“I might be out of town. I have to go to Wales.”
“Where’s that? Out on the Cape?”
“No, Tina. It’s on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean.”
“Oh. I must’ve been thinking of whale-watching. You mean the place where your aunt lives. Next door to France, right?”
Too bad she couldn’t see my eye-roll over the phone. “Actually, it’s to the west of England.”
“Yeah, like I said. But you’ll be back, right? The concert is, like, over a week away.”
“I don’t know, Tina. I might be gone for a while.”
“Oh.” There was a long pause. “Well, that’s okay, I guess. I’m going to be really busy. I won’t have time for school or demon fighting or anything. If you miss this concert, there’ll be others, right? I mean, you can travel and stuff. You’re not stuck in Deadtown until somebody else gets a permit to take you somewhere. You can see us another time.”
We said good-bye, and I hung up feeling like I should’ve urged Tina to finish high school. Maybe even learn how to find Wales on a map. But what was the point? Zombies didn’t go to college. Most of them did manual or menial labor. Look at Gary—he’d been a professor, and now he was glad to be working as a doorman. Zombies weren’t supposed to have dreams. But Tina did. If she had a shot at living hers, who was I to tell her to put it off?
I never thought the flighty kid was demon-fighting material, anyway. My job would be a lot easier without her tagging along and messing things up. And I could stop wasting two evenings a week trying to teach her Russom’s.
Jeez, Vicky. Sour grapes much?
If Tina could hear my thoughts, she’d think I was as jealous as Jenna.
I still held the phone. I knew who I should call next—my sister, Gwen—but I wasn’t eager to talk to her. Gwen and I had been close as kids. And we’d stayed close, even though we’d made different choices. Among the Cerddorion, only females can shift—we gain the ability at puberty, and we lose it if we give birth. Gwen chose a norm lifestyle, marrying Nick Santini and having three kids. I adored my niece and nephews, but I was committed to remaining a shapeshifter and killing demons. Different strokes. Still, despite Gwen’s annoying habit of fixing me up with her husband’s norm friends, we got along.
Until that mad scientist kidnapped Maria. I’d brought my niece home safe and sound, but the poor kid was traumatized by the experience. It didn’t help that she’d seen me shift into a nightmare creature to get her out of there. Gwen had gone into protective mother-hen mode. All perfectly understandable.
What I
couldn’t
understand was why Gwen shut me out of her family. She’d asked me to keep my distance for a while, until Maria recovered. And I did, even though it hurt. No more phone calls to see what the kids were up to, no more family dinners at Gwen’s suburban home. My sister and I still talked, but her calls were less frequent and always came when the kids were in school. A strain arose between us, and I didn’t know how to make it go away.
Now, I was relieved—and a little ashamed to feel that way—when Gwen’s voice mail picked up. I left a brief message that Mab had summoned me to Wales and I expected to be back within a couple of weeks. She wouldn’t want to know more—when Gwen decided to go norm, she’d left the world of shapeshifting and demon slaying far behind. Besides, she and Mab had never gotten along. I ended with a quick “Give the kids my love,” wondering if she’d do it.
I hung up wishing I’d said more, just like with Kane. Then I shrugged it off. It would take time to mend my relationship with my sister, and it wasn’t going to happen today.
One more call to make, and then I could pack. I’d saved Daniel for last because I hoped he’d have news about T.J. At this point, I just wanted to hear a friendly voice.
I wasn’t disappointed. “Vicky, hi.” I could hear his smile; it made me smile, too. “I wanted to call you, but I didn’t think you’d be awake yet. Are you up for the day? Can you meet me for lunch?”
Yes,
I wanted to say. I wanted a nice, normal lunch, with good food and laughter and flirting. “I can’t. My day’s going to be jam-packed. I’m leaving for Wales tonight.”
“You’re—?” I could almost see the surprised look on his face, the crease it made between his eyebrows. “I’m sorry. My ex-wife used to say I never listened. But I honestly don’t remember you telling me you’re leaving town.”
