Deadtown d-3

by Nancy Holzner

  “Will you hurry up?” Kane called from down the street. “I’ve got at least two dozen phone calls I should be making right now.”

  I looked down at my zombie and her junkie companion, then stepped over the pair of them to get behind her. Crouching, I got both arms under her, one at the armpit and the other at midthigh. I called on the remnants of brute rhinoceros strength and heaved. As I straightened, I lifted her from the ground. I stepped over the junkie and out of the doorway. It was like carrying a plank, but I had her.

  The zombie groaned and squirmed a bit, and I shushed her like a mother comforting a half-awake infant. As we passed under a streetlight, I could see clumps of powder sticking to her greenish-gray cheek. This female may have been human once, but she sure as hell wasn’t now. She was a zombie—and she’d still be a zombie no matter what politically correct name Kane or anybody else called her. She uttered another small groan.

  “C’mon, hon,” I said, “Let’s get you home.” Still weaving a little, I hurried down the block after Kane.

  WE PASSED THROUGH THE TREMONT STREET CHECKPOINT into Deadtown and almost immediately ran into Tina and one of her friends. They both wore low-slung jeans and tight belly shirts that showed off a couple of inches of zombie pelvis. The temperature was close to freezing, but the undead don’t feel the cold.

  “What’s with the crashed-out zombies?” Tina asked.

  “Don’t call them zombies,” Kane said. “It’s demeaning to them and you both.”

  Tina rolled her bloodred eyes in the way only a teenage girl can, and then looked at me inquiringly.

  “Kane was making a political commercial.”

  Tina’s jaw dropped. “A commercial? Like for TV? Why didn’t you ask me? I would’ve—”

  “You had school,” I reminded her. “In fact, is school even out for the night yet?”

  Tina and her friend exchanged a look.

  “Tina, you of all people should know better.” Tina and a friend—this one, maybe—had gotten zombified because they’d skipped school to go shopping. If Tina hadn’t cut class that day, she would’ve been miles away from the plague zone.

  She shrugged. “So what? I mean, what’s gonna happen to us now? We’re already dead.”

  Good point. But still. “If you want to learn demon-fighting, you’ve got to be willing to study.”

  “I am! I’m reading that book you gave me. Jenna even saw me, didn’t you, Jenna?” Tina’s friend nodded and popped her gum. “Anyway,” Tina said, “stop trying to change the subject.” She planted herself directly in front of Kane, fists on her skinny hips. “How come you didn’t ask me to be on TV? I’d be way better than those two corpses. Are you sure they’re even reanimated?”

  “I don’t have time for this nonsense.” Kane moved on, guiding his zombie around the two girls.

  “Hey—”

  “Tina, don’t bug him now. He’s had a bad night.”

  “Oh, yeah? Well, what about me? I—”

  “You,” I said, “should be studying. I’ll come over and quiz you on the first twenty-five pages of Russom—”

  “Twenty-five? But that’s—”

  “The first twenty-five pages, tomorrow night, before school. Six o’clock—be ready.”

  “Or what?”

  “Or our deal’s off. If you’re not going to be serious, I’m not going to teach you.”

  Tina kicked at the curb. “Could you at least bring your flamethrower? That was cool.”

  It was my turn for an eye-roll. It was a pretty good one, I thought, for an old lady of twenty-eight.

  BOTH ZOMBIES WERE SAFE IN THEIR BEDS, SLEEPING IT OFF. They’d snooze through the day and wake up around sunset, starving, but no longer craving human blood. Five or six pizzas each, and they’d be as good as new. Or as good as newly risen, anyway.

  Kane put his arm around me and pulled me close as we walked. I snuggled in, enjoying his warmth, the solidness of his body. I sighed contentedly, happy to be in this moment. Safe and warm. Then I ducked out from under his arm. The things I had to discuss with Kane weren’t exactly cuddly.

  He looked at me, surprised, when I pulled away.

  “Kane,” I said, “I know you’re worried about that tape, but I wasn’t exaggerating when I said we’ve got bigger things to worry about.”

  “Yes?”

