Mo, however, misinterpreted. "Four is always better," she grinned. Then wrapping an arm around William and Ethan, "Think of how grateful she'd be if we found it for her, boys."
I tried again. "This earring really is important to me," I said. "If I don't find it here, I'm going to keep looking." Not stop to have sex with you, I added silently. "I'll have to phone the bus company and retrace my steps."
"I'm pretty sure it's somewhere nearby," Ethan said, completely unhelpfully. "I remembered you having them both at dinner."
"Oh, okay," I said, because what else could I say? They were so damned insistent. "Look, why don't William and I get started outside since we've got the flashlight, and you two check in here and meet us when you're done?"
Finally, it was agreed.
We weren't going to have much time to free the zombies. I grabbed William's hand, as Ethan and Mo discussed the best way to make quick work of checking the floor. "Come on," I said to William.
"Hey," William said as I tugged him through the brambles. "Your arm seems a lot better."
"I… I got a little blood transfusion from a vampire."
I heard the vacuum cleaner start up as we passed the dining-room window.
"A blood transfusion? Doesn't that usually involve a lot of IVs and other specialized equipment?"
"Honestly, you'd be surprised how easy it is to accidentally swallow some blood."
"Not really," William agreed. "Just the other day I got spattered with some chicken blood and…"
"I don't really need to know details."
"Right," William said with a nod. "Anyway, I understand how it happens."
Not unless that chicken lost its life during some really nice kissing on the bed, I didn't think so. Then, what he implied caught up with me. "You killed a chicken? Like, for a ritual?"
William peered at me in the darkness, the round circles of his glasses glinting in the flash of a passing car's headlights. "I thought you didn't want to know."
We stood in front of the garage. "I don't. I'm just surprised you'd kill a chicken. I mean, that seems kind of cruel."
William leaned against the siding. He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I've been doing a lot of thinking about magic since that day that you showed me that vampires are real." William's eyes focused on the wooden light pole on the opposite side of the asphalt, but I could tell that his mind was elsewhere. "Creation and destruction are linked, Garnet. Nothing lives without killing something. Look around," he said, pointing to the browning tendrils of ivy clinging to the neighbor's fence, the flies buzzing around the garbage cans. "It's totally obvious. Flowers might look pretty, but they're leeching nutrients from the soil to live. We have to consume. Death is the only real magic."
I pursed my lips. Of course, that was only half the equation. If life came from death, then it followed that from death came life. I doubted I could convince William to expand his philosophy in the amount of time we had before Mo and Ethan came out to find us. "Look, you can be a nihilist all you want," I said. "Just tell me you weren't involved in this." I jerked up the garage door with a dramatic shove. The zombies didn't even blink.
Neither did William.
10
Capricorn
KEYWORDS:
Serious and Fatalistic
"Look, William, zombies!" I said, gesturing wildly at the dozen or so glassy-eyed living dead sitting around Mo's black VW Beetle.
He continued to be unimpressed.
"Look," I said again, though this time with a growing sense of dread. "Zombies, William," I thought maybe if I repeated myself one more time, William would suddenly realize that these moaning, shifting animated corpses were all the proof he needed that his girlfriend was bad, bad news. Then, he'd thank me for opening his eyes and join me in the quest to destroy her and her evil ways.
Only it wasn't happening that way at all.
And now I heard the sounds of people coming through the backyard, and Mo saying, "I thought I saw them heading out back."
William turned and gave me a look. It wasn't a nice one, and suddenly it dawned on me that he was completely under the sorceress's spell. It wasn't like William to be a nihilist, kill chickens, curse crows, or even toss myrrh in the face of FBI agents. She'd possessed him somehow.
"Oh, William," I said sadly.
"Get in the garage," he said, as Mo and Ethan came through the gate to stand behind me.
Mo gave me a little shove in that direction. I stumbled, but didn't quite step past the threshold. I glanced at the pick ax and shovel, thinking to use them as a weapon, only Ethan—who had seemed so nice—grabbed both. "You heard the man."
