Deadtown d-3

by Nancy Holzner

  Juliet laughed and licked her fangs. Costello’s gaze went back and forth between us, looking confused and more than a little worried.

  “I take it you don’t come here much,” I said.

  He let out a breath and shook his head. “First time. I heard you tell Attorney Kane you’d try to meet him here tonight. I wanted to talk to you.”

  “More questions about George?”

  He grinned. “That, too.”

  COSTELLO ORDERED BEER, A KILLIAN’S. AS FOR ME, I’D HAD more than enough alcohol for one night, so I had Axel pour me a club soda. We moved to a booth, where I repeated the story of seeing the Destroyer.

  “I’m not up on all this paranormal stuff,” Costello said. “Life used to be a lot simpler.”

  “It only seemed simple, you know. We’ve been here all along. Don’t you think it’s better to have the monsters out in the open instead of lurking in dark alleys?”

  He didn’t answer. For a moment, the look on his face made me think I didn’t really want to hear his reply. Then he blinked and shook himself. “What can you tell me about this shield?” he asked. “The one that’s supposed to keep these Hellions out of the city.”

  “It was created after the plague by a consortium of white witches, representatives from all the local covens: Beacon Hill, the Back Bay, Southie, Cambridge, Somerville, all over. Something had to be done fast, because Hellions were already creating havoc. You remember what it was like then, don’t you? Riots, looting, arson. That kind of havoc attracts even more Hellions—it spirals. So an emergency magical response team was put together. Sorcerers drove out the Hellions that were already here. Then the witches erected the shield keep them out.”

  “Doesn’t seem to have worked.”

  “It did, though. I’ve never seen a Hellion in Boston.” Until tonight. “The shield must have been breached somehow.”

  “So we have to tell the witches to fix it.”

  I shook my head. “It’s not that easy. The Destroyer was inside the city tonight. If it’s still around, repairing the shield would trap it inside.”

  “And then?”

  “It would never rest until it had destroyed the city and everyone in it.” As it was already threatening to do.

  We looked at each other. Daniel picked up his beer and took a swig. I felt kind of sorry for him. Boston was his city, and as a cop it was his job to protect it. But he had no clue what he was up against here.

  “There’s another thing about the shield,” I said. “I think someone cut a hole in it on purpose. If that’s the case, the breach will be hidden. Even with the best witches, it could take a while to find the hole and repair the damage.”

  “Why on earth would anyone purposely put a hole in the shield that protects the city?”

  “Somebody summoned the Destroyer. Whoever did that has plans for it—and is way ahead of us.”

  Daniel was silent for a few minutes, staring at the table, taking it all in. Then he looked up. “So what do you suggest?”

  “Talk to the witches who created the shield. The Department of Magic has their names. They can start searching for the hole. And they might have some idea of who made it.”

  “But what about the demon?”

  “Demons are my department.” Costello gave me a long, searching look, then opened his mouth like he was going to try to talk me out of it. “It’s mine, Detective. That Hellion murdered my father. I’m going to kill the damn thing.”

  A FEW MINUTES LATER, THE DOOR BANGED OPEN AND Kane stood in the doorway, surveying the bar. His silver hair gleamed like a warrior’s helmet, and he still wore the gray suit, looking as sharp as it had this morning. He did a double take when he saw me sitting with Costello, then nodded at us. He came inside, followed by two zombies. And then a guy with a TV camera. And then a whole troupe of other people I didn’t know who were carrying lights and bags and clipboards.

  There was a stir when the zombies came in. Humans turned in their seats to get a better look. We were only a couple of blocks outside of Deadtown, but you just didn’t see zombies at Creature Comforts very often. Even the New Combat Zone was off-limits to zombies without a permit.

  After a word with Axel, Kane strode right over to our booth, his gray eyes lit up with a strange glow. “Detective Costello,” he said, extending his hand. “I have to admit I never expected to see you here.”

  “I needed to ask Vicky a couple of questions.”

