2 Death Rejoices (42 page)

“I've learned not to trust DaySitters when they speak of their Companions’ misbehavior.”

“I don't allow my Companion to misbehave,” I said. Batten rolled his eyes, and Harry chuckled, retrieving the bucket. I ignored them both, adding, “I don't really want that freak in my house.”

“I certainly understand that. It must have been a great shock, to discover what the old man has fathered.”

“What old man?
Harry
certainly didn't father it.”

“Perhaps not literally, though you must understand the part he has played.”

I frowned at this, but before I could speak, Spicer went on, struggling to force his words out, battling for control of his own tongue. “I assure you, this thing is twice as dangerous as you think it is. Since it's not with Malas, little squirrel, it must be with you. Tell me where it's being kept.”

I chose my words carefully. “Maybe it translocated to St. Petersburg again?”

“What do you mean, ‘translocate’?”

“You didn't know?” I described the speed with which Viktor had appeared on my front porch the first time, and how it was awake during broad daylight, and how huge it was. I cringed at the ease with which the word
it
kept tumbling from my mouth, considering I'd always staunchly defended a revenant's right to be called
he
.

“Do not let its size deceive you,” he said, “nor its seeming fragility.”

Fragile? Viktor?
Unless Faberge had started making tanks, nothing his size really fit the description.

“It is a half-breed of unknown powers; we have not even begun to guess at its abilities.” Gurgle. “I must capture it. Do you understand how disastrous it would be if the abomination returned to the wrong hands?”

I found my gaze creeping up to the ogre on my porch again, scanning him from ear to ankle, no longer liking what I saw. The ogre dropped his black eyes to me in response; the revenant sensed my growing unease, heard my pulse quickening, smelled my sweat. It was full night now. He'd be far more dangerous than he had been the first time I saw him. He had to weigh three hundred pounds more than I did, and not fat pounds, but hard, powerful muscle. Dizziness stole my breath; all those pounds of unstoppable, undead freak show flying at me would be bad times all around.
At least all that muscle's not sexy
, an incredibly unhelpful part of me chided.
No! No boffing the necrophiliac ogre
.

“So, if I see it, I should keep it here?” I suggested.

“If you can contain this creation, and deliver it to me, I will take control from there.”

This creation? Fathered?
Did he think Malas and Harry made Viktor? That made no sense. Was it possible? Also, where the fuck was I going to find a shipping envelope big enough? I didn't even own a forklift, so this whole “delivery” thing was looking pretty iffy.

He said, “We can work together on this, Ms. Baranuik?”

I nodded hesitantly then realized he couldn't see me through the phone. “First, promise me that you will make no more attempts on Harry.”

“Other Priors have come to Colorado, Ms. Baranuik, vampire hunters who have their own agenda. The attack on Dreppenstedt did not come from me, nor did I consent to it.”

“Revenant,” I warned. “Even if I believed that, Spicer, you should know, you touch a hair on Harry's head and this will end badly for you.”

Spicer choked, and several slurred French exclamations were ground to bits behind his teeth. The Blue Sense jabbed through the phone.
Anger. Desperation. Dismay.

“You leave my people alone,” I said, eyeballing Batten, who had assumed his suspicious cop stance in front of me: arms crossed, glowering eyes, tight jaw. “Especially Harry.”

“I can't make any promises. Dreppenstedt is a dangerous creature, and may be hunting me.” He was maintaining his hard-won cool, but Spicer's voice vibrated. “I will not be the prey, here, Ms. Baranuik.”

“Harry is not hunting you,” I said flatly. “He's got better things to do with his time.”
Like me
.

“You can't know that. He is active while you are asleep.”

“If that means reading Chaucer and talking smack about my wardrobe choices to an audience of homemade brownies, you're right. Leave my Companion alone, he's off limits.”

“I am sorry that you are so stubborn, woman. You may come to regret it.”

I hung up and shoved my phone in my back pocket, dismayed to find my jeans sticky in addition to being wet. I put my gloves back on, checking them for icky spots.

Batten cleared his throat. “That was Spicer?”

I nodded. “He was speaking English this time, not garbled French nonsense. Something is definitely wrong with him. He called me a squirrel.”

“Anyone with access to the media could have known that,” Batten reasoned.