  I told him about what happened on Commodore Wharf: killing the Harpies, Difethwr’s arrival, its message and sudden departure. Goose bumps prickled my arms as I talked, and when I mentioned the Destroyer the demon mark itched. Kane listened intently, nodding from time to time.

  “This is what you were talking to Costello about?”

  “Yeah.” I watched for any flash of jealousy but came up empty. Kane was focused on our Hellion problem. Well, that was good. I guess. “He’s going to talk to the Witches of the Shield, see if they have any idea who punched a hole in it.”

  “And whether they can find the hole and repair it?”

  “They can’t do that! Not while the Destroyer is running around Boston. They’d trap it inside the city. It’ll tear the place apart.”

  “From what you say, that’s its plan, anyway. They’ve got to fix the shield soon, Vicky, or more Hellions will come.”

  I was worried about that, too. A legion of Hellions would attack in one terrifying strike, destroying everything in its path. No building left standing, no survivors. It was possible that Difethwr, or the sorcerer who’d bound it, was calling to others of its kind. A sorcerer would have to be insane to try to raise a legion of Hellions—but any sorcerer who’d dare to bind Difethwr was already just plain crazy or else too arrogant to be on speaking terms with reality.

  Kane half turned toward me. “Was the Hellion there for you or for your client?”

  “Me. Definitely me. I didn’t force it off, Kane. I didn’t fight it at all, except for throwing some salt around. It delivered a message to me, then it left.”

  “Are you sure, though? It killed one of your clients already, and it didn’t speak to you then. It didn’t even show up while you were there.”

  I remembered that evil presence in George Funderburk’s bedroom and shivered. True, the Hellion hadn’t spoken to me then. But it had been close by. Very close by. My demon mark tingled at the memory. That night, perhaps the sorcerer had called the Destroyer but not yet bound it. And the Hellion, searching for the source of the call, had responded to its own essence. In me. The thought made me queasy.

  Kane was still speaking. “You can’t assume that the connection is you. It might be something else entirely.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, both men had been suffering from demon infestations.”

  “Drudes versus Harpies. Not the same at all.”

  “Okay, I’ll take your word for that. So it’s not the clients’ demons. But my point still holds. There might be another connection, one we’re not seeing.”

  I stopped in my tracks. “Are you even listeningto me? The Hellion said my name. It went there to find me.” My voice sounded shrill, even to my own ears.

  “Maybe you’re right.” He took my hand. “Maybe I just don’t want something that nasty to be coming after you.” We walked for a while in silence. His hand felt strong, clasped around mine.

  We stopped at Kane’s building on Winter Street. He folded his arms around me and drew me close against him. I pressed my face into his muscled chest. He was warm, so warm, and even here in the middle of the city he smelled like a forest after a summer rain.

  He stroked my hair. “Do you want to come in?”

  Yes, I thought. More than anything, I wanted to go up to Kane’s apartment and feel warm and protected in his king-sized bed. I was tired of standing alone against the demons. I wanted Kane to hold me and fill me with his strength and let me know that everything was all right. But I had things to do. I sighed, rubbing my cheek against his jacket. “I thought you had two dozen phone calls to make.”

  “I can make them later.” He put a
finger under my chin and gently lifted my face to his. His lips met mine, and the kiss melted through me like warm chocolate. I wanted to press myself closer to him, explore more deeply, feel those lips touch my skin all over. But I shook my head.

  “I can’t. I’ve got to get cleaned up, then go back to the North End to collect the rest of my fee from Lucado.”

  All that melting warmth evaporated as Kane went rigid. His arms dropped away from me as he stepped back. His eyes narrowed. “Did you say Lucado—Frank Lucado?”

  “Yeah. The real estate developer. He was my client tonight.”

  “You did a job for Frank Lucado.”

  “I just said I did. So what?”

  He made an exasperated noise. “Vicky, Lucado is one of the biggest contributors to Seth Baldwin’s campaign.”

  “So?”

  “So? So?How can you say ‘so’? You helped a guy who wants to drive us out of the state.”

  “I didn’t help him. I did a job for him. When I’m on the job, I don’t care what my client’s politics are.”

