Out of curiosity, Brianna had called the number. A mechanical voice had asked her to hold, then had asked her to hit the pound sign on her phone, and then had enunciated a list of numbers for different offices and services, and then had asked her to hold again, played some dreadful music, and then had asked her to say the number she wanted in a loud, clear voice. No matter how loudly or clearly Brianna had shouted, “Two!” the mechanical voice would say, “That is not a valid number. Please hit the pound sign to go back to the beginning and hear this message again or hit the seven in order to return to the one, and be connected to another number in order to leave a message. At the tone, say the number you want loudly and clearly. I repeat, at the tone, say your number.”
“Two!”
“That is not a valid number. Please …”
Brianna had hung up before she did serious harm to her telephone.
The front door looked rickety, but Brianna knew from its weight as it swung outward, that it would be next to impossible to break down. She slid her pass key in the slot and waited for the loud click that meant the door had opened. Then she and Jack stepped through.
It really was like falling down the rabbit hole, she decided, as they emerged in the bright, white hallways of M.U.C.I. The light and bustle stunned her for a moment, and then she shook her head to clear it and set off down the hall after Jack, who, after glancing at the clock on the wall, announced that they were going to be late.
“It’s only eight forty-five,” said Brianna.
But Jeffrey was waiting for them, pacing behind his desk.
“Well? What did you find out?” he asked.
“I think we found him.” Jack set the files on the desk and opened them, taking out his notes. Dr. Silas Mercury disappeared the day his wife died. Three days later, on Halloween, I was killed.”
“That doesn’t prove anything,” said Jeffrey, “but it’s a good start.”
“There’s more. His wife’s body disappeared too.”
“Interesting.” Jeffrey nodded. “Nice work. Where did he live, and where could he be now?”
“He lived in Sand Lake, just outside the reservation. His house is just as he left it, according to police notes. No one lives there, and the phone, water, and electricity services have been cut off. After a certain number of years the state can claim it, but until then it’s been boarded up. But Brianna thinks that he still lives near the reservation. For one thing, when we checked the casino’s crime statistics, we found something interesting.” Jack nodded at her and she took over.
“We checked the year before the Heart Taker started killing, and found that there were thirty-five incidents of theft in the casino. After Dr. Mercury disappeared, and after Jack died, for example, the thefts tripled. And numbers for what the casino termed complaints, and which turned out to be ninety percent about missing chips or money, tripled as well. Never any huge sums of money. But enough, if you add it all up, to pay rent and buy groceries. In other words, he’s probably renting a house or an apartment for about three to five hundred dollars a month, and financing it with petty thefts at the casino.”
“So we’re looking into rentals around that area, as well as on the direct train line into the city. There are several stops he could live nearby, including Salvation Junction and Fresh Start Station.”
“He could be in the trailer park?” Jeffrey shot her a worried glance, and Brianna knew why. The trailer park was a twisted labyrinth of unnamed streets and unlit alleys. At first, everything had been set up in straight lines, but the trailers had been shifted as families moved around, more family members arrived, or people left, had fights with their neighbors, or simply wanted to be in another part of the park. Some areas had trees, while others were bare. Streets degraded, became full of potholes, and people built fences around their trailers to delineate their property. The fences spread, some made from wood, others were made of tin or cement blocks or chicken wire, and it wasn’t rare to find barbed wire.
Trailers had sometimes given way to prefabricated houses, and some trailers became the base for a two story house. Anarchy reigned, and even though the crime rate wasn’t that much higher than the inner city or the poorer outskirts, it was high enough. People mistrusted the police, and mutants and undead didn’t have the best reputation either.
“We’re going to have our work cut out for us looking for him,” said Jeffrey.
“I’m going to hang around the casino until he comes and then try to follow him,” said Jack. “But to tell you the truth, I don’t think I’ll have much luck.”
“He can see Jack, just as Jack can see him,” explained Brianna. “And he’ll never lead Jack back to his home. He knows it would be suicide.”
“So you think that this doctor became the Heart Taker because his wife died?” Jeffrey looked at Jack’s report and ran his hand through his hair, frowning mightily.
