Dead Sexy

by Tate Hallaway

  "Go ahead," I told him. Dominguez blanched slightly, but didn't protest.

  With his free hand, Sebastian grabbed the bowl full of Snickers. "And trick-or-treaters are arriving. I'll man the front door for a while."

  "Okay, uh, thanks," I said, uncertain if Sebastian was covering hurt feelings again or not.

  He caught my eyes and said, "It's really okay, Garnet. Honestly."

  So Dominguez and I went back to reading his chart. In the middle of discussing his midpoints, Dominguez leaned close and asked, "What does it say about love?"

  At the door, someone yelled, "Trick or treat!" I could hear Sebastian complimenting the children on their costumes and admonishing them to only take one candy bar.

  I'd already explained his Venus, so I was confused. "What do you mean?"

  Dominguez's gray eyes twinkled mischievously. "Where in my chart does it say I'm a sucker for a pretty Goth?"

  "Oh, that's not on here," I said, waving a dismissive hand over the chart. "That's probably the love spell talking."

  "I thought you broke that."

  "I did." But Lilith cast it aside at some point after Dominguez shot me, so who knew where it was or what condition it was in?

  His lips were close to mine. "Then why do I still want to kiss you?"

  I was saved from having to answer by the sound of someone coming up the steps. I checked the clock over the sink. "Guests are arriving," I announced, standing up so fast, the chair nearly tipped over.

  Dominguez caught it with the tips of his fingers that poked out from the cast. He was still smiling at me, as if he knew that part of me felt the same. I mean, he was awfully sexy for a cop. And, he'd been kind to me. No, more than that—he'd let me get away with murder.

  I shook my head. That didn't mean I owed him any more than my gratitude. That love spell must be clouding my judgment too.

  Or maybe I liked him.

  To avoid thinking about that, I grabbed a few cold beer bottles from the fridge to offer the guests. Dominguez stood up as I pushed the door shut with my elbow. "Can I help with anything?" he asked.

  I pointed to the bags of chips. "Do you want to bring in those?"

  When I swung open the door to the living room, I was pretty sure the first arrivals were Parrish's ghouls. One of them, a very pretty young man in leather and denim with long, raven-black hair and brilliant colored-contact-lens green eyes was leaning close to the coffin whispering something that sounded like, "About that twenty bucks I owe you…"

  He stood up and smiled a Hollywood grin—all teeth and snake-oil charm—when I offered him a beer. "Mighty kind of you, ma'am," he drawled.

  "I'm Garnet," I said, "And this is Gabriel Dominguez."

  "Adrian," he said, taking in Dominguez with a suspicious once-over. "No one said anything about cops."

  "Dominguez is here as my friend," I said.

  Two other people, both of them women in short skirts, stood near the door eyeing Sebastian and the candy bowl. "Oh." The tallest one, with red hair sweeping past her shoulders, smiled warmly at Sebastian. "So, you're not her boyfriend?"

  "He is," I said, just as Sebastian said, "I am."

  "Pity," she murmured, and wandered over to the coffee table where Sebastian had put out cold cuts and vegetables. She sat herself down, crossing her legs in a way that either intentionally or unconsciously showed off their shapeliness. Even though I wasn't much of a connoisseur of feminine beauty, I had to be impressed by the expensive Italian leather pumps. In her blazer, silk tank top and freshwater pearls, she looked almost too polished and elegant to be one of Parrish's friends. Except here she was.

  The other woman, who had wide blue eyes and a nervous expression, sidled up to me. She brushed short blond curls from her eyes from a pale, freckled face. "About Parrish," she whispered. "Is he… he's not really… all the way dead is he?"

  I glanced at Dominguez to see if he'd overheard.

  Dominguez, like Sebastian, seemed captivated by the red-haired woman on the couch. For her part, she munched on a carrot stick and leafed through an old issue of In Touch I'd left on the end table.

  "Daniel is going to be back, isn't he?" Nervous blonde asked. "Later tonight maybe?"

  I was stunned to hear her so casually use Parrish's first name that I couldn't even formulate the words to explain the situation.

