Mark Henry_Amanda Feral 01 (27 page)

“Oh, do you have to be so dirty?” She scraped her nails around a shoddy lipstick job. The color bled up the fine lines that spread from her lips like drool.

“Well,
dirty
suits me like
fucktard
suits you, Persephoney,” I said, but it even sounded lame coming out.
Stop it
, I thought.
Why must I be so self-critical? I sounded like my mother
.

“That’s very amusing, Amanda.”

“No, it wasn’t.” I pivoted to face her. “What is amusing is that your little world destruction plan has gone straight down the poop-hole.”

The vampires giggled, one whispered, “Poop-hole.” More giggles.

“See Claire, even the junkies think that’s amusing.” To the vampires, I remarked, “Stick with me while I wing it, girls.”

“What the Hell are you talking about?” Claire clutched the marble counter hard enough to turn pink knuckles white. “Spit it out, girl.”

“Sorry, but your supply of zombie pills…”

“What?” she bellowed.

“…has been confiscated by the proper authorities.”

“Excuse me?” Claire appeared to be ready for an aneurism, although I suspect that the bulging veins were the first sign that she’d be shifting.

“Oh, but surely you must know?”

Claire tensed and then curled her fingers into fists, cracking every knuckle in the process.

“No? Well, it seems the reapers—nice girls, really, sharp teeth, though, right?—were very upset about your last zombie experiment, and decided to pop in for an inspection. You can imagine their surprise when they found a full-blown extraction of zombie breath going on. Apparently they didn’t get the memo.”

Claire’s ears sprung into points, and her fingers took on that scary claw look, that’s
so
in right now, all that in perfect time to Shiny Toy Guns, booming through the speakers. It was impressive. Claire was a fully mature werewolf in a matter of seconds, and stalking toward me
124
. I stood my ground. Okay, so I was shaking a bit—but not a whole lot.

“They even raided your barista training ground,” a new voice said, entering the mix. Wendy sauntered in like a rolling bead of mercury. “They said your goons couldn’t pull a decent shot if their lives depended on it. Unfortunately, we’ll never know for sure. All dead. Those reaper mouths can’t seem to get enough food. I’m worried there may be an eating issue.”

Claire’s snout exhaled a plume of hot stinky breath. Her jaws snapped open, twisted to the side, and clamped down on my head; at the same time, she grasped at my body, trying to pull me toward her.

I grinned. She had hold of something but it wasn’t me.

Claire was propelled backward and slammed into the wall leaving a distinctly werewolf shape in the bent stainless steel. The air came out of her lungs and she hunched over on the floor, like the dog she was.

I picked between my breasts until I found a slick knot hidden there. I pulled the gold cord up, drawing the lucky charm from my cleavage. I slid the necklace over my head. Liesl was right, not just a ticket, the amulet was powerful magic. So, much love for the amulet.

Claire sprang up again, this time lurching toward Wendy. She spread her claws and tore at Wendy’s face attempting to slice it into ribbons. But, her hand seemed to strike an invisible wall, hard as an anvil. Her claws snapped backwards, the sound of their breaking echoed against the metal walls.

“Ew,” groaned a stall-stoner.

Wendy patted the front of her dress. “I’m afraid I’ve got your stupid henchman’s amulet. Is that a problem?” She looked around as if actually concerned.

Our eyes met. We snickered.

The Clairewolf staggered, panting. She cradled her destroyed paw across her forearm.

“Well isn’t this something,” commented a familiar voice from behind me.

I swiveled in time to see Elizabeth Karkaroff make her entrance in what I believed was a lovely pre-Dior Galliano. What was certain? The frock was most definitely salary-consuming. It clung to her like a newborn, or as though she’d grown it herself, cultured off her own skin. It was a remarkable fashion achievement.

“Ms. Karkaroff, I really have to apologize,” I said. “I was completely snowed by this bitch.”

Wendy and I parted as the woman passed between us, and took a motherly stance over the werewolf. Karkaroff patted and stroked the fur of its head. Claire’s eyes were damp with tears; her animal voice mewled with fear.

