at least no reported cases of it yet.
Zombies would grab you and tear your limbs off and you would bleed to death. They probably ate you, but I hadn't seen zombie work since the Elf Front in Germany.
The Sidhe's used zombies for a couple of battles. Those weren't Haitian zombies, but any human corpse on a couple of battlefields. Mortars and machine guns took care of them just as easy as a spell.
I did not have a machine gun or mortar with me this time.
"Inglorious Bastards," I shouted and zinged off a spell from each hand.
The spells zipped through a zombie each and disengaged them. I kept it going, zing, zing, zing while Hannah led us backwards up the road.
I got sixteen before the first one got through. If you don't get a head shot, they keep coming. Try hitting that bullseye while they lumber toward you.
And you're running.
Backwards.
I thought I was doing pretty good.
One grabbed Hannah and she screamed.
I popped its head off.
Seven to go.
"There are more down here," said Elvis.
Dang it, I did not want to hear that.
"I said, there are more down here!" he shouted.
I must have said it out loud. I popped off a couple of more heads.
"Hannah!" I screamed. "Get us to a trolley."
She rushed us up a side street. My precog kicked in. I ducked and rolled as a spell ricocheted off the iron fence beside me.
I heard the witch cackle, but couldn't see her in the dark.
"Down, down!" I shouted.
Hannah flattened to the ground. Elvis threw himself on top of her, lot of good that it did. It was a noble gesture from a ghost that had no impact other than to tell me what kind of man I let die under my watch.
That made me want to save Hannah even more. I had a new rule. No more good people die while I'm around.
I heard the witch shuffle up ahead in the darkness, and the footfalls of the Haitian zombies as they trudged up the street.
I drew in a deep breath, thought the spell, one in each hand and let fly.
"Raging Bull!"
A force of will shot in each direction of the alley. I heard the witch scream before she threw up a counter spell. The Zombies had no protection. My will disintegrated them, leaving only the dusty bones of their feet on the road.
The witch had disappeared.
I limped over to Hannah.
"Are you okay?"
She shivered as I lifted her through Elvis.
"Sorry," I said.
"That tickled," Elvis told us.
"I'm okay. Did you get them all?"
She looked over my shoulder at the fourteen feet planted across the asphalt.
"That's going to cause questions," she said.
"We'll have to take care of it later," I told her. "First, get me to the cemetery so I can shut it up."
"And then?"
"Then we find the witch, stop her monster, and kill the warlock hunting for us."
"Tuesday," said Elvis. "We call that Tuesday."
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The trolley dropped us three blocks from her beetle and they stumbled along the sidewalk just as millions of other NOLA revelers before them.
I held up Hannah with an arm over her shoulders, partially to help her straight and partially to anchor her to reality.
It's not every day an academic goes up against a horde of zombies and lives to record the tale. It shook her up.
I could tell.
She was literally shaking in my arms.
“That was intense,” she said in a low rasp.
Maybe more stirred up than shaken.
“It usually is,” I answered.
“They kept coming at us, and you were blasting and zapping. Is magic always so silent?”
“It can be,” I said. “The more you train, the quieter you can be.”
“He made noise,” she said. “And he had a wand.”
I knew both.
Even though the Judge trained us to use our minds, it wasn't always easy. Part of the training is learning to ignore a million years of evolution that has kept humanity surviving.
Things like fear, and the adrenal dump that goes with it. The heart rate pops up, pumping blood where it needs to be for flight or fight. Eyes go wide so you can better take in your surroundings. Limbs twitch because fear makes you want to move, a primal urge to instant reaction.
It's why so many people jump when they get startled.
They scream to warn others.
All built into our DNA and the Judge thought it was his job to recode it.
The old Marshal of the West was still learning.
I had a couple of decades on him.
But his wands were awesome.
Two of them built into the barrels of antique Colt revolvers.
Showoff.
A shadow detached from a wall as we approached and sparks drizzled from the tip of my finger.
“Hold Marshal,” said a voice I recognized.
Claude stepped into the glowing light from a streetlamp and held up both hands.
“I come in peace,” he said.
I squeezed Hannah's shoulder and shifted her half behind me, out of the way should anything happen.
“Skulking in the dark,” I said to him. “Kind of a cliché from the book Lestat.”
He smiled, humor making his pale face incandescent in the solar LED.
“That damn book,” he snickered. “Fun reading but I shall send you something more substantial to expand your literary horizons.”