  Noticing my distress apparently, Adrian put an arm around me and turned us away from where Dominguez lounged against the dinning-room table. Adrian smelled surprisingly good, like fresh lavender and mint. Though it should have felt presumptuous, his touch was casual and light. He held his arm there with a kind of confidence that was almost, but not entirely, attractive. "Britta isn't exactly the soul of discretion."

  "Adrian, aren't you worried?" Britta asked. "What if? I mean, where will… we, you know?"

  Adrian glanced at Sebastian briefly. "There are others," he said, and I wondered how he could tell. It wasn't like Sebastian had "vampire" tattooed on his forehead, and, in point of fact, the sun was only just now setting. Sebastian had dressed appropriately for the wake in a black suit and tie. His hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail. Sure, he was the best-looking guy in the room, but nothing about him should have said "bloodsucker." Maybe Adrian could smell some kind of pheromone or something, like a wolfhound tracking prey.

  Adrian leaned over to speak into Britta's ear and his dark purple silk shirt shifted. I could see a dark bruise on his collarbone. "Remember the news? The master is obviously playing a game with the police."

  The master? Cripes, had Parrish been serious about that? I shrugged out from under Adrian's arm and moved over to where Sebastian munched on some potato chips near the door. When I got up close enough to speak softly, I asked, "Please tell me you don't have your ghouls call you master."

  "If they did, it would be purely voluntarily." He smiled wickedly.

  The woman on the couch, who had been close enough to hear our exchange, flashed Sebastian a knowing look. She sucked the dip off the tip of the carrot stick suggestively.

  I gave her my best don't-mess-with-my-man stare.

  Britta flounced over to flirt with Dominguez; I heard her opening gambit of "are you really a police officer?" with accompanying shy giggle. Adrian sauntered over to join the redhead, both of them looking far too pretty for my ratty couch.

  "So, Adrian, what is it that you do?" Sebastian asked in that sort of bored/sort of interested I-guess-we-should-make-small-talk tone.

  The redhead chuckled. "What doesn't he do?"

  "I'm up for just about anything," Adrian agreed in a way that made me ponder his use of the term "up."

  Strangely, I could sort of understand why Parrish would like this guy. After all, he was apparently sexually adventurous, overtly available, breathing, and smelled good. For Parrish that was kind of a win-win-win-win.

  The ringing of the doorbell interrupted my speculation about Parrish's tastes. I went down to answer it. I nabbed the candy bowl just in case it was trick-or-treaters. I opened the door to a fairy princess and a mummy. The fairy princess was in his mid-twenties and should have probably considered shaving his legs for the pink glitter tutu, though the wings went well with the cobra tattoo on his naked chest. "Dude," he said, "is this the party-wake thing?"

  The mummy nodded enthusiastically. I suspected his "wrappings" were merely toilet paper. Though I could see his jeans poking out in places, he'd done a good job covering his whole body. I suspected several dorms' restrooms had been pilfered in the making of his costume.

  "Sorry," I said. "Wrong house."

  The fairy looked especially crestfallen. The mummy took two Snickers and mumbled an apology. Though they walked off, the fairy kept glancing back at my somber black skirt and poking his mummy-buddy in the ribs. I suspected they'd be back later to try again.

  Some real trick-or-treaters came next, all skeleton masks and superhero costumes. I gave them each a candy and headed back upstairs somewhat reluctantly.

  The social sh
uffling that had happened in my brief absence horrified me. Sebastian was speaking quite earnestly about something to Adrian next to the spider plant. Dominguez sat on the couch between Britta and the smoldering redhead.

  I was just trying to decide who I wanted to break up the most when the bell rang again. This time I answered the door to a gaggle of college-age girls. They wore black, but they each had on some kind of Halloween hairpiece—cat ears, devil horns, antennae, and Playboy bunny ears. I was about to turn them away when I noticed the bruise on Playboy bunny's inside arm, which looked suspiciously like a bite mark. It might have been a coincidence, but in the absence of any other calling card, I let them in.

  With the addition of the four coeds, the party started to get a bit livelier. Playboy bunny had a little hysterical fit when she saw the coffin and demanded to know if he was really in there.

  "This is a traditional wake," I explained, hoping that maybe the addition of an actual corpse might convince them this party wasn't crash-worthy. But Playboy surprised me by being moved to tears. Adrian was quick with a handkerchief and a shoulder to blubber on.