“Turn!” Elizabeth commanded. Her skin had a radiance not cosmetically possible
125
. Her energy squeezed around our bodies. The vampire stoners shut their stall door.

Claire’s fur receded into her follicles in that instance; her skin sucking at the hair like straws. Her skeleton reconfigured, with several snaps, spasms, and loud cracking sounds. Claire’s skin was bruised and her hand hung loosely as though the bones had liquefied.

“I think you are done, Claire. In fact, I’m sure of it. You’ve done quite enough damage in my town.”

I envied the expression,
my
town. She asserted ownership and said it without a hint of irony or self-aggrandizement. She, simply, knew it was true.

“Please, Persephone! Have mercy!” Claire cried out. She shivered like a blizzard had swept into the room, and in a sense, it had.

“I’m all out of mercy, dear. What I have, for you, is peace.”

Elizabeth made a slow circular gesticulation with her hand. She closed her eyes and the room seemed to void of air for a second. Her hair swirled around her, in an undercurrent of power. The lights over the vanity and in the stalls dimmed and went dark. Karkaroff’s energy squeezed in on my body like a blood pressure cuff.

Below Claire’s shaking body, the floor began to quiver like a vibration on the surface of water. Her face crimped into a cringe of fear. She sunk straight into it, like a stone.

The lights returned and the floor solidified. The air lost the density and pressure that held us all still.

“That was amazing,” I said. Wendy shook her head next to me. I was worried she might ask for an autograph. I stepped forward and offered my hand. “Thank you. Persephone, is it?”

It made perfect sense. Claire was infatuated with Persephone, so why not disguise herself as the real thing, sans extravagant power, of course.

“We can stick with Elizabeth. Persephone was a long time ago.” She smoothed the front of her fabulous dress.

“Absolutely. I’ve always believed in the importance of a future orientation,” I said, blowing off the supernatural events, as if they were commonplace.

“I’m glad you think that.” She came up close and took me with an arm around my shoulder out into the lobby. Wendy trailed. “I have been thinking of some new business opportunities and I think you would be the perfect person to implement a marketing campaign.”

“Mmm-hmm, go on,” I replied, but inside I was doing cartwheels through a field of daisies—no, those smell like shit, don’t they—through a field of jasmine. That’s a pretty smell. Wait…is that a vine?

“The size of which would require the attentions of your entire firm. I’m afraid it may require some restructuring of your company.” She was focused on me, intently, unblinking.

I thought of what would have to be done to those callous knuckleheads, Pendleton and Avery, and of the day of my death, their lack of interest. I certainly wouldn’t miss them. It would beat selling out my shares and giving my baby away to incompetence.

“Sounds good. Dangerous.”

“Yes!” She beamed. Her eyes seemed to flash red. “But lucrative.” Maybe the flash was green.

The business chat was cut short by screams from the lobby.

Outside the ladies’ room, Mortuary erupted into a scene out of bedlam. All the beautiful undead were running back and forth, climbing over each other, turning the lobby from funeral home into a psychotics nightmare.

“Outbreak!” a voice yelled nearby, and then another, another. It was the supernatural consensus.

From the bottleneck of the front door sprayed an endless flood of mistakes, each in a consecutively more advanced state of decay. Some simply gnawed, others were missing limbs, or torn open, bowels dragging the floor. Each mouth was jacked open wide, and ready to eat.

Behind them, I could just make out the back of a tractor-trailer. The zombies unloaded from there, some taking the time to hunch down before jumping down, others marching off and falling onto a heap of malfunctioning ghouls.

Once inside Mortuary, they tore into the nearest bodies, regardless of species. To our right, a group of wereleopards were mid-change, when a deluge of mistakes attacked them, clamping onto throats, lacerating arteries. The wallpaper was awash in blood spray and bile patterns
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. It looked like a Jackson Pollack, if he were to work a new irritable bowel method.

