“What were you thinking, anyway,” I asked irritably, “putting zombies in a television commercial?”
Kane, trying to lift his zombie in a fireman’s hold, scowled at me. “Don’t call them zombies; it’s insulting. They’re previously deceased humans.” He gave up trying to carry his “previously deceased human” and resumed half-dragging, half-leading the guy. “Previously deceased” was right. A corpse couldn’t be any stiffer than a zonked-out zombie.
“Can the politically correct labels, Counselor,” I said. “I’m not in the mood to have my language policed.”
“They deserve our respect, just like anyone else,” he said, manhandling his zombie off the curb. “Which term do you prefer: Cerddorion or freak?”
For a moment, the Goon Squad’s Norden flashed across my mind, the way he’d sneered, calling me just that: a freak. Okay, so it wasn’t my favorite memory. Maybe Kane had a point. Not that I was going to admit it.
“You’re avoiding my question, Kane. Why did you bring these . . . um . . . these two into Creature Comforts?”
“I wanted to show that PAs—not just the previously deceased, but allof us—can mix with humans without fear or threat of danger to either side.” He shook his head, then sighed. “Didn’t quite work out that way, did it?”
He dropped his head, his silver hair touched by the moonlight. He looked so despondent that I softened a little. I squeezed his shoulder with my free hand. “That human kid started it. Everything was going fine before he tried to jump you.” And before the monsters gave the concept of bloodlust a whole new meaning. But I didn’t say that part.
Kane’s shoulder rose and fell under my hand in a shrug. “Yeah, but do you think the media’s going to show that? Tomorrow morning, every news channel, every newspaper, every Web site and blog will feature one image: that director with a vampire sucking on his neck and a zombie chomping his ankle.” The fact that Kane had used the word zombie showed how upset he was. “I knew I should’ve hired PAs only.”
Well, that werewolf cameraman had been willing to fight Kane for the tape, and probably to the death, knowing werewolves. But I didn’t say that, either. After all, when the opportunity to make a quick buck arises, PAs and norms come out even in the greed stakes.
Up ahead, on the other side of the street, two figures appeared at the corner. They were too far away for me to make out their features, but something about them made me think of my earlier visitors—the ones who’d broken down my door. “Goon Squad!” I hissed in a loud whisper, shoving my zombie sideways into the shadows of a recessed doorway.
The zombie tripped first, going over like a bowling pin. I sprawled on top of her. Underneath us, something groaned and cursed, sounding more sleepy and annoyed than hurt. We’d stumbled over a vampire junkie sleeping it off.
A silhouette loomed over us, features indistinguishable with the moonlight behind. I braced myself, expecting to see Norden’s gun shoved in my face. By now, he’d undoubtedly read up on shapeshifters enough to know that, yes, guns could hurt me. Bad.
“What are you doing?” Kane asked, his voice perfectly calm.
“Shh. Didn’t you see? Goon Squad patrol.” I rolled deeper into the doorway, motioning to Kane to follow. If the Goons hadn’t seen us, we could still hide. “Don’t step on the junkie.”
He stayed where he was.
“Kane, are you crazy? If they catch these two out of Deadtown without a permit, they’ll take them away.”
He laughed, a deep, silvery chuckle that gradually rose in pitch and intensity. I peered out of my hiding place. Kane held his stomach and threw back his head, looking ready to howl at the moon. Except he was laughing. Usually I like Kane’s laugh—and heaven knew he could use one right then—but it’s hard to enjoy somebody’s mirth when you have no idea what’s so goddamn funny.
“I’m sorry,” he said, wiping his eyes. “It’s just that, well, you took off so fast, and then, boom!” He clutched his stomach again. Across the street, the figures stopped. And looked directly at us. They weren’t Norden and Sykes, but they were definitely Goons. They stepped into the street and headed our way.
They got bigger and meaner-looking as they got closer. Showdown time. I stood and stepped out of the doorway. The zombies were out of it, and Kane had finally cracked under all the pressure or something. It was up to me to handle the situation.
The only problem was, I didn’t have a clue how.
I tensed, ready for a fight. The human Goon I could take easily, but not his zombie partner. Not on my own. There was only one way. I’d have to shift. Into something big and dangerous and preferably armor plated. I didn’t like to shift this close to the full moon—it made the animal consciousness stronger—but if I was going to protect Kane and these zombies, I had no choice.
I closed my eyes and focused. A rhinoceros. It was the only thing I could think of that might work. I’d seen one on a rampage on a nature show, trampling everything in its path. I brought that image to mind and tried to feel the rhino’s anger. Threat . . . rage . . . protect my own. I felt a bubbling sensation under my skin as the shift began, a hardening at the tip of my nose, my limbs starting to thicken. God, I hoped I could hang on to enough of my personality to keep from goring the Goons to death. Then the bubbling intensified into a throb, and I didn’t care anymore. Pain shot through my head as my skull began to lengthen and grow.