“She died because she needed a new heart. According to the reports, she had a very rare blood type that made it impossible for them to find a donor for her.” Jack hesitated and said, “I’m going to go talk to Jim Ling-Li today. I want to know if it’s possible the Heart Taker is keeping his wife alive somewhere.”
“Do you think she’s a zombie?” Brianna asked, a thrill of shock running through her. She’d never considered that possibility. For some reason, she’d thought the Heart Taker, being a surgeon, kept his wife alive with the hearts he stole.
“That’s why I need to talk to Jim.” Jack looked at Brianna. “May and I might not be the only zombies around.”
“We’ll start sending teams out to canvas the rentals in the areas you’ve identified,” said Jeffrey. He tapped his pencil against his teeth. “Do you have a picture of the doctor in the files that we can photocopy? We’ll start handing that out as well.”
“Here’s one.” Brianna handed him the hospital I.D. badge. She’d already asked Jack if the picture looked like the Heart Taker, and Jack had told her that it might be him, but the man he’d seen had been much thinner, with dark, dark eyes. Otherwise it was hard to tell from an I.D. picture. They never looked like the person they were supposed to represent. Sort of like passport pictures, Brianna decided. And photos added ten pounds to you, so unless you were emaciated, you looked fat. He did, however, bear a certain resemblance to Jeffrey, and he was clearly Native American.
A knock sounded, and May entered the room. “Hello Brianna and Jack,” she said, in her clear, soft voice.
“May, I need to see your father as soon as possible. Would he have time for me this morning?”
“For you, Jack, he always has time.”
Brianna gritted her teeth. May looked at Jack with fawning admiration. It grated on Brianna’s nerves. Especially so early in the morning.
“I’ll head over there now.” Jack took his coat from the hook on the wall and put it on, and then he took Brianna’s coat and held it out to her. “You haven’t met Mr. Ling-Li,” he said. “I think you’ll find this interesting.”
“Oh, Jack, if I don’t see you before tonight, I have to ask you to come with me to the Shores again.” May went to the desk and looked down. “Is this the suspected Heart Taker?” she lifted the doctor’s photo and peered at it intently. “You and Brianna have made a lot of progress. That’s wonderful, Jack.”
“Why do you want me to accompany you to the Shores?”
“Because there are some mutants who want to speak to you. Something has been bothering them since All Hallow’s eve. They’re frightened. I think you should hear what they say.”Jack, after a moment’s hesitation, said, “All right. Shall we meet there then?”
“At midnight tonight,” said May. She beamed. “I’ll see you there.”
Brianna slid her arms into her coat that Jack was holding for her, and slung her purse over her shoulder. To Jeffrey she said, “Who do we give the taxi and hotel expenses to?”
“Accounting. Just keep everything together and submit it as expenses at the end of the month. But restaurants don’t co
unt, you get resto-tickets for that. I forgot to give them to you, sorry.” He took a small booklet of tickets out of his desk and handed them to Brianna. “There are twenty four in each booklet, most restaurants will honor them. Just sign on the back and give the stub to accounting when it’s finished.”
Brianna tucked it in her purse and nodded. Then they made an appointment with Jim Ling-Li, or rather, May called her father and told him they were coming. Jack and Brianna headed out of the building toward the A train, the one that led past the trailer park and went to the morgue. On the corner, Brianna checked if the shoeshine boy was there, but whether because of the cold or because it was too early in the morning, he was nowhere to be seen.
Brianna wasn’t sure what to expect. She knew that Mr. Ling-Li was ancient. He was over two hundred years old. He was a necromancer, which meant nothing to her, and he’d brought Jack back from the dead which was both gratifying and horrifying. And he was May’s father, and May was not her favorite person in the world. May exasperated her. She was too lovely, too know-it-all, and too interested in Jack. And too perfect for Jack. Brianna couldn’t help wondering if Jim Ling-Li had made Jack for his daughter, hoping that he’d be the zombie of her dreams. She shook her head. She had to stop thinking that.