They were closing in around me, but I tried to make a break for it anyway. William grabbed me. I was startled by his wiry strength. And his utter betrayal.
"William," I said to him. "This isn't you."
In the movies, he might have crumbled in his resolve just a little to show me that the true William was still in there somewhere, but he didn't. He just gave me a ruthless push that sent me sprawling against the hood of the Beetle and shut the door with a slam.
In the dark, the smell of rotting meat filled my nostrils, threatening to gag me. I held my breath, comforting myself with the knowledge I'd earlier broken the lock. That was, until I heard the scrape of the shovel—or maybe the pick ax—being hooked over the handle and then propped snuggly against the door.
Great.
Outside, I heard words being exchanged. Something about whether or not I had a cell, and who was going to clean up in the morning.
Clean up?
When a folding chair clattered to the floor, I squeaked. A moan followed by shuffling, then more sounds of chairs being pushed aside.
The zombies were going to eat me? Did they really do that?
When I felt a hand touch my elbow and smelled fetid breath far too close to my face, I decided I didn't want to wait around to find out. I started screaming, but realized pretty quickly there wasn't much point to it. My noises didn't deter the zombies, made my throat scratchy, and probably couldn't be heard very well beyond the immediate vicinity of the garage. Plus, it was the middle of the night. Who, besides me, would be out wandering this late?
I grabbed the shakers from my pocket and waved them around menacingly. The sharp scent of pepper hit my nose, and I sneezed. The zombies followed suit. Well, I thought, this wasn't my intended effect, but maybe the sneezes would keep them off balance. I held my breath and continued to dash salt and pepper in the air.
The one who had ahold of me let go, although he didn't seem terribly deterred by my random condiment waving. In fact, it seemed zombies could see pretty well in the dark, because one of them managed to grab the shaker right out of my hand.
Okay, Plan B.
I tossed the remaining shaker at the nearest zombie. Then, with all the speed I possessed, I clambered on top of the Bug. The rounded hood and sloped windshield made my feet slip, but the combat boots had good traction. I soon found myself crouching on top of the car, my head scraping the rafters. Feeling around the dusty, rough wood for a grip, I hooked my arms and tried to haul myself all the way up.
Upper arm strength had never been my forte, having flunked chin-ups in gym class and, despite Parrish's transfusion, my shoulder was not up to full strength. So, I flailed around, secretly kind of glad no one could see how stupid I looked in the dark. As a bonus side effect, my lame efforts apparently ended up landing a few good face kicks to the zombies who were in hot pursuit. Eventually, I was able to blindly use someone's head to give myself an extra boost to swing my legs up and over.
Now that I was perched on the rafters, I discovered the boards were actually quite narrow and of dubious structural integrity. In other words, they shook under my weight. Of course, now that I was up I wondered what to do next.
From the sliding, thudding noises coming from below, I suspected that the zombies were none too agile and were finding the slick, curved vehicle somewhat difficult to climb up.
That, at least, bought me some time.
I tried looking around and all I saw was dark, dark, and even more dark. Except there, just ahead, was a patch of slightly less blackness. I blinked. Some kind of mirage caused by desperation? I strained to make sense of what I saw. Further inspection revealed a square section that appeared downright gray. A painted-over window? Could I be so lucky?
Maybe. Only now I had to pray that it was big enough for me to squeeze through, and not, say, facing the house full of bad guys from whom I was attempting to escape. Not too much to ask, was it?
Except getting there involved moving across the rafters in the dark. I put my hand out, attempting to get a feel of the beams. The rough wood and exposed nails scratched my palms, and I found myself trying to remember when my last tetanus shot had been. The moans below were becoming more like howls of desperate animals, which reminded me I had bigger things to worry about than lockjaw.
I leaned forward, testing my weight on the beams. I did not like the way everything seemed to sway when I shifted up onto all fours. I kept my eyes trained on the gray patch and the possibility of freedom. I could do this. It was all just a matter of one trembling, inching movement after another.
The narrow width of the rafters cut into my knees sharply. But I had the phantom sensation of hands reaching up to try to grab me, followed by the real sensation of someone putting weight on the boards I was trying to balance on. There was a deep creak, a kind of bending, straining noise that sounded a lot like a board before it split, that made me scurry the rest of the way.