  When Costello used my first name, Kane raised an eyebrow, then frowned in my direction. For a moment I could’ve sworn he was jealous. “You shouldn’t talk to the police unless I’m present,” he said. Of course. His disapproval of my sitting here with a handsome detective was purely professional. Silly me.

  “Daniel’s not on duty, so I figured it was okay.” It was the first time I’d said Costello’s first name out loud. I kind of liked the way it sounded, especially because this time Kane really did look jealous. “Don’t worry, Kane. I didn’t give away any classified PA information. The secret handshake is safe.”

  Kane shot me a look that promised we’d continue this discussion later. Then he turned to look at the door, where the zombies stood awkwardly. There were two of them, a male and a female. They both looked like they’d died young—late twenties, maybe. They were good-looking for zombies. No holes in their faces, no missing limbs, just a couple of fingers gone from the guy’s left hand. He wore a Red Sox sweatshirt and jeans; the female zombie was in an orange dress that didn’t flatter the greenish tone of her skin. She clutched her handbag to her chest, as if she were drowning and it was a life vest.

  “What are those two doing here?” I asked. “And what’s with the camera crew?”

  Kane had been trying to wave them over to join us, but they stood where they were. “They’re here to make a point,” he said. He went to the door, took both zombies by the hand, and led them over to us.

  “Well, Detective, aren’t you going to arrest them? Aren’t these citizens committing a crime by leaving Designated Area One without a permit?”

  Costello leaned back in the booth and squinted at the zombies. “I don’t make a habit of pestering people for IDs when I’m off duty, Counselor. As far as I can tell, these are a couple of college kids in their Halloween costumes.”

  I realized what Kane was doing. “Don’t drag Daniel into this,” I said. “Make your propaganda without him.”

  “It’s not propaganda; you know that.” He turned to Costello. “We’re taping a paid political advertisement to rebut Baldwin’s claims that Paranormal Americans are a threat to humans. Will you say on camera that you can’t tell these previously deceased humans from college students?” He gestured to the cameraman.

  “Sorry. Can’t do something like that without running it past the chief first. We’re not allowed to take sides publicly in politics.” He slid along the booth’s vinyl seat and stood up.

  Kane stepped close in front of him. Tense, they measured each other up. Fists clenched. Chests puffed. You could almost smell the testosterone. Axel came halfway around the bar, watching. The cop and the werewolf stared at each other, eye to eye, almost exactly the same height. I would’ve enjoyed the view if I hadn’t been worried that in half a second they’d start tearing each other apart.

  Then Daniel relaxed just a hair, but enough to signal to Kane’s werewolf senses, loud and clear, that he wasn’t interested in fighting. A lot of werewolves would take that as a sign of submission, but Kane didn’t press it. He stepped back, relaxing as well, his hands unclenching.

  They nodded to each other. Daniel turned and walked toward the door. I couldn’t pick up any fear in the way he carried himself. Pretty brave for a human, turning his back on a werewolf.

  Over at the bar, Axel picked up his towel and started wiping glasses.

  Kane watched Daniel until the oak door closed behind him. I thought I heard a low growl, but maybe it was just the buzz of conversation around us. He went back to his frightened-looking zombies and started
herding them around.

  “One more thing.”

  I looked up, again into those blue eyes. Why did Daniel Costello’s eyes always draw my gaze like a magnet?

  “I thought you left,” I said.

  “I did. But I came back to tell you something.”

  “Yes, Detective?”

  The eyes went all crinkly with his smile. “Call me Daniel. I like the way it sounds when you say it.”

  I didn’t answer. Anything I said would’ve come out as a squeak.

  “Here,” he said, handing me a card. “I wanted to give you this.” It was his business card, listing his precinct address and phone number. He touched my hand—I hoped he couldn’t feel how that made my pulse race—and twisted slightly to flip the card over. There was another phone number written in pencil on the back.

  “That’s my home number. Please don’t hesitate to call me, at either one.”

  “You mean about the Hellion?”

  Just the slightest increase in pressure on my hand. You couldn’t call it a squeeze, but it was—something. “About anything.” He smiled and exited Creature Comforts for the second time that evening.