  “It’s not a matter of his personal politics. Lucado has spent a couple million dollars to support a candidate who’d strip PAs of all legal rights and protections. All of them, Vicky. If Baldwin wins, any human could kill you or me and still be acting within the law.”

  “I know that.”

  “And you don’t care, do you? Anything to make a buck. Even if it comes out of the pocket of a bigoted criminal.”

  “Lucado’s never been convicted of anything. And just because the guy’s a jerk doesn’t mean he deserves to suffer Harpy attacks night after night. I don’t discriminate in my clients.”

  “No, not you. Only if they’re poor. Then demons can torment them forever, for all you care.”

  That was a low blow. In truth, most of my clients were wealthy because the wealthy had more demons. Take Harpies. Rich people had rich enemies. Hiring a sorcerer to sic a flock of Harpies on somebody was illegal, and that meant it wasn’t cheap. People with no money usually took a more direct route—like using their fists—to settle their differences. But I wasn’t going to argue that point with Kane tonight.

  I glared at him. “You have no right to tell me who I can or can’t take on as a client.”

  “And you have no principles.” That was Kane—he lived for peace, justice, and the American way. Oh, and turning into a huge, slavering, bloodthirsty wolf whenever the moon was full. He squared his shoulders, making a visible effort to control his anger. “Well, you’ve already done the job, so there’s no point in arguing about it. Just stay away from him from now on, all right?”

  “I don’t know. I thought I’d invite him to go down to Baldwin’s campaign headquarters and stuff envelopes with me.”

  “Not funny. Vicky—” He put his hand on my arm, and I jerked away. For a moment, I thought with longing about how close we’d been, how warm I was, just a few minutes ago. Oh, the hell with it. I wasn’t going to take orders from a politically correct werewolf. Or anybody else, for that matter. I turned away.

  “Wait—” For a second, I thought he was going to apologize, and a little warm spot opened up inside me. I looked at Kane, ready to be generous, ready to accept his admission that he was wrong. “I just thought of something,” he said, his eyes thoughtful. The warm spot froze over. How could I forget—Kane was always right. In Kane’s own mind, anyway.

  “What?”

  “That Hellion showed up at Lucado’s condo, right?”

  “Yes.” Whatever Kane was thinking, it was so interesting to him that he didn’t notice I was throwing icy monosyllables at him.

  “What if the Destroyer was after Lucado? You took the job just yesterday, didn’t you?”

  “Right.”

  “So, what if the Hellion went there to claim another victim? Then it saw you there and got sidetracked.”

  “What if it did? I don’t see where you’re going with this.”

  “Maybe the sorcerer is on our side. If Lucado’s dead, Baldwin loses a big source of revenue. The election is less than a week away. Both sides are pouring money into their campaigns. By taking out Lucado, someone’s trying to slow Baldwin down.”

  He gestured as though he’d just finished his closing argument to a jury. Clearly, he thought he’d nailed it. I shook my head. Time for the rebuttal.

  “If the sorcerer had wanted Lucado dead, he’d be dead.” And so would I. “Whoever sent the Destroyer called it away after it had delivered the message. It was a warning, Kane, not politics.”

  He didn’t look convinced. “Besides,” I continued, “the Destroyer boasted that it’s going to obliterate the whole city. If Boston’s toast, it doesn’t exactly matter who wins the election.”

  “Someone’s got to be governor. Might as well be our guy.” Kane’s eyes shone. He was really taken with the idea that someone was trying to rub out Baldwin’s biggest supporter. “Okay, you did the job. Fine. But now stay away from Lucado. It’s not safe.”

  “I’ve got to collect the money he owes me.”

  “Sure, sure. But after that, you’re done with the guy, right?”

  The truth was, I didn’t have any reason to hang around Lucado after he’d handed over the second half of his payment. But I didn’t want Kane to think I was doing what he told me to do. “We’ll see.”

  He sighed. “You’re impossible, Vicky.” He leaned over and gave me a peck on the cheek. “But I do kinda like you.”

  “Kinda, huh? Be still my heart.” I said it lightly, but part of me was still mad at him. And another part—a very big part—was aching for another one of those long, deep kisses. Clearly, and in too many ways to count, tonight was not my lucky night.