I pressed a hand against the surface of the gray and felt the cool, smoothness of glass. I pushed harder, hoping against hope that the window would just pop out. When it didn't, I felt for a latch. Finding one, I grappled with it, only to discover it had been painted shut.
The zombies had gone quiet.
I didn't like that at all. I got the creepy-crawly feeling of eyes on me, like the steel-hard gaze of a predator who has finally cornered its prey.
No time to screw around, I decided. I shifted so that I could put my combat boots up against the pane, then I reached for Lilith. I felt her heat rise, molten and sweet. Power flowed through my veins like an avalanche of lava.
The window popped off like a cork. It flew across the alley and crashed against the neighbor's garage, filling the night with the explosive sound of shattering glass.
Oops. I guess Mo was going to know I'd made an escape. I wedged myself out the window, feet first. I could feel the cool air of freedom through the rips in my jeans.
I was ready to thumb my nose at the approaching zombie, except my butt stuck. My hips, it appeared, were just a few inches too wide for the window.
And I could feel the rafters shaking. The enterprising zombie who'd managed to scale the car was closing the gap. Soon, it'd be close enough to bite me.
I tried wiggling, and that only seemed to make things tighter. If I didn't die tonight, I was going on a diet starting tomorrow. No more chocolate ice cream when I'm feeling depressed.
I smelled zombie breath.
That was, if I lived.
I gave the zombie a smack with my hand. Okay, it was meant to be a manly punch, but my awkward position and complete lack of hand-to-hand combat skills meant it was really more of a biff across the cheeks. It snarled, grabbed my head, and slammed my face down into the rafters.
Ouch.
Lilith rumbled across my stomach as if to say, "Lemme at 'em." I was seriously considering unleashing Her completely, despite the fact that I was more than a bit squeamish about killing zombies. Even though I suspected they were already dead. Then I felt a tug on my ankles.
Thinking it was probably Mo or one of her henchpersons, I gave whomever it was a swift kick.
"Damn it, Garnet, it's me," came Sebastian's irritated voice. Never had someone so pissed off sound so wonderful.
I stopped kicking and let him take hold of my legs. I tried to think skinny thoughts, and he gave a mighty pull. I felt rotted wood give, my hips and shoulders bruise, and then suddenly I was falling onto the hood of Sebastian's black 1934 Cord Phaeton sedan.
Just as I was starting to enjoy the feeling of being tangled up with Sebastian, the zombie tumbled out on top of us. Then, like some kind of undead lemming, another one started to follow.
The zombie grabbed ahold of my waist and started to squeeze. As I pushed and clawed against him, I found myself noticing that he looked like he had probably been good-looking once. This guy struck me more as a swimmer. He had the body type, I thought, as a curtain started to descend in front of my vision. I heard the crack of breaking bones and assumed they were my ribs.
Then, quite amazingly, I could breathe again. Swimmer-zombie lay limply against the garage door, his arms dangling uselessly at odd, unnatural angles. Sebastian caught the next zombie before it even hit the roof of his car and gave it a push that sent it flying. Then, Sebastian noticed another one coming and flashed me a look. I didn't need any instruction. I slid off the roof and got into the passenger seat of his car as fast as my wobbly and bruised legs would carry me.
When I got in, I proceeded to concentrate on breathing. At some point, Sebastian joined me inside the car.
When he gunned the engine, I realized he'd left the car running like a good getaway driver. The tires squealed as he backed up. Zombies continued to rain from the garage window, and those on the ground slowly picked themselves up. Sebastian's car was a pre-Depression era boat, so he had to do a lot of steering wheel cranking to get into position. Meanwhile, I clutched the edge of my seat, wishing the car had seat belts, and stared out into the blank eyes of the zombies. The whole scene made me feel a little like an extra in some insane remake of Night of the Living Dead.
We raced down the alley, bouncing on well-oiled shocks. Sebastian wasted no time getting out of Mo's neighborhood. After about a mile or so, he slowed to his usual five miles above the posted speed limit.