  The doorbell rang again and this time I found myself admitting a trim, athletic Asian man in a fabulous paisley suit. Even if he wasn't one of Parrish's ghouls, he was just too eyecatching not to let in on sheer principle. I was rewarded when I noticed Adrian sneer in Paisley's general direction.

  Sebastian answered the next ring and came back with a slightly lighter candy bowl. Dominguez seemed to be chatting up Cat-ears, while Antenna and Devil Horns stood close enough to mount a girlfriend rescue. Paisley made a beeline for the coffin and started talking to it in hushed, loving tones. I suspected a lot of people would, especially those in the know, but it was still fairly disconcerting to see.

  Someone I didn't know let in a group of people including a bearded biker in a black leather kilt and his harem of Renaissance Festival girlfriends in plaids wrapped as tight as saris. Sebastian tapped the keg and Barney disappeared under the couch.

  The noise of conversation and laughter grew. My apartment was wall-to-wall strangers eating my food and drinking my beer at alarming rates. I pulled some emergency blue corn chips from the top of the fridge to refill the rapidly emptying bowls. Luckily, people seemed to be bringing their own alcohol, apparently even some good stuff since a bottle of Jameson Irish whiskey appeared on top of Parrish's casket.

  When I next went to answer the door for trick-or-treaters, I noticed my downstairs neighbors had opened their apartment to partygoers. A strong scent of marijuana came from their living room. Some kind of thrash metal had been turned up on the stereo.

  It was getting late, so the trick-or-treaters were starting to become the preteen variety. They had barely cobbled-together costumes that I suspected came from their everyday clothes, since one of them was a football player and the other a cheerleader. Both held very large sacks of candy. I wanted to ask them which little kid they mugged to get such a big stash, but instead divided the remaining candy between them and turned off the porch light, the universal signal to trick-or-treaters that the house was off limits.

  If only I could come up with a similar signal to stem the tide of people arriving for Parrish's wake. Maybe running out of beer… I sighed. This party was already truly out of control. Parrish should be proud.

  I stood on the steps for a moment reveling in the fresh air when I smelled the distinct odor of bratwurst coming from the backyard—my backyard. Walking around the side of the house, I found several people standing around the chiminea I used in outdoor rituals. A fire blazed—made from what, I wasn't sure I wanted to know. A former U.S. president, a hobo, and a sailor waved brats near the fire, while intermittently taking swigs of cheap beer. They used my bamboo fencing for skewers, dirt and all. Nixon might have been impeached, but he was the only one smart enough to be holding the dirty end of the stick.

  Elbowing my way through the thickening crowd toward them, I intended to explain the fire hazards involved with alcohol and open flames when I spotted a zombie, a real one, near the compost pile. Maybe she was trying to blend in with the other dead things, but she was doing a piss-poor job of it. She rocked from one foot to the other, while staring unblinkingly at me.

  Besides, I recognized her. She was the waitress from the deli. When our eyes met, she began shuffling toward me.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the book-buying jock moving in my direction also. Before they could surround me, I ran. I tried to head back inside toward the kitchen. I needed a big, fat container of Morton salt, ASAP.

  Unfortunately, going anywhere fast was hampered by the press of partiers. I bumped into a bride of Frankenstein and jostled a white-haired, black-suited undertaker who may or may not have been in costume. After a dozen "excuse mes" and "coming throughs" my progress could be measured in negative numbers; I was farther from the back door than when I started. The zombies were within grabbing range.

  When a hand touched my shoulder, I swung violently. My fist connected satisfyingly with flesh, until I noticed the person I'd hit was Sebastian. His hand cupped his chin and he gave me a long-suffering look over the tips of his fingers.

  "It is a very good thing I regenerate," he murmured. "Life with you is a damn hazard."

  "You didn't happen to bring any salt with you, did you?"

  Sebastian shook his head. "And I bear bad news."

  My eyes stayed focused on the waitress zombie, who looked to me the most ready to strike. "What could be worse than killer zombies?"

  "Turn around. I'll watch your back," he said.