A hand on my arm startled me out of my concentration. How dare—? But the touch was gentle, and I opened my eyes to see somebody . . . No, wait, I knew this being. Kane. It was Kane, looking perfectly normal and in control. “Don’t, Vicky,” he said. “It’s not necessary.”
Not necessary. Not necessary. The meaning of those words got through, and I tried to slam on the brakes. Once a shift has started, it takes a huge amount of effort and will to cut it short. I staggered backward, thinking, Stop, stop, stop. I pictured my image in the mirror, my strawberry blonde hair, my heart-shaped face. I focused on what it feels like to be me—me, in my body. No armor plating, no horns. The pain in my confused body doubled me over, and I clutched my stomach as the throbbing subsided back to a bubbling, then gave way to nausea and a splitting headache. If Kane had waited five seconds longer to say “not necessary,” it would’ve been too late.
“She all right?” a voice asked.
“Fine, fine,” I heard Kane reply, sounding all hale and hearty and aren’t-we-all-good-old-boys. “A little too much to drink, that’s all.”
Thanks, Kane. Here I was, ready to risk my life to protect him, and he’s telling the cops I’m a drunk. I’d kick his ass for that. As soon as I could stand up straight again.
Kane and the Goons were discussing what a fine evening it was. As the world gradually came back into focus around me, I saw Kane hand some papers to the human Goon. He inspected them for a moment, then gave them back.
“Need help getting everyone home?” he asked, sounding downright friendly.
I stepped forward. More like a weave, really, but it was forward. “No, thanks.” My voice came out as a bellow, sounding like, well, an angry rhino. I cleared my throat. “We’re fine.”
The human Goon shook his head and shot Kane a sympathetic look. Then he and his partner resumed their patrol, and I smacked Kane in the shoulder.
“I thought you didn’t have permits for those zombies!”
He looked surprised. “Why would you think that?”
“At Creature Comforts. You told Daniel you’d taken them out of Deadtown without a permit.”
“Stop saying ‘zombie.’ Anyway, I’m a lawyer. Do you seriously think I’d break the law andrisk the lives of these two people? Of course I got permits.”
He tugged on his half-asleep zombie, who shambled forward, and they moved along Washington Street. I was faced with the problem of getting my zombie back on her feet. She lay facedown in the doorway, one arm thrown across the vampire junkie. They looked almost cozy together—or would have, if either of them had looked a little less like death warmed over.
I yanked on her arm, which raised her off the ground a bit, but she was so stiff—nothing would bend the way it was supposed to—that I couldn’t get her to her feet.
“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, trying to lift his zombie in a fireman’s hold, scowled at me. “Don’t call them zombies; it’s insulting. They’re previously deceased humans.” He gave up trying to carry his “previously deceased human” and resumed half-dragging, half-leading the guy. “Previously deceased” was right. A corpse couldn’t be any stiffer than a zonked-out zombie.
“Can the politically correct labels, Counselor,” I said. “I’m not in the mood to have my language policed.”
“They deserve our respect, just like anyone else,” he said, manhandling his zombie off the curb. “Which term do you prefer: Cerddorion or freak?”
For a moment, the Goon Squad’s Norden flashed across my mind, the way he’d sneered, calling me just that: a freak. Okay, so it wasn’t my favorite memory. Maybe Kane had a point. Not that I was going to admit it.
“You’re avoiding my question, Kane. Why did you bring these . . . um . . . these two into Creature Comforts?”
“I wanted to show that PAs—not just the previously deceased, but allof us—can mix with humans without fear or threat of danger to either side.” He shook his head, then sighed. “Didn’t quite work out that way, did it?”
He dropped his head, his silver hair touched by the moonlight. He looked so despondent that I softened a little. I squeezed his shoulder with my free hand. “That human kid started it. Everything was going fine before he tried to jump you.” And before the monsters gave the concept of bloodlust a whole new meaning. But I didn’t say that part.
Kane’s shoulder rose and fell under my hand in a shrug. “Yeah, but do you think the media’s going to show that? Tomorrow morning, every news channel, every newspaper, every Web site and blog will feature one image: that director with a vampire sucking on his neck and a zombie chomping his ankle.” The fact that Kane had used the word zombie showed how upset he was. “I knew I should’ve hired PAs only.”
Well, that werewolf cameraman had been willing to fight Kane for the tape, and probably to the death, knowing werewolves. But I didn’t say that, either. After all, when the opportunity to make a quick buck arises, PAs and norms come out even in the greed stakes.
Up ahead, on the other side of the street, two figures appeared at the corner. They were too far away for me to make out their features, but something about them made me think of my earlier visitors—the ones who’d broken down my door. “Goon Squad!” I hissed in a loud whisper, shoving my zombie sideways into the shadows of a recessed doorway.
The zombie tripped first, going over like a bowling pin. I sprawled on top of her. Underneath us, something groaned and cursed, sounding more sleepy and annoyed than hurt. We’d stumbled over a vampire junkie sleeping it off.