So, far neither of us had said a word.
After a few more seconds of silence, I said, "Thanks."
"You're welcome," he answered somewhat perfunctorily.
I stole a glance at Sebastian. He'd dressed up to come see me. My favorite silver-gray button-down clung to his broad shoulders the way only silk could. Tight black jeans and cowboy boots accented long, sleek legs. A black velvet ribbon, tied in a very eighteenth century style bow, held his long, black hair back from his face. He looked elegant and sexy—and very anachronistic sitting behind the wheel of a Mafia car.
"Sorry I ditched you," I said. "I didn't mean to. I was just going out for a walk."
He grunted an acknowledgment that seemed very much a yeah-I'm-sorry-too.
"About Parrish," I said, deciding we might as well start this fight if we were going to have it. "You don't have to worry about him. I'm never going to see him again."
Sebastian's next grunt sounded more like a laugh. "Oh, you will."
"No, he's gone off to—"
Sebastian cut me off. "I know what he's gone off to do, Garnet. The entire tristate region knows what he's gone off to do."
"What are you talking about?"
Instead of answering, Sebastian flipped on the radio. Josh Turner crooned that I had no idea how turned on he was just to be my man. Sebastian tapped another button and a car salesman yelled about low, low prices. On the next station, ironic on so many levels, Rob Zombie thundered out "Dracula."
Sebastian caught my smile, returned it, and gave up trying to find whatever it was he hoped to demonstrate. We sang along and bobbed our heads to the slamming beat. When the song ended, Sebastian turned down the volume on Black Sabbath's "War Pigs."
"Why doesn't that ever work like it does in the movies? No one ever gives you the news when you really want it. Anyway," Sebastian said. "Parrish's high-speed chase was all over the news ten minutes ago."
"Jeez."
"Yeah, and your boy keeps veering back toward town. I get the sense maybe he doesn't want to get too far away from
a certain county morgue. Honestly, if it were me, I'd have gone for the standoff and gotten myself shot long before now. He's such a drama queen."
I chuckled despite myself.
"I still think you should have gone to the south of France."
I gave Sebastian a hopeful look. "Maybe we still could."
"If I take you to the Cote d'Azur, you going to ditch me again?"
"Maybe," I smiled.
"Hmph," he grunted again, but his eyes glittered fondly.
"Thanks again for the rescue," I said.
He tapped his belly in the spot where I usually imagined Lilith residing in me. "If I can't occasionally be a knight in shining armor, what's the point," he said, as we waited at a stoplight.
I finally thought to ask, "Where are we going?"
"Parrish was last sighted on I-90 headed east. I thought we'd try to intercept."
"What? Why?"
"So you can say good-bye."
At first I thought Sebastian was being cruel, but he gave me a long, sad look, like, somehow, he'd been in my shoes, or maybe Parrish's, and he understood.
"Plus," Sebastian said with a smile that showed just the hint of sharp canines. "I want to see the bastard die."
* * * *
Of course, catching up to Parrish proved difficult. Like every good farmboy, Sebastian had an illegal scanner bolted to the underside of the dash. To me, the entire police frequency sounded like babbling, but occasionally I could pick out county road numbers or other directional phrases. Sebastian seemed to know where we were headed and would suddenly veer right or left accordingly.
The moon shone over empty fields. The farther out we drove from city lights, the more stars became visible. I could make out Orion's belt low on the horizon, and the big W of Cassiopeia. The Milky Way was a thin swath, like wisps of clouds, overhead.
"Are you ever going to explain the whole zombie army thing to me?" he asked after we'd driven for a while down a gravel road I was quite certain wasn't on any map. "Or is this one of those things I'm not privy to as your boyfriend?"
I sensed a little bitterness in that last line, but for the sake of the cease-fire we'd so recently negotiated I let it lie. "William's new girlfriend, Izzy's cousin, is an evil voodoo priestess," I explained. "Izzy and I think she's been killing frat boys and wage slaves and making them into zombies."
Dead Sexy Page 18