“I didn’t. I only found out myself an hour ago.” I decided to take the same tack I’d used with Kane. “It’s my aunt Mab. She’s getting on in years. She called and said she needs me there.”
“Oh, I see. It must be hard to have an elderly relative so far away.”
“She was my dad’s sister. I’m the only family she has.” Actually, Mab’s handyman, Jenkins, and his wife, Rose, were closer to my aunt than I was to my own sister right now. It felt more like Mab was
my
only family. “Anyway, I’ve got to pack and dig out my passport”—I hoped I hadn’t let that expire—“and rush around doing God-knows-how-many errands. I called to tell you I was leaving town, but I was also wondering whether you found out anything about T.J.”
“Hang on a minute.” There was a change in Daniel’s voice, a tension that hadn’t been there a moment ago. He spoke away from the phone, telling someone he was almost done.
“I can’t talk now.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Do you have any time at all today? Even ten minutes?”
“So you do have information?”
“Yeah. But I can’t talk about it over the phone. Hampson was furious when some reporter rang his doorbell last night. If it got back to him I was asking questions …”
“I understand. Okay, when and where?”
“What is it now, ten thirty? Let’s make it noon. At the Hatch Shell. Nobody will be around on a day like this.”
That was for sure. The Hatch Shell was an outdoor stage beside the Charles River. No concerts there when it was below freezing.
“All right. Thanks, Daniel. I know it’s risky for you to help me.”
“Wait—can you hang on again?” Away from the phone he said, “Go ahead. I’ll catch up in two seconds.” A pause of a few more beats, then he was back. “I’ll see you at noon,” he said in a low, hurried voice. “There’s more to talk about than T.J.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s happened again.”
“It’s—Daniel, what do you mean? What’s happened?”
But he’d already hung up.
12
IT’S HAPPENED AGAIN.
Another zombie had been killed. That had to be what Daniel meant. I turned on Juliet’s TV, lowered the volume a few notches, and found Channel 10. A local talk show was on: A pastry chef was teaching the host and hostess how to make crêpes suzette. The chef used a lighter to ignite the dessert, and the hostess screamed and jumped back, laughing.
Not exactly an urgent special report on mysterious zombie deaths in Deadtown.
I flipped to the Paranormal News Network. Even though Sykes had promised Lynne Hong an exclusive, now that the story was out, PNN must be following up. A photo of Tina in her audition outfit flashed on the screen for a story about the new members of Monster Paul’s Zombie Freak Show and the free Paranormal Appreciation Day concert. But even though I watched through a complete news cycle, there was nothing on PNN, either. Or any other channel I tried. Nothing about T.J., and nothing about a second death.
Maybe I was jumping to conclusions. When Daniel said, “It’s happened again,” he could’ve meant anything. Something at work or with his ex, probably. Just because I was thinking about T.J. didn’t mean Daniel was.
Back on Channel 10, a spot for the local news listed the noon broadcast’s top stories. Still no mention of any zombie death or a police cover-up.
T.J.’s story hadn’t run.
Who’s going to speak for him now?
Sykes had asked. He’d tried. He’d risked his career to do so. And the response was resounding silence.
I muted the TV and looked up the phone number for the Channel 10 newsroom. When someone answered, I asked for Lynne Hong. “It’s about her zombie story from last night.”
The extension rang three times, and I almost hung up, figuring there was no point in leaving a voice mail. But then she answered.
“Lynne Hong.”
“Hi, I’m calling to find out whether Channel 10 aired your story about a zombie death in the New Combat Zone.”
“How do you know about that?” she asked sharply.
“I was in the Zone last night when you interviewed Officer Sykes. I didn’t catch the news, so—”
“Who is this?”
“My name is Vicky Vaughn.”
“Well, Ms. Vaughn, the answer is no. We didn’t air the story because there
was
no story.”