A silhouette loomed over us, features indistinguishable with the moonlight behind. I braced myself, expecting to see Norden’s gun shoved in my face. By now, he’d undoubtedly read up on shapeshifters enough to know that, yes, guns could hurt me. Bad.
“What are you doing?” Kane asked, his voice perfectly calm.
“Shh. Didn’t you see? Goon Squad patrol.” I rolled deeper into the doorway, motioning to Kane to follow. If the Goons hadn’t seen us, we could still hide. “Don’t step on the junkie.”
He stayed where he was.
“Kane, are you crazy? If they catch these two out of Deadtown without a permit, they’ll take them away.”
He laughed, a deep, silvery chuckle that gradually rose in pitch and intensity. I peered out of my hiding place. Kane held his stomach and threw back his head, looking ready to howl at the moon. Except he was laughing. Usually I like Kane’s laugh—and heaven knew he could use one right then—but it’s hard to enjoy somebody’s mirth when you have no idea what’s so goddamn funny.
“I’m sorry,” he said, wiping his eyes. “It’s just that, well, you took off so fast, and then, boom!” He clutched his stomach again. Across the street, the figures stopped. And looked directly at us. They weren’t Norden and Sykes, but they were definitely Goons. They stepped into the street and headed our way.
They got bigger and meaner-looking as they got closer. Showdown time. I stood and stepped out of the doorway. The zombies were out of it, and Kane had finally cracked under all the pressure or something. It was up to me to handle the situation.
The only problem was, I didn’t have a clue how.
I tensed, ready for a fight. The human Goon I could take easily, but not his zombie partner. Not on my own. There was only one way. I’d have to shift. Into something big and dangerous and preferably armor plated. I didn’t like to shift this close to the full moon—it made the animal consciousness stronger—but if I was going to protect Kane and these zombies, I had no choice.
I closed my eyes and focused. A rhinoceros. It was the only thing I could think of that might work. I’d seen one on a rampage on a nature show, trampling everything in its path. I brought that image to mind and tried to feel the rhino’s anger. Threat . . . rage . . . protect my own. I felt a bubbling sensation under my skin as the shift began, a hardening at the tip of my nose, my limbs starting to thicken. God, I hoped I could hang on to enough of my personality to keep from goring the Goons to death. Then the bubbling intensified into a throb, and I didn’t care anymore. Pain shot through my head as my skull began to lengthen and grow.
A hand on my arm startled me out of my concentration. How dare—? But the touch was gentle, and I opened my eyes to see somebody . . . No, wait, I knew this being. Kane. It was Kane, looking perfectly normal and in control. “Don’t, Vicky,” he said. “It’s not necessary.”
Not necessary. Not necessary. The meaning of those words got through, and I tried to slam on the brakes. Once a shift has started, it takes a huge amount of effort and will to cut it short. I staggered backward, thinking, Stop, stop, stop. I pictured my image in the mirror, my strawberry blonde hair, my heart-shaped face. I focused on what it feels like to be me—me, in my body. No armor plating, no horns. The pain in my confused body doubled me over, and I clutched my stomach as the throbbing subsided back to a bubbling, then gave way to nausea and a splitting headache. If Kane had waited five seconds longer to say “not necessary,” it would’ve been too late.
“She all right?” a voice asked.
“Fine, fine,” I heard Kane reply, sounding all hale and hearty and aren’t-we-all-good-old-boys. “A little too much to drink, that’s all.”
Thanks, Kane. Here I was, ready to risk my life to protect him, and he’s telling the cops I’m a drunk. I’d kick his ass for that. As soon as I could stand up straight again.
Kane and the Goons were discussing what a fine evening it was. As the world gradually came back into focus around me, I saw Kane hand some papers to the human Goon. He inspected them for a moment, then gave them back.
“Need help getting everyone home?” he asked, sounding downright friendly.
I stepped forward. More like a weave, really, but it was forward. “No, thanks.” My voice came out as a bellow, sounding like, well, an angry rhino. I cleared my throat. “We’re fine.”
The human Goon shook his head and shot Kane a sympathetic look. Then he and his partner resumed their patrol, and I smacked Kane in the shoulder.
“I thought you didn’t have permits for those zombies!”
He looked surprised. “Why would you think that?”
“At Creature Comforts. You told Daniel you’d taken them out of Deadtown without a permit.”
“Stop saying ‘zombie.’ Anyway, I’m a lawyer. Do you seriously think I’d break the law andrisk the lives of these two people? Of course I got permits.”
He tugged on his half-asleep zombie, who shambled forward, and they moved along Washington Street. I was faced with the problem of getting my zombie back on her feet. She lay facedown in the doorway, one arm thrown across the vampire junkie. They looked almost cozy together—or would have, if either of them had looked a little less like death warmed over.
I yanked on her arm, which raised her off the ground a bit, but she was so stiff—nothing would bend the way it was supposed to—that I couldn’t get her to her feet.
“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.