But she couldn’t. It was always in the back of her mind when she saw May.
Mr. Ling-Li had tea waiting for them. It was an ancient tea set, almost as old as he was, he joked, as he poured the fragrant tea into the nearly translucent cups. They were pale green, and looked like they had been made of paper, not china. The tea was pale green too, and was both warming and refreshing.
“This is wonderful tea, Mr. Ling-Li,” said Brianna.
Jim Ling-Li beamed. “It’s one of my mixtures. I call it cold sky tea, because I like to drink it on cold, clear days. When it rains, I make cloud drop tea, or if it’s very dark and blustery, I’ll brew some orange sun tea. It brightens the day.”
Jack made polite noises, but Brianna could tell he wasn’t interested in small talk about tea. She leaned forward and said, “Mr. Ling-Li, we think we’ve found the Heart Taker.”
His thin face broke into a wide smile. “Tell me about it, Jack.”
“He’s a surgeon and he steals hearts, cutting them out as carefully as if he’s going to use them again.”
“Yes, yes. I thought so. When you came to me, your wounds were very perfect.” Mr. Ling-Li sipped his tea noisily, and looked at Brianna. His eyes were bright as rain-washed pebbles. “You are angry. You think I should have said something before.”
Brianna was startled. She didn’t think she was so transparent. “Yes, I do think you should have told someone,” she conceded.
“I told the police. It is in my report. But that would not have helped. Even if we knew his name, it would not have helped. He is too strong, you see. But perhaps you know why he needs the hearts? Is he keeping someone alive, then?”
Jack choked on his tea. “You knew?”
Mr. Ling-Li turned to him, surprised. “I thought of that, of course. But again, as long as no one could move as quickly as he, it was useless to speculate. Now we can.”
“Is it easy to make a zombie?” Jack set his tea cup down hard, winced, and checked it for a crack.
“Don’t worry. The cup is stronger than it looks,” said Mr. Ling-Li, noting Jack’s rueful glance. “Yes, if you have the right ingredients, it is easy to make a zombie. But it is extremely difficult to make a zombie that lasts, and it is clear that if the Heart Taker cannot keep a heart beating for more than a few months at a time, he has no talent.”
Brianna felt bile rising. “So what can his wife be like?” she whispered.
“His wife?” Mr. Ling-Li frowned.”
Jack told him their theory—that the Heart Taker had reanimated his wife and made her into a zombie, using hearts he stole to keep her alive.
“This changes things somewhat,” said Mr. Ling-Li. “He’s using hearts to keep someone beloved alive. It makes him very dangerous and determined, and will make catching him particularly difficult.”
“Excuse me, but can you explain how to make a zombie? Just what exactly is a necromancer?” Brianna had to know.
Mr. Ling-Li poured them all some more tea and leaned back. “I will tell you my story, so you will know all about necromancy and zombies. You should hear this too, Jack, as it concerns you directly.”
“I have the diary of a zombie, but it says very little in it about making zombies,” said Jack.
“That’s because it’s not something that we want people to know how to do. It’s very, very dangerous,” said Mr. Ling-Li seriously. “More dangerous than you can imagine.”
Chapter Twenty One
How to Make a Zombie in Three Hundred Easy Steps
Mr. Ling-Li paused and cupped his hands beneath his chin. He looked infinitely old, wise, and sorrowful. He caught Brianna’s glance and smiled.
“Necromancy is one of the oldest arts. It was present in ancient Egypt, where the most extensive writings about it exist, but it was also present in Ur and Sumeria, and in Africa and China, where it was practiced by priests and witch doctors, scholars, and laymen alike. You know it best by its connection to voodoo, which is the African branch of this art. I come from China, where my family practiced necromancy for fifty generations. Since we all live more than five hundred years, you can see that it is very much part of my existence, present in the very matrix of my being.
“A necromancer in the most simple form is simply a mortician, someone who prepares the dead for the funeral, makes the dead look presentable, and changes the body using chemicals or herbs. But that is not what I am, although traditionally we work as morticians.