“But Officer Sykes—”
“Has been suspended due to allegations he assaulted a fellow officer. There’s no evidence to support his claims.”
No evidence.
I’d hydroplaned across Creature Comforts through the evidence. And Hong was letting the story go.
“Did you actually
investigate
his claims? Or did you just take Hampson’s word for it?”
“Of course I investigated—or tried to. Sykes’s partner wouldn’t talk to me. I called Creature Comforts multiple times, but no one answered. The police department maintains that no zombie was murdered in the Zone. I can’t go on the air with unsubstantiated allegations from a suspended cop with a grudge.”
“A zombie
did
die in Creature Comforts. And there may have been a second death.”
“A second—?” Hong paused, presumably to grab a pen. “Who? Where?”
I hesitated. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. I didn’t want to get Daniel in trouble. I wasn’t even sure what he’d meant. “I don’t know. It’s just a rumor.”
Hong made a disgusted sound. “I can follow up rumors. But only if I have some information to go on.”
“You do have information. What happened to T.J. isn’t a rumor. It’s real. Keep trying with Axel, the bar’s owner. He’ll talk to you.” I started to hang up.
“Ms. Vaughn—wait, you said
Vicky
Vaughn? You’re the PA who pulled that vampire off a human a few months back. The story was on CNN. You never returned my calls. You’re some kind of werewolf, right?”
If there’s one surefire way to keep me talking, it’s to call me a werewolf. “No, I’m not a werewolf. I’m a shapeshifter, of the Cerddorion race. It’s not the same. Shapeshifters—”
Not that Lynne Hong cared. “That happened in Creature Comforts, too,” she said, talking over me. “What’s going on in that place?”
This time I did hang up.
A game show was coming on the silent TV. I checked the time and jumped. I had to pack. But first a shower. I turned off the television, grabbed my bathrobe, and headed down the hall. Just short of the bathroom, I stopped. Something seemed out of place, and it took me a second to figure out what it was. Juliet’s bedroom door was open—my roommate always slept with her door closed and locked. For the space of two breaths, I hesitated, then I stuck my head through the doorway. The coffin lid was open. I turned on the light and confirmed what I already knew. Juliet’s coffin was empty.
In the years we’d shared this apartment, Juliet had never stayed out all day. Not once. She wouldn’t disintegrate into dust or anything if she slept somewhere else—but she always said that nothing recharged her like returning to her own coffin each dawn.
Then again, she’d mentioned something about a new man, about going back to his place. Maybe she’d found another way to recharge her batteries.
Don’t wait up. J.
Weird chanting echoed through my mind, making me glance back at the empty living room. I shook it off, went into the bathroom, and started the shower.
Fifteen minutes later, I was dressed and rooting around the back of my closet. I dug out my small duffel bag, tossed it on the bed, and unzipped it. Armfuls of underwear and sweaters and jeans went from dresser drawers into a tangled heap in the bag. I found my passport in a desk drawer and zipped it into the outside pocket. It was still current—a good thing, too. Last time I’d renewed it, the monsters were still in hiding. Now that we were common knowledge, the government required “paranormal status”—backed up by DNA test results—on passport applications. If Kane failed with his civil rights case, I might not qualify for a passport after this one expired. For now, though, it was easier for me to leave the country than to cross a state line.
I stared at the jumble of clothes spilling out of my bag. I had no idea what I’d thrown in there. Not that it mattered. I had a closet full of clothes at Maenllyd, and Mab would make sure my bathroom there was stocked with toiletries. What I
really
wanted to pack were a few of my favorite weapons—the bronze dagger with the mother-of-pearl hilt, a pistol or two. And the Sword of Saint Michael, since Difethwr was back. But then I’d have to check my bag, and those weapons were too valuable to entrust to airline baggage handlers. Mab had weapons; her collection was far larger than mine.
I stuffed a couple of wayward sweater sleeves into the bag and zipped it up. It was time to go meet Daniel.