“The media has pictures of me in the damned squirrel suit?” My eyelids fell shut and I took a deep, cleansing breath. “Perfect. Just perfect. Harry, Spicer mentioned the ‘abomination’ and called it a half-breed. I think he's after Viktor,” I said, “and if so, he'll probably try to come for him here.”

“Maybe that's a good thing,” Batten said. “Lure him here, use Viktor as bait.”

I shook my head. “Too dangerous. Viktor can't be in my house.”

“Oh, indeed he can, love, for you have not yet uninvited him,” Harry reported, “and I pray you would not, as Wesley and I have found use for him.”

“I'm so afraid to ask, but exactly what use would that be?” I asked.

“As luck would have it, the ogre makes an especially deferential servant once shown his place by a firm male hand,” Harry said. “I only had to lay bare my authority once, and he's been an absolute kitten ever since.”

“A kitten,” I repeated, eyeballing the ogre uncertainly. “What about his… preferences?”

Batten shot me an alarmed look that I ignored.

“Wesley and I have decided that there are worse things in the world than being worshiped in such a way. He only indulges when we are resting, and he has promised to limit himself to exposed skin. Besides, his saliva seems to be helping Wesley heal.”

“You don't mind,” I repeated again, emphasizing each word, “that an ogre licks your naked flesh, as long as he does it when you're dead?”

“Dearheart.” Harry frowned at my apparent silliness. “ ’Tis a small price to pay for such a superior sentinel. Do not be such an irredeemable prude.”

Batten cleared his throat. “I'd be happy to lick Marnie, if you need a ‘sentinel’ for her.”

Harry's lips pursed. “This in no way astonishes me.”

“I'm pretty sure you shouldn't lick zombie scuzz. I need a shower and some fresh clothes and about a week of sleep.” I started crawling away, got dizzy, and paused on the stones.

“Marnie, where are you going?” Batten sighed.

“I'm going to crawl into the shower, crawl into some pajamas, and then crawl into bed and fantasize that you're all dead, whether you get licked or not.”

“What of those who already are, ducky?” Harry asked.

“Alien invasion. Everyone on Earth except me and a handful of horny hot dudes eats it. Maybe that kid Hood hired to replace ol’ zombie-butt Dunnachie survives.” I smiled up at them wistfully from my place in the driveway. “We're on a beach in what used to be Hawaii. Fortunately, all their clothes were destroyed.”

“Vivid imagination,” Batten said.

“Lots of practice.” I dragged myself on hands and knees toward the ogre on the porch, feeling like I should have gone to bed hours before. The back of my glove was coated in some sort of goo. I gave the glove a curious sniff, and the Blue Sense rocked my whole face. I had to press my eyelids closed and I tried not to pitch over.

“Pet?” Harry pressed close to me instantly.

“Weird. This smells like citrus. And fish.”

“Fishy lemons?” Batten said. “There's a combination perfume houses have overlooked.”

“Said the man who wears watered-down Brut.” Harry aimed a haughty sniff at him.

“Watered-down with holy water,” Batten fired at him. “Want a taste?”

From behind them, Declan's Buick's headlights cut through the pre-dawn darkness and hit me in the face, blinding me. From my knees, I put one hand up to shield my squinting eyes. The silhouette of my assistant spilled out of the car at a half-run. “What happened? Don't touch anything! Don't move!”

“Calm down, Sally, don't get your panties in a twist,” I called. “It's over, we're fine. Also, you drive like somebody's grandmother. Batten beat you here on foot.”

“The team's right behind me, we heard an explosion.” Declan jogged to us, doing a walking-spin survey of the carnage. “You're not fine, you're bleeding. It looks like something blew up. Is that Viktor Domitrovich on your porch? Dr. B., do you know anything about this?”

“It's inexplicable!” I reached for Hood's shotgun and used it as a crutch to lever myself up. I think my sarcasm was lost in his bafflement.

Declan beat Batten to helping me stand, and hovered to make sure I wasn't going back down. “Was that a zombie?”

“Yes, it was Neil Dunn—” I broke off, looking up at Batten, and said sadly, “Oh, Rob.”

He said tightly, “I'm Mark.”

“No, what am I going to tell Hood?”

“That you blew up his partner's reanimated corpse,” Batten said matter-of-factly, though the bitter emotion spilling into his deep-water blue eyes was hardly as flat as his voice. “Guess I'll tell him, since you're at a loss for words.” Without anything further, he stalked off toward the truck to grab the radio.