“Thanks,” I told him. “How's the conclave?”
He glanced at Hannah, then shrugged.
“The Hawks call for war, the doves sue for coexistence. It is as it has always been.”
“Which one are you?”
I couldn't help but glance over my shoulder to search for threats. The first batch of zombies might have been gone, but Phyllis was still out there.
“I am a realist,” said the vampire. “As real as one can be having lived as long as I have.”
“You're a vampire,” a voice squeaked from behind me.
“Hello, my dear,” Claude vamped up the charm. “We haven't been introduced.”
“Stop it,” I warned him.
Claude sighed.
“I am afraid it is a defense mechanism Marshal. On my honor I mean neither of you harm.”
“I'm the Watcher,” Hannah chirped, emboldened by my defense and the blood still racing through her ve
ins.
I bet it was practically singing to the vampire.
“That is a good thing to mean,” I said. “Let me return the favor. I caught a ride with a Normanii into town after I left you in the train.”
His sharp intake of breath spoke volumes.
"The Northmen are here," he seemed distracted. "This puts a new spin on the chatter I am hearing."
I could have asked for more. Hell, if I wasn't on a witch hunt I would have. But vampire’s conclave a lot. The infighting among the clans is legendary and creatures of immense power were always jockeying for more.
Half of being a vampire that survived was learning the politics of it. Probably more important than blood.
“Then let me repay the kindness of your warning with one of my own,” he said, dark eyes glittering. “The monster you seek has joined the witch you fought. You know they are in New Orleans, but do not know where yet. I will discover this and share it with you.”
“That is a kindness,” I told him.
“You have given me information far more valuable,” he said. “I only came to warn you of their partnership. Now I must do more to even the scales.”
Part of blood sucking politics was the trading of favors. Vamps hated owing anybody.
“Alright,” I agreed because you just don't turn down that kind of help when it's offered.
Claude turned and disappeared without a good bye or by your leave. I wondered if I should live as long as he, would I have forgot the niceties too?
“Did you just make a deal with a vampire?”
Hannah shifted in front of me.
“Wait until we get to your place,” I answered. “I wanted the wards between us and what else might be out there.”
And a beer.
I really wanted a beer.
Kicking zombie butt and politicking with vamps was thirsty business.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Hannah parked her beetle in the covered garage accessed through an automatic gate. The previous Marshal did good work on the wards, the car slid through with just a small stutter in the engine.
Some of the patterns made more sense now that I knew he had a relationship with this woman.
She kicked off her boots as soon as we stepped through the door and returned with two Abita. I took one from her, twisted off the top and drank a couple of sips before plopping on the sofa.
“Got any aspirin?”
She nodded and smiled, disappeared into the rear of the home. I listened as she moved from room to room, lights clicking on and off.
“If you can't find some, never mind,” I called out and used one foot to shuck off a boot l, then the other.
I nudged them under the sofa and she returned, dressed in pj's and a robe.
She held out her hand and dropped four white pills into mine.
“I found them,” she said. “I just wanted to get more comfortable.”
Comfort sounded like something I needed to so I settled back further into the couch and treated my beer on my hip.
“Do you want to talk about tonight?”
I want to drink about tonight,” she said and did just that.
She finished hers first, waited for me to drain mine and then took our empties back into the kitchen to replace them.
She came back and sat on the couch opposite me.
“One more of these and I'll be tipsy,” she giggled and locked eyes with new as she put the bottle to her lips.
“Two is my limit,” I wiggled the bottle at her and earned a pout.
“That's no fun,” she said. “Doesn't almost being killed make you appreciate being alive?”
“I do,” I took a sip. “I am. Good beer. Good company. Good fire.”
I drilled a shot into the kindling under the stacked logs in the fireplace setting a small blaze crackling.
She snuggled into the cushions and stared at the flames.
“I've never lost anyone I've loved before,” she said after the silence stretched out in a comfortable distance.
“I have. It's not easy.”
“No,” she said. “He would never take me out on the job though.”
“Part of his job is keeping you safe.”
“He did. He took all of it seriously.”
I wasn't sure who she was trying to convince.
“You're different from him.”
“I'm a different person.”
“Your magic.” she adjusted so she could face me. “It's different. It was like watching a wild animal.”
“He had more control,” I said.
“It wasn't just that. My dad was in the army and took me to a range growing up. That's how I learned to shoot. Have you ever seen a. 50 Cal?”
