2 Death Rejoices (46 page)

He returned, swimming up out of the red gloom. If angels had nightmares, this was the face that made them shudder awake in their infinite thread-count sheets. The demon closed one bulging eye on his human head, and with the open one, peered at me intently from the other side of the glass.

“You will need my assistance to kill John Spicer,” he said, “and when the time comes, you must call upon my help.”

Malas’ tooth rattled on the counter. (“
Mark the sound of my reply. I will come for you.
”)

“I'm not going to kill anyone,” I said firmly.

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I'm not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No, I'm—would you stop that? What are you, twelve?”

Smoke billowed behind Asmodeus and the angry chorus started up again.

I threw my palms out against the belching hell-breeze and shouted, “Knock that shit off! I'm out of air freshener, you asshole.”

Asmodeus chuckled, and his bull head snorted. The demon horde — presumably, if I remembered my bible lessons, the seventy-two legions He claimed — drifted away into shadow. “You must not allow your police officers to arrest John Spicer. This is the perfect opportunity to make a sacrifice to your Overlord, DaySitter.”

Oh, goody.
“Say, do you know if Viktor Domitrovich is the abomination that Spicer is tracking? Do you know who is making zombies? Are they connected somehow?”

“I know lots of neat stuff.” The demon wiggled his fleshy, hairless brow ridge. “Wanna play tit for tat? Oh, wait.” He shook his head sadly at my naked chest. “Never mind.”

I flipped him off before remembering I had demon-people skills. “Is Malas angry about Gregori Nazaire?” I asked. “Is Gregori still with us?”

“Ha! Gregorius.” Asmodeus displayed for me again the horror of his teeth and pressed forward a good foot and a half from the mirror. “You dusted that sumbitch good, toots.”

I grimaced. “About that. You mad, bro?”

“Nah,” he replied. “Shit happens. You'll make it up to me.”

“I will?” I swallowed hard. “How will I do that, exactly?”

He fluttered his lash-less eyelids coyly; the effect was disturbing, like someone had painted Danny Devito red and gave him two animal heads and a seduction scene in the worst X-rated movie ever. “You will rise in defense of the Eversea and champion those who are under attack, of course.”

I blinked. “Wow. That sounds awfully official and kind of important.” I shook my head. “I'm really booked. Can we renegotiate this deal in, say, November or so?”

“Do what you do best, toots. Self-interest. It comes natural to you.” He faded into the smoke with a chuckle, the tail-end of His voice pulling like a fingernail down my spine. “Do not disappoint me.”

Don't disappoint
Him?
Why should He be any different?

C
HAPTER
36

“EVERY DAMN DAY,” I MOANED,
trying to judge Rob Hood's mood.

He seemed strangely unaffected by the fact that last night I blew up the zombie that had once been his best friend and chief deputy. Surely, he should have some reaction? What I saw on his face, however, was the daily resolve to get me into shape and improve my fight. He seemed undaunted by the Matterhorn-like nature of this task.

Hood squinted at me in the early morning sun, pulling one of his elbows behind his head in some sort of fancy stretching move. I tried to copy it and nearly elbowed myself in the face.

“Don't like seeing my ass every morning?” he asked.

“It's a perfectly fine ass, but no, I don't,” I said, pulling up my big girl panties to say what needed to be said. “Do you want to