The most statuesque of the sirens started to drone, from beside Lucien at coat check. Five zombies split off from the horde and attacked. Three crowded Lucien, drawing at his limbs until they loosed from the sockets and were flung into the lobby air; a leg came next. The siren’s face turned piranha; she launched onto the other two pecking at their dead flesh with thin spiky claws like a pointed Thai dancer.

Cash Zinsser dashed away from a small huddled mass near the “viewing” room. He cradled his precious bichon frisé, Claudius, in one hand, a ubiquitous steno pad in the other. A pen bounced between his whiter than white fangs. He bounded across the lobby toward the bathroom. Halfway there, a huge mistake—probably a football player in life—snatched Claudius from Cash’s hand, and bit its head clean off. The vampire screamed like a little girl, as he was hosed with the last of the dog’s blood gush. The linebacker advanced, pounding the furry carcass against Cash’s head, forcing him to take stumbling steps backwards. He fell over a pile of leftover bones and formal attire, landing square on his ass. The notepad hung in the air for a second, fanned out before smacking across his forehead. The zombie jumped on top, chewing into the vampire’s cheeks.

I grabbed Wendy and Elizabeth and headed for the stairs. Gil was at the top, yelling something inaudible, above the roar. A zombie charged us, reaching for Wendy, but was unable to connect. I unhinged my jaw and snapped off the back of its neck as it passed. The mistake dropped in a heap; I spat out a chunk of its spinal column. It chattered across the floor like fake teeth.

“Nice work,” Elizabeth said, her face as placid as Sunday morning. She was on her cell phone, presumably contacting the reapers. It was about time for someone other than me to be useful. She shot me a quick sneer. A zombie broke for her from a nearby pack gnashing its exposed jaw. The demon glanced at him—a painfully bored expression—and produced a glowing whip of light in her free hand and slashed the zombie into flapjacks of meat. The pieces fell to the floor with the accuracy of a griddle cook, slapping wetly.

Sorry
, I mouthed.

We continued bounding toward the stairs.

Gil was near their base calling to us. A flash of zombie appeared from the right. Before I could shout a warning, a brutish looking mistake grasped at him and latched onto Gil’s shoulder with teeth the likes not seen since Ginsu ads
127
. Liesl and Cameron rushed from above, spewing a long strand of guttural howls, chants, perhaps in an unfamiliar language. An arc of electricity seemed to spring from the couple and charge directly into the ghoul mauling Gil. It dropped to the floor twitching as smoke rose from its charred eye sockets.

Wendy and I rounded the banister and headed up, just as a second wave of mistakes came from the entry. The floor below was slick with blood, gore, and bile. Body parts flew through the air like spears, some finding targets. Those they found, were knocked to the ground and quickly covered in zombie mouths, gnashing and grinding into their bones.

Above us, in the entry to the loge hall, Shane slouched, a blasphemy of a grin spread across his face. He was holding the BlackBerry I’d seem him with in the torture chamber. He looked far too smug not to have arranged this massacre.

A masticated hand reached between the balusters, dripping flesh from drying bones. It clutched my ankle, spilling me onto my knees. Another hand reached for me, slinking through the cord of my charm. I reared up pulling away and the cord snapped. Before I could reach it, the amulet was snatched back through the rungs of the stairway and into the teeming bloodbath.

Another zombie slipped from behind Wendy, lunging for me. It wore a paper fast food hat and a striped polyester uniform. I was certain the fabric would do me just as much harm as the mistake. Already off balance, I fell back against the stair and raised my leg to try and push the creature away. It dove then. Its head quivered with excitement, its mouth wide and tongue flicking in grotesque vulgarity. I reared back and drove the heal of my stilettos sole deep between its eyes. It heaved twice and then fell to its knees. Its clawed hands hung flaccid against the sides of my hips, staining the satin with gore.

“Damn it!” I yelled and tried to kick him free. But, the heel was stuck in there good. The impromptu lobotomy tool had claimed two victims, the zombie and a beautiful pair of Guccis. I slid my foot from the shoe and the body dropped. I discarded the other.