“I was in the Army,” I nodded.
“You were? Small world. Then you know the difference between a .45 sidearm and a .50 Cal rifle.”
I nodded.
“You're the rifle,” she said.
“Being aimed by a monkey,” Elvis chimed in.
I looked over and saw him mesmerized by the dancing flames in the hearth.
“Why do you do that,” she asked.
I felt her shift closer.
“Why do you look like there's someone there?”
Because there was. A young guy, just like you, who believed I could keep him safe and failed, I said in my mind.
“Is it a ghost?” She asked and I turned my head.
She was close to my face.
“Do the memories haunt you too?”
She leaned in and kissed me. Just for a moment, I almost let her.
She was soft, and warm and there, hopped up and excited by her brush with death, and I was hungry for the touch of a woman.
My blood was singing.
It was roaring as it pounced through my ears.
She could feel my strong heartbeat in her pain as she put her hand on my chest and it must have excited her more.
I pulled back after three seconds.
Maybe four and even then it was close.
“I have a wife,” I said.
She scooted away.
“I'm so sorry,” she stammered. “There isn't a ring and...”
“I know,” my turn to stammer. “She's been missing for a couple of years.”
“Oh. How many?”
“Ten.”
“Ten years?”
“Yes.”
“And you're holding out hope she's coming back?”
I drained the second beer and rubbed my hand on the back of my neck.
“I did go on a date a while ago.”
“So you're getting back out there?”
“She ended up being an evil witch summoning demons to earth, I confessed. The ones I'm hunting now.”
That made her laugh and she hopped off the couch. I watched her cute pert little I'm not gonna touch it butt sashay into the kitchen and come back with a couple of bottles.
We killed a sixer, she passed one to me and curled up in the leather chair.
“Can't abandon the last two in the fridge.”
I twisted the top and drank slowly.
“You know what I appreciate about you Marshal?”
She looked at the fire again.
“You don't do things half measure. Don't date for a decade and when you do, she's an arch nemesis.”
“Not my arch nemesis,” I joked. “That's a Sicilian when deathbed on the line.”
That earned an air toast.
“You know you could have spent the night in my bed and used the missing wife as an excuse in the morning. “
“That wouldn't be right,” I said and kind of felt regret that I didn't think of it.
“A boy scout.”
“They weren't around when I was growing up. But the sentiment was the same.”
She grinned, finished her beer and this time left the empties on the end table.
“I'm going to bed,” she announced and stood at the end of the sofa. “If you get cold, or scared...or lonely, feel free to join me.�
��
She left before I could answer.
“Should you stay or should you go now?” Elvis sang.
Damn it. No matter what I decided, I wasn't getting much sleep tonight.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
“There’s someone out there,” Elvis whispered in my ear.
Panic. The best alarm clock ever.
I bolted off the sofa and stared at the door.
“Where?”
The embers from last night’s fire still glowed in the hearth, a soft red glow leaking across the floor and casting weird shadows from the stacks of books.
“Some guy at the fence. He can’t come through.”
I went over to the window and peeked through the thick curtains. A shadowed figure stood by the gate and stared at the house.
“It’s not Claude,” said the ghost.
Shorter. Thicker. And human.
I stepped through the front door onto the cool planks for the front porch.
A thrall. I could tell by the eyes, the far away look that vampire hypnosis created.
“I can’t come in,” he said in a frat boy bubble voice.
I queued up a spell, just in case he was a distraction and stepped down to the fence.
“Watch my back,” I said to Elvis in a soft voice.
“Wards,” he reminded me.
I didn’t remind him that he was cowering behind wards when a couple of witches came calling to kill him.
The thrall watched me approach, looking like a Goth and Stoner got together to make his outfit. Long unkempt hair dyed black around a pale face that hadn’t seen sunlight in years. Loose baggie pajama bottoms, black to match the mood, and a black tank top completed his look. Even black sandals on his feet, yellow toenails in need of trimming.
“Nice eyes,” I told him.
They were rimmed with black, an attempt to turn them into soulless pits of despair. It ended up looking like clown make up.
Guess he didn’t expect a compliment.
“Thanks dude.”
There it was. Dude. Hippie stoner all the way. Nailed it. I expected the Scooby gang to pull up in a mystery machine any moment.
“If you can’t come in, you want me to come out and play?”
I twirled my index finger in the air.