  I pivoted slowly on my heels, afraid of what I might see. Directly in front of me stood William, dressed quite dapperly in a dark suit and bow tie, and Maureen, looking somber in a black dress with only the hint of gold at her neck and wrists. William had that frighteningly purposeful look of possession in his eyes and gripped a deadly looking cane.

  "I'm so sorry for your loss," purred Maureen, her whiskey-scratched voice imbuing every syllable with menace. The firelight danced across her brightly dyed hair.

  Somehow her magic did what mine could not; the crowd parted to give us some breathing room. There was an unimaginable empty space of five feet between us. I felt a little like the Earps at the O.K. Corral, except instead of tumbleweeds we were surrounded by a crowd of a hundred and fifty drunken onlookers all dressed for Halloween.

  This was the point at which it would have been cool to say, "The jig is up," or "I have you now," except Mo totally owned this scene. I wasn't the one with the zombie army at my command or my friend as a kind of possessed hostage standing by her side. So, instead, I had to go with the much less dramatic, "What do you want?"

  She gave me that half-lidded glance that always made me feel like maybe I'd forgotten to get dressed, and said, "Lots of things, but I'll settle for you leaving me and mine alone."

  Huh?

  Other than preferring William in his usual addled state, I hadn't really considered myself after anything of hers. I mean, sure I stopped attacks, but I hadn't intentionally set out to do Mo any harm. More like the other way around.

  Apparently Maureen mistook my confused frown for deepening resolve, because she said, "Lay off salting my zombies."

  "Okay," I said. After all, I felt I could agree to that, given that Izzy had done the most salting in the last several days. Still, I wasn't going to make any concessions without first making some demands of my own. "Let William go."

  She laughed. Actually it was much more of a tee-hee than a full-throated villainous chuckle, but it was still pretty ominous given the circumstances. "William volunteers for his position."

  Did I want to know about William's "positions" with Mo? And, anyway, I didn't buy it. William was scared of her. "What, like your zombies? That's slavery, you know. And murder."

  At this point I realized that the crowd had actually grown quieter. People stood around us in rapt attention, plastic glasses of beer forgotten in their hands. Someone in a black lace nightie th
at seemed far too skimpy for forty-degree weather asked, "Dude, is this some kind of live-action role-playing game?"

  Great, now we had an audience.

  That's when the zombies made their move.

  12

  Pisces

  KEYWORDS:

  Indolent and Sacrificing

  Two zombies leaped quite suddenly on Sebastian. He'd been watching them, but he was still unprepared for the flying kicks coming from two directions. Superhuman strength wasn't the same as super balance, or, apparently, reaction time because Sebastian went down. Hard.

  This garnered applause and hoots; others booed. The crowd was choosing sides. Meanwhile, Sebastian's face was getting ground into dormant sod. I had to do something. But what? Zombies closed in on me as well.

  A second-quarter moon glowed palely in a crystal-clear, star-dappled sky. The air blew crisply against my cheek, carrying the scent of burning paper and rotting leaves. Time slowed, as Lilith made Her presence available to me. I sensed a silver cord stretching between Sebastian and me, power flowing from core to core.

  Mo took a step back.

  Sebastian shook loose from his attackers as easily as a dog flicks off water. He stood beside me and grasped my hand. Skin to skin, I felt Lilith take another small step to the surface. Heat poured through my veins.

  In unison, the crowd said, "Ooooh," like they were watching Fourth of July fireworks.

  Out of the midnight sky came a single crow. It dive-bombed the zombie nearest me, foiling an attack with a war cry of "Ah-ha!"

  William came at us, cane raised. The leather-kilt-wearing biker tackled him, body-slamming William to the ground like a pro wrestler. William, not even breaking from his serious expression for surprise, twisted in the biker's meaty grasp and gave the guy a knock to the head with the carved metal handle of the cane. Biker guy let go. He sat down on his butt on the edge of the concrete patio surrounding the chiminea, pawing at his forehead. "That fucking hurt, you twerp. This is supposed to be a game!"

  I gave Sebastian's hand a squeeze. It was time to call out that loa before anyone else got injured. I'd been bringing only bits of Lilith's strength to the surface since the big, bad ritual that split Her in two, and with Sebastian's hand in mine I felt I had almost surgical control.