  12

  KANE SHOOED AWAY THE COLLEGE BOYS WHO’D BEEN SITTING next to Juliet. They grumbled, and Husky Boy shook his fist in Kane’s face, clueless that this was a stupid thing to do to a werewolf. Lucky for him, Kane was in public-relations mode tonight. Juliet leaned over and whispered something to the angry kid, and he moved off to one side, although he clearly wasn’t happy about it.

  Next, Kane arranged the zombies at the bar, getting the male a beer and the female a glass of white wine. He kept telling them to relax, but they were both stiff. What else could you expect from zombies?

  Someone from the camera crew set up lights around the zombies, and a woman in black leggings and a silvery tunic started patting powder all over their faces. Makeup on zombies! It seemed, well, overkill. Zombies had spongy, green-gray flesh. Everyone knew that. If Kane wanted people to accept the zombies as they were, trying to make these two look more human could easily backfire. The makeup girl fluttered her powder puff across Juliet’s face. So she’d be on camera, too. Nothing like a sexy vampire to give the zombies some credibility, I guess. Of course, as Tina had pointed out, there’s undead, and then there’s undead. All you had to do was glance at these three to see that.

  Kane came over and put his hand on my arm. “Do you want to be in the shoot?”

  “No, thanks. I have no ambition whatsoever to be on TV.”

  “You sure? Might be good for business.”

  “You’re not making a commercial for my business, Kane. You want me there because I look human. I can sit next to the big bad zombies and not look scared.”

  “And what’s wrong with that?” He smiled one of those smiles that melted you all the way down to your toes. How come he was always looked so damn good when he was trying to talk me into something?

  “Nothing, I guess.” I shrugged; I wasn’t in the mood to melt. “I just don’t want to be on TV.” I nodded at Husky Boy, now skulking at a table. He wore his baseball cap sideways, making him look like he hadn’t yet perfected his dressing-himself skills. “Why not use a real human?”

  “Those kids are drunk. They’d just make goofy faces at the camera.” But he seemed to like the idea. He scanned the crowd, then went over to talk to a woman who was sitting at a table with three others. She had that Midwestern tourist vibe going on. She shook her head and batted Kane away, but she was laughing. Kane whispered something to her and treated her to one of his trademark smiles. I’ve yet to see a woman who could resist the Kane charm when he had it going full blast. A minute later, she was seated at the bar getting powdered.

  The lights guy had finished setting up, and the guy with the clipboard—who must be the director—said, “Listen up, people! Everybody in position, now. Let’s get started.”

  Kane stepped in front of the group at the bar, adjusting his tie and closing his eyes as he got the powder-puff treatment. The director moved everyone around a little, so that Juliet and the male zombie could be seen behind Kane to his left; the female zombie and the tourist sat to his right. He squeezed them in close to fit everyone in the shot.

  “Hey! Zombie boy!” yelled Husky Boy. “Hands off my lady!” His friend laughed and punched him on the shoulder.

  “Quiet on the set!” The director glared around the room until everyone settled down. He addressed the group at the bar. “Relax. You’re out having a good time. Look like you’re having fun. That’s all you have to do while Mr. Kane says his lines. Got it?” Juliet flicked back a strand of hair while the other three nodded in unison, looking various degrees of terrified.

  The director pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his forehead. “Take one.” He nodded to Kane.

  Kane flashed his smile at the camera. “Hello. I’m Attorney Alexander Kane. After a hard day at work, Bostonians like to unwind. And we have many options for unwinding: a home-cooked meal, a quiet evening in front of the television, a visit to a neighborhood tavern. Previously deceased Bostonians, innocent victims of a now-dormant virus, also work hard. They also like to unwind, just like you and me.”

  The female zombie was stuffing her face with peanuts. Handful after handful, she crammed them into her mouth. If there’s food around, zombies will eat it; and besides that, she was nervous. It was distracting to watch her, so much so that I forgot to listen to Kane.

  “Cut!” yelled the director. “Cut, cut, cut! Somebody take those peanuts away from that zombie.”