I darted up the stairs, leaving Wendy below. Shane withdrew into the shadows of the drawers. I shouted to Wendy, “Hold on to that amulet, girl. Liesl would be pissed!”

I stopped at the top of the landing. Shane was not in the hall, likely hiding on one of the balconies. Below, Ricardo had joined the group and was battling the mistakes with a large mace
128
. From this vantage, the group looked horribly outnumbered, at least fifty ghouls were in active combat and that was just in the lobby—I hadn’t seen the actual club yet, but the screams were thunderous.

I trudged off into the hall. The elevator door was closed so I tried each of the balconies in turn. The first two balconies found only frightened party guests, cowardly zombies in the first, unwilling to expose their flesh to the possibility of damage. I couldn’t really judge them. Without the amulet, I’d probably be hiding, too. The second contained the worst kind of supernaturals, the disinterested. They sat chatting and turning their noses at the noise. Their flamboyant leader held court from a central pouf, his hairy legs splayed out like a murder victim. Bernard Krups didn’t seem at all concerned.

“Darling, what are you on about? Come to take me up on my offer to paw around?” He slid his hand down the front of his flabby chest, into the waistband of a pair of bulging gold spandex hot pants.

“Gag,” I said. “I’d sooner blow an actual goat, you perv.”

He waved me off like an impetuous child.

I crossed the balcony and shooed two of his glommers. I looked over the edge at the main space to find that there were no more mistakes loose. The club guests barricaded the entrance with dismantled banquettes and the Yetis were using their backs to hold them against the entryway.

I moved back into the hall. It was empty.

At the next balcony, I located my quarry. Shane was waiting there, a gun in his hand. That’s right, a gun. P-thetic.

I rushed him.

He fired.

The bullet blazed through my upper leg and I dropped to the ground, wincing with surprising pain. I actually had some functioning nerve endings. Score! Shane dropped down on his knees.

“You didn’t think I’d shoot, did you, dead bitch?”

I pretended to faint from the pain, lolling onto my back, my leg splayed at an odd angle—more for the effect than out of any real damage. Shane’s head hovered over mine.

“You couldn’t possibly think we’d come unprepared. You see, the reapers only cleansed one of our training camps. The other was clean and ready to go. As you can see, if you’d just open your eyes.” He reached for my face. I felt his thumb on my left lid.

I lunged at him. Clutched his head on either side. I brought his mouth down to mine. The fool opened it.

I exhaled.

The breath came from deep in my lungs. Its form was dense and scratched my throat on the way out, like the removal of a chest tube. It passed through my mouth like I’d conjured up a wet sausage and was forcing it into his throat. Shane’s eyes bugged out. He made a muffled moaning sound and then was quiet. He seemed to relax.

I pushed him away. He fell against the wall, defeated. He wore a sullen face.

Was that it, I wondered? Had my breath simply calmed him, sedated?

No, was the answer.

Wrinkles formed rapidly in Shane’s skin. Deep creases caved in around his lips and eyes, unraveled across his forehead. I flashed back to Bowie in
The Hunger
. The rapid aging was even more disturbing in person. I looked around for my purse. Gone. I was going to have a make-up breakdown.

The skin on his neck began to sag and hang like fabric rouging. The age spots were next. They appeared as though flecked from a paintbrush nearby and bled out from their initial spots, growing, unevenly. His skin darkened with multiple cancers. Lesions appeared and opened. Thin rivers of blood drained from soft flaccid puckers, like swollen entry wounds.

The curtain from the hall opened and Wendy peeked in. She looked at the pile of clothes and decomposing flesh that was Shane and said, “
Ew
…Pretty. Nice boyfriend you got there.” She kicked a loose tuxedo pump off his shriveling foot.

“Thanks, figured it out a little late. But, you can’t say I don’t know how to take care of my man.”

She crouched down, poking at the grey flesh around the gunshot wound. “Hmm. I’m not sure if Liquid Leather’s going to patch that up.”

“Whatever.”

“You’ll have to tell me one day how you killed that piece of shit.”

“Maybe. Right now, though, help me up, bitch. This leg is killin’ me.”