“In a more complex form, a necromancer is a like a priest. One who accompanies the dead to the underworld and shows their soul the way. The ancient Egyptians preserved the mummies. That too is a form of necromancy. And much of necromancy involves herbs and poisons.”
“Is that how to make zombies? With herbs?”
“Oh, much more than just herbs. In the beginning, someone lost a beloved and wanted to bring them back to life. The Greeks have a legend about Orpheus. He went to the underworld to beg Hades for his wife’s soul. Hades gave it to him, but Orpheus looked back, his beloved wife faded back into the underworld, and Orpheus went mad with grief. The longing to bring back someone from the dead is an old one, certainly far older than the legend of Orpheus, but the story illustrates both the longing and the dangers of such a dream.”
Brianna curled her hands around her hot tea cup. “I thought that it was just a voodoo thing,” she admitted.
“Oh no, zombies have different names in different places. Zombi is also the name of the voodoo snake god of Niger-Congo origin; it is akin to the Bantu word nzambi, which means god. But the word ‘god’ here is closer to ‘spirit’ or one who talks to spirits, than your definition. And to tell you the truth, what you call zombies have nothing to do with Jack or May.”
May again. Brianna pasted a bright smile on her face and said, “Mostly we think of zombies as being mindless slaves in decaying bodies.”
“That’s because there are many different ways to make a zombie, and the easiest way is for a ‘bokor,’ or zombie maker, to poison his victim, steal his soul and put it in a clay pot, and then use the zombie’s body as his slave. Some people claim zombies are caused by a virus, and again, it’s true up to a point. There have been zombies made after contracting a certain virus, but they are not the same as what I do. You see, a bokor, or someone who makes zombies like the Heart Taker has, is not a necromancer. No, that involves something completely different.
“Some believe that necromancy is the most powerful of all magic, because it defeats even death itself. You see, Jack is technically what you call an undead. But he still has his soul. And for that, he is different from the other undead such as vampires or bokor-made zombies.”
Jack dropped his teacup. It spilled, but still didn’t break. His expression
as he picked up the deceptively fragile cup was incredulous. “I still have a soul?”
Jim Ling-Li leaned forward over the low table. “When I was born, my father went to see an astrologer to cast my horoscope. She predicted that I would follow in my family’s footsteps. I would take my father’s place. And the village rejoiced, for having a necromancer insured that the dead would stay buried, and the undead would not bother them, and if, by chance, someone was murdered, they would be able to tell their story so that the murderer would be caught. Necromancers can talk to the dead. We can go to the spirit world and call a spirit back to his or her body. We can mend broken souls, and we can make sure that the dead stay buried by accompanying the spirit to the gates of the underworld. Your soul is still belongs to you, Jack. I did not steal your soul, nor would I ever steal a soul.”
“None of that is supposed to exist,” said Jack. “Or maybe it does, but I don’t believe in any of it.”
“Not heaven, or hell, or God?” Brianna wasn’t sure if she believed in any of that either, but she’d been raised a good Catholic girl, which was why she figured she felt so guilty when she pulled men’s pants down.
“None of it.” Jack shrugged. “But if Mr. Ling-Li has actually been to these places and met God, maybe I’ll start believing.”
Jim Ling-Li’s voice was faintly disapproving. “It’s not as easy as that. Life, death, and the afterworld are not as clear-cut as you may think. In some places, and in some people, they can overlap. I never met God nor the devil, but I have no doubt that good and evil exist. Therefore, if God is the manifestation of good, and if the devil is the physical manifestation of evil, then they surely exist. The afterworld is like a bus station. It is vast, echoing, with hundreds of branches leading to different destinations, and full of thousands of wandering souls. It is also a place where I find the souls of the dead to help them. Some stay for a long time, and some vanish, going someplace else, but I don’t know where they go. A necromancer is someone whose art permits them to visit the afterworld and speak to the dead. They also reanimate dead bodies, creating what you call zombies, but what have been called golems, or Zhoumouns, or shadow walkers. A necromancer, like the ancient Egyptians, knows the art of preserving flesh.”
Jack the Stripper Page 19
