But one of them was lying.
Eighteen
Mrs. Cain looked, if anything, more haggard than she had when Rachael had last seen her. So she greeted her with, “Not another murder?”
“No, thank all the gods. But it’s wreaking havoc on our new ad campaign. ‘Come to Minnesota . . . and be killed!’”
“It’s not as good as ‘Florida is for lovers,’ ” Rachael agreed.
“I’m afraid I have no new information for you, other than the fact that the victims were most definitely not Pack.”
“Or, presumably, vampire.”
Mrs. Cain blinked. “No. Of course not. But can you imagine? How would they ever cover it up?”
“No idea. But about the victims being vanilla humans, I figured. I stopped by to let you know I’m off to set up a meeting with the vampire queen.”
“You’re what?” Mrs. Cain had surged to her feet so quickly only another Pack member could have tracked the movement. “Have you lost your mind?”
“Almost certainly not.”
Except when it came to seducing a fellow accountant and watching
Zombieland
twice in a row, not to mention the french fry fight.
“I’ve been thinking since we last met, and I don’t like this at all.”
“I can assure you, you’re not alone. No one likes it.” She eased back down in her seat, looking past Rachael instead of at her. Typical Pack behavior: she was physically backing down so Rachael wouldn’t assume the woman was challenging her. Although normally the domain of males, there were alpha and beta females as well, and, occasionally, Challenges. “But I fail to see what meeting with that woman would accomplish.”
“I’m not sure, either, but think about it.”
“I have been,” she said, looking glum. “I’ve mentioned I don’t like it, yes?”
So she wouldn’t be seen as looming over the woman, Rachael plopped into a chair across from her. “Michael sends me to town to keep an eye on the queen, correct? And I’m no sooner here than people start turning up dead . . . people you had arranged for me to meet. That in itself is plenty odd, but what if someone is trying to stir up trouble between the vamps or the Pack?”
“I’m not—”
Rachael stepped on the woman’s words. “What if someone is trying to stir up trouble between the vamps
and
our Pack? The situation is already awkward—many of our people haven’t forgiven the vampire for letting our Antonia die in her service.
“And you can’t tell me the vampires didn’t resent having to show up in Massachusetts for what was essentially a trial for, at worst, murder, and at best, negligence. We parted on general good terms, but for a while it looked like we wouldn’t. And it doesn’t take but one spark to rekindle a blaze.”
“I see what you’re saying,” she said slowly, her expression thoughtful. “Still. Very dangerous, I think.”
“I agree. But nevertheless.” She shrugged. If she hadn’t been willing to get dirty, she never would have gotten on the plane. “Onward and upward, rah-rah-rah.”
“No.” Cain shook her head, her expression doubtful. “No, I think the risks are too high, Rachael. I think you’d better steer clear for now.”
Rachael looked at the woman, whose fatigue was evident in every line on her broad, sad face.
When had she last slept? Poor lady; she’s carrying weight that by rights is for others to tow.
So when she answered, she tried to do so as tactfully as possible.
“You misunderstand me, Mrs. Cain. I didn’t come for permission. I came as a courtesy to your office . . . your
true
office, not the chamber.”
Cain opened her mouth, but when Rachael held up a hand, she said nothing.
“I have acknowledged this as your territory, and I would never dream of trying for anything that’s yours. But I also have permission from Michael, my cousin and
our Pack leader
, to proceed however I see fit. He did not tell me to avoid the queen; he did not tell me to engage the queen. He left the specifics entirely up to me. Seeing her, not seeing her, telling you or not telling you . . . all are my prerogative.
“Perhaps I wasn’t clear. Perhaps it’s my fault that you mistook courtesy for subservience. If that’s so, I apologize and will try to be more clear in the future. Do you understand?”
Anger. Frustration. Shame. Fear.
“I . . . see. Yes. I apologize; I only tried to convey concern for your safety. How could I face Michael if anything happened to you here?”
“We grew up together,” she replied, smiling a little. She was relieved there wouldn’t be an escalation. She supposed she wasn’t very brave. There were plenty of females who would have loved to get bloody over something so minor. “He would know my grisly demise came through no fault of yours.”
The older woman snorted. “Excellent point. And, if I may, if you’re wondering about coincidences, have you considered the timing?”
She had. “The full moon.”
“Two days away,” Cain agreed. “Perhaps our killer is trying to spook the vampires into going after a Pack member during the full moon.”
“Lovely. Well, I’d better get going.”
“How are you . . . I mean, if you don’t mind, what are you going to say?”
“I have no idea, but I still think it’s worth the risk. It’s almost a win-win: if she’s in on it, she’ll at least know she’s not operating in a vacuum, that people have noticed. If she’s not in on it, she’ll appreciate the warning and we’ll maybe cement a little goodwill. The gain outweighs the risks.”
A little. Probably.
But it was no time to show uncertainty. “Trust me. It will be fine.”
Cain arched dark brows. “You hope.”
“Yeah.” Rachael sighed. “I hope.” Then: “You
really
don’t validate parking?”
Nineteen
The dead man walked out the front door, stood on the walk for a moment, then slowly ambled toward the street.
Edward, who had been daydreaming about Rachael, specifically Rachael’s awesome boobs and wicked smile, was at first startled, then curious.
He’d come for another stakeout, but more out of guilt than any sense of urgency or duty. He hadn’t been near the Manse O’ the Undead in two days.
Oh, but what a two days!
She’s perfect. She’s a goddess. So smart, and so hot! And Jesus, her mouth. Sharp and sweet and urgent and ah, God, this is no time for another damn boner!
So he’d walked the neighborhood yet again, this time dressed like a tourist in black cotton shorts, a bright yellow polo shirt, and a black fanny pack, which, he was surprised to see in the mirror, made him look like a giant deranged bee. He tended to choose clothing the way he chose snacks: whatever was closest at hand is what he grabbed. Thus: the return of . . . Bee Man!
Look! Up in the sky! It’s a bird, it’s a plane, it’s . . . gross. A giant bug.
He did look like a tourist, at least—he ought to know how to pull that off, given where he lived. Which was good, because if he was challenged, he’d ask for directions to the St. Paul Cathedral, which (per Google) was a few blocks from here.
Rachael really is astounding in every way,
he thought, feeling a sappy smile spread across his face.
And a goddamned hurricane in bed. Best of my life. No question; absolute best. And not because of what she did with her hands and mouth. Because of the things she told me. Because she cried and didn’t mind that I tried to help her. Because she admitted to being bitchy and homesick and could laugh at herself. Because she apologized to a waitress she’d never seen before and might never see again.
And let’s not forget the things she asked me to do to her. The naked things and the—
And here came the dead man. Not that Edward knew it then; he recognized the man as the same one who’d escorted the pregnant lady out . . . the scrubs helped. House call, maybe? Cigarette break? He wasn’t doing much, just sort of wandering in the yard.
I’ll get close. I’ll get as good a look at him as I can. Maybe he’s not an evil OB. Maybe he’s a regular OB, hold the evil. Maybe . . . he’s a prisoner. Maybe he needs help. I won’t know if I don’t get close. If he’s a good guy, this might be his one chance at safety. I’m not gonna blow it for him because I don’t want to get spotted.
Summit Avenue was utterly quiet as twilight deepened. Edward decided getting closer was worth the risk. So he swallowed his nervousness as best he could and, as casually as he could, started walking across the street. When he got close to the fence, he waved.
Nothing wrong here, just another dumb tourist who didn’t bother with MapQuest . . . Nothing to worry about . . . certainly not someone spying on you or possibly someone you live with . . .
“Hey! Excuse me . . . I’m sorry to bother you, but I think I’m lost.”
“I think you are, too.”
The friendly hey-I’m-a-hapless-tourist smile fell off his face. Edward had gotten close enough to realize he was talking to a dead man.
Not a prisoner on death row.
Not a vampire.
A dead man
.
He was so startled he tripped on the curb and fell, flailing, to the sidewalk. He caught himself by the hands, but not quite fast enough.
What a stupid way to meet my first-ever zombie,
he thought, clutching his skinned knees and trying not to groan with humiliation and pain.
Twenty
The zombie was pretty helpful.
“That looks like it stings,” it told him. It had hurried (sort of) through the gate and helped him up off the sidewalk. Edward braced himself for utter revulsion, but the zombie’s grip was surprisingly free of grossness. It was cool, but firm. Nothing squished. Nothing oozed onto his own hand.
He was able to get a good look at the zombie and, now that his shock was receding, was almost disappointed. The zombie was cool to the touch, yes, but not gross; it wasn’t teeming with maggots and wasn’t shuffling toward him moaning, “Braaaaaaains.”
Kind of a letdown, really.
Welcome to my life, zombie. Things are never as cool as they are in the movies.
“I’m a doctor,” the zombie was telling him, just when he thought things couldn’t get any weirder. Oh, of course. A
doctor
zombie made perfect sense. Yep.
It continued in a voice that sounded helpful, if a little hoarse. From disuse? From slowly rotting vocal cords? “My name’s Marc. D’you want to come in the house? I could get that cleaned up for yo—”
“No!” God, no. Never. He was no match for vampires and zombies and, if the rumors were true, ghosts.
No
match. “It’s fine, it’s just a scrape, I—I—” He forced himself to take a breath. “Are
you
all right? You look . . .” Dead. Defeated. Dead. And also, dead. “. . . pale,” he finished.
“Oh. Well.” It shrugged one shoulder. “I’ve been sick.”
I’ll bet you have.
For a moment, Edward was afraid he was going to giggle. If he did, he wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t stop until somebody hit him a few times with a brick. And that would be bad.
And he still couldn’t get over how a real-life zombie was nothing, nothing at all like the movies. It didn’t stink, and it wasn’t dressed in rotting rags. It had no visible marks or injuries.
Maybe he died of a drug overdose? He sure didn’t get smashed by a car or fall off some scaffolding.
Its eyes were clear, not clouded with death, though the corneas weren’t as bluish as they could have been.
No, what gave the zombie away—
Marc, the zombie’s name is Marc.
—was how it could stand so still. The lack of animation in body and facial expression, the way it stood there like its batteries had run out (w
hich I guess they had
) was just unsettling enough to raise his hackles
.
Here came the big question: what was a zombie doing here at all?
Then he remembered the pregnant woman and felt the chill that came from knowing something awful and realizing there wasn’t much to be done to prevent the awful thing from happening.
Boo.
He had to call Boo.
Now.
“Sorry to trouble you. I gotta get going. I’m late,” he said, and then turned on his heel and began to sprint.
“Be careful,” Marc-the-zombie called after him, which put the final surreal touch on the conversation.
If anyone had told me hanging around Summit Avenue in Minnesota would be way more exciting than vamp hunting in Boston with Boo, I would have suggested they up their meds.
Twenty-one
Rachael stopped by her apartment pro tem on the way to the queen’s mansion. She did so partly because she wanted to make sure Edward hadn’t left any messages for her, and partly because she was becoming quite fond of her den. Apartment. All right: den.