“Jerkface,” I hissed, distracted by Harry stooping to collect something from the ground. “Harry, don't touch the zombie bits.”

“Pinecones,” he corrected, “make a lovely centerpiece for the dining table.”

“That's what you're thinking about now, Harry? Dining room décor?”

Harry's one-shouldered shrug was meant for Declan, but the
careful-now
glance he shot at me was full of secret meaning. I couldn't imagine what he meant, but I knew he didn't want to discuss it in front of our current company. I dipped my chin in a single, silent nod.

Declan said, “Chapel's ordered the incineration of the fish camp buildings.”

“What's the status of Roger Kelly's corpse?”

“When I left, he was still…dead. They'll remove him before they torch the shed.”

“Dear God, I need a drink.”

“My dove, even were you not so obviously concussed from your encounter with the cab of Sheriff Hood's truck,” Harry stopped picking pinecones out of the lawn and stiffened, “since when is it acceptable to solve a problem with the consumption of alcohol?” His ash grey eyes flashed under his thrice-pierced brow.

“Since when is it okay to hire an ogre to watch over your…oh, wait, I did that, bad example,” I said.

“I've got cookies in my trunk,” Declan offered, and I saw in the wry set of his lips that he remembered what I'd said about promising Aradia I'd never touch another cookie if the goddess saved Batten's life. “They're Fig Newtons. Those aren't really cookies.”

I smiled tiredly up at him. “Have I mentioned how much I'm enjoying having an assistant? Even if he's a sarcastic ass who doesn't have any idea how to responsibly store baked goods?”

“The health department has barriers set up at the motorway.” He flapped his hand at the road that ran around Shaw's Fist, which ended at my driveway. “They left that cow road of yours open to the few residents who are refusing to leave until the lockdown is mandatory. The media has set up at the barrier, but the sheriff's department is keeping them out. The CDC is mobilizing, and should be here soon.” He watched me scoop up a zombie chunk in my gloved palm and sniff it. “What are you doing, Dr. B?”

“Nope.” I threw the meat down with a plop. “That doesn't smell like fishy citrus. That smells like old cheese and feet.”

Harry was inspecting the pinecones in his hand. “Dearheart, would you grace me with the pleasure of your freshly-showered and clean-clothed company for ten minutes or so before I go to rest?”

I gave Declan a meaningful look as the team descended on my driveway and the smoking remains of Zombie Dunnachie and the propane tank. “Duty calls. I'm putting you in charge of the UnBio team until I'm recovered. Review our notes later?”

Declan scrutinized the mess in the yard, nodding. “I'll make sure the health department rakes this shit up and burns it properly,” he offered.

“Brilliant. See that you do, lad.” Harry offered me his right arm. “Come, sugar cakes.”

Viktor the ogre gave me an unhappy sniff as I passed, grimaced, then followed us inside.

C
HAPTER
33

I GOT MY SHOWER
and a change of clothes, but was denied the sanctuary of my bed, and got dragged down to the basement before I could brew more than a single cup of espresso, so I was sipping what I had rather than knocking it back. It wasn't doing much to keep me upright, but the shower had helped to clear my head (after Harry had made sure I didn't have any extra lumps on it, but I had a doozy of a bruise coming in on my shoulder where the shotgun had kicked me) and I was blissfully free of Dunnachie crud.

Harry had moved Wesley's casket closer to his bed, the way a mother will do with a newborn's bassinet. While I stood there listening to the basement stairs complain under Viktor's weight, I wondered how the healing was going. Both halves of the lid were closed, and an IV stand had been set up nearby, with a couple spare bags of O-neg hanging, ready to be hooked up.
Well, at least he'll be off the
cheeseburgers for a while
.

I stopped dead near the foot of Harry's bed. He'd prepared for rest by cranking his electric blanket on high, and the little control box on the nightstand glowed orange. Harry brushed my ponytail away from the side of my throat, his cool fingertips tickling the nape of my neck.

“What is it, my pet?”

“I learned something about myself tonight when I was running for my life. When I'm not in danger, I'm about as deadly as a bag of marshmallows. But you put a monster on my ass,” I jacked my thumbs at my chest, “this kid's all right.”

“Do you think
this
monster would hurt you, after the night you've had?” He turned my shoulders square with his, and dipped his mouth closer to my face. “Or ever?”