  After Kane went into his building, I headed home, thinking about what he’d said. For all his high-and-mighty principles, Kane would be thrilled if somebody offed Lucado. Just to undermine Baldwin’s campaign. Kane would never attack Lucado himself, but I was pretty sure that he wouldn’t lift a finger to save the guy, either. For me, ethics were a lot simpler. If you had a problem and you could afford my fee, I’d help you out. And if you were a demon and you came after me, I’d kill you. So I wouldn’t win the Nobel Peace Prize any time soon. My system worked for me.

  14

  JULIET WASN’T THERE WHEN I GOT HOME. PROBABLY ALL that bloodlust at Creature Comforts had sent her out on the prowl. I peeled off my bloodstained clothes and checked the mirror. I’d cleaned up a little in the ladies’ room at the bar, but I was in dire need of a shower. I took a quick one and then crawled into bed. I was due back at Lucado’s at seven to show him the dead Harpies and finish our business. I set the alarm for six thirty—a mere three hours away—and was fast asleep two minutes later.

  I dreamed of my father, or tried to.

  I tried to call him on the dream phone. I pictured him the way he looked at my high school graduation—my proud, happy father, his temples touched with gray, standing up and cheering, putting two fingers in his mouth to whistle. The vision was so clear I could feel the hot June sun beating down, could smell the roses he’d given me when I collected my diploma. I reached out to touch his arm, but there was some kind of invisible barrier between us. So I just pictured him. I visualized and visualized, but his colors, purple and green, didn’t appear. The connection remained closed.

  I wasn’t surprised that the call failed. I’d sometimes tried to contact my father in the years since his death—every night, at first—and never succeeded. But I was still disappointed. I didn’t know whether the dead were simply beyond our reach, behind that invisible barrier, or whether Difethwr’s taunt was true. What if the Hellion had obliterated my father’s soul? It was a question whose answer I didn’t dare pursue.

  The vision of my father faded, and I fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. It felt like falling into despair.

  THE JAG WOULDN’T START. WELL, I GUESS I KNEW WHERE the money from last night’s job was going. My poor baby needed a checkup.

  I jogged to the edge of Dead
town, the bag with the dead Harpies banging against my knees, and flagged down a cab. All the way to the North End, the driver kept sniffing, but he didn’t ask what the smell was. He’d probably had worse-smelling things in his backseat.

  I stepped onto Commodore Wharf just in time to see the sun rise over Boston Harbor. Streaks of red, purple, and gold stretched across the sky, reflected in the placid water. No wonder the norms associate this kind of glorious sky with new beginnings. The darkness is gone, the night creatures have fled back to their lairs, a new beauty tinges the earth. It was the perfect time to show Frank Lucado that his demons were a thing of the past.

  But the Frank Lucado who answered the door did not look happy. He scowled violently, his scar bisecting his face, and jerked his head to indicate I should follow him inside. Since inside was where his checkbook was, I did. He closed the door behind me.

  “What the hell did you do to Wendy?”

  “Who?”

  “My bodyguard. I woke up this morning, the guy was a puddle on the floor. He roused himself long enough to tell me he quit. Then he ran outa here like a kid making a break from the principal’s office.”

  “Wait. Your bodyguard’s name is Wendy?” I couldn’t quite put that name together with the six-and-a-half-foot Man Mountain who’d welcomed me the night before.

  “Wendy, yeah. Short for Wendell.” Somehow Wendell didn’t seem to fit either, but at least it didn’t sound like Peter Pan’s girlfriend. Wendy. Jeez. No wonder the guy had an attitude. “So what’d you do to him?” Lucado said. “I’ve never seen anyone so scared.”

  “Nothing.” Nothing besides saving his life, but I wasn’t really eager to fill Lucado in on those details. I just wanted to get my money and get out. “Some people are just spooked by demons, I guess. How’d you sleep, by the way?”

  He smiled, looking relaxed for the first time since I’d met him. “Like a newborn babe in his mother’s arms,” he said.

  “Well, get used to it. Those three Harpies won’t be bothering you anymore.”