  “Previously deceased hu—” Kane started to correct him, when some of those peanuts went down the wrong way. The female zombie clutched at her throat and started coughing, spraying chewed-up peanut crumbs all over the norm woman sitting next to her. The woman squealed and jumped off her stool, brushing at her clothes like they were on fire, while Axel leaned over the bar to pound the coughing zombie on the back.

  She shuddered and gasped and eventually stopped coughing. She drained her glass of wine, then looked around unhappily. “Sorry,” she said, and hiccupped.

  Axel refilled the zombie’s wineglass. She picked it up and promptly spilled it down the front of her orange dress.

  The college boys howled with laughter and high-fived each other. Kane looked ready to toss them out of the bar—he could’ve done it without wrinkling his suit—but he must have decided they weren’t worth bothering with, because he merely smoothed his jacket and waited while the makeup girl dealt with the flustered zombie, blotting her dress and applying more powder.

  “Let’s get it right this time, people. You guys at the bar—no eating, no drinking. Just sit there and smile while Mr. Kane speaks. All right? Okay, go. Take two.”

  The camera began rolling again, and Kane repeated his speech. He made it past the first cut, and continued: “The previously deceased are Bostonians. They are our spouses, our family members, our friends.” His brow clouded, just enough to make him smokily handsome. “But Seth Baldwin calls them monsters. If Baldwin becomes governor, he’ll take away their limited rights and force them from their homes. Haven’t the previously deceased suffered en—”

  Husky Boy leaped to his feet, pumping his fist in the air and yelling, “Baldwin for Governor! Woo-hoo! Yeah!” His friend, laughing, added a couple of rebel yells. The two of them made so much noise I could barely hear the director’s “Cut!” over their racket.

  Kane glared at them. Juliet rolled her eyes. The tourist slid off her bar stool and returned to her table. The zombies looked lost. When Kane started toward the college boys wearing his scary face—an expression that was way more werewolf than public-relations exec—I followed. This looked like a situation where a little backup couldn’t hurt.

  By the time I got there, the less drunk kid was holding the other one back. Husky Boy was red-faced, shouting at Kane. “It’s a free goddamn country, and I’ll say whatever I goddamn please.” Drops of spittle, lit up by the TV lights, sprayed from his
mouth. “Humans got freedom of speech, ya know!”

  “I think it’s time you boys went back to the dorm.” Kane took an arm in each hand. The students tried to shake him off, but he was too strong, which only made Husky Boy yell louder and add more obscenities to his words. Kane ignored him, propelling them both toward the door.

  “Lemme go!” Husky Boy struggled, jerking his arm around and dragging his feet. Kane kept moving toward the door; the kid had no choice but to go with him.

  I opened the door for the trio. Kane pitched both norms onto the sidewalk, just hard enough to make his point. Husky Boy, who’d lost his baseball cap, lay on his back and shouted, “You let goddamn freakin’ zombies in there an’ throw out real Americans!” As I closed the door, his friend was saying, “C’mon, man, let’s just go.”

  Kane was halfway across the room when the door burst open and the angry kid came after him, waving a broken beer bottle. Kane turned, swinging his arm out, and Husky Boy ran smack into it, nose to elbow. He went down like someone had kicked his legs out from under him. His nose spouted a fountain of blood, and he’d cut his own arm on the broken bottle.

  The moment the smell of blood hit the air—real blood, and lots of it—everything went still. For a long moment, nobody uttered a sound, nobody flicked an eyelid.

  Then Juliet licked her lips.

  Vampires rose to their feet. Both zombies sniffed the air and looked at Husky Boy, who’d rolled on his side and was trying to get up. As if hypnotized, they got down from their stools and staggered toward him.

  I grabbed a handful of napkins and handed them to the kid. “Here,” I said, “you’d better stop that bleeding.” I raised him to his feet, but his knees kept buckling. So I picked him up like a child and turned to carry him out the door. Six vampires, their eyes glowing, blocked our way. Behind us, heavy zombie footsteps came closer.

  “Kane!” I yelled, but even he was staring at the bleeding college student with a gleam in his eye. Even the most assimilated PAs can get stirred up by the smell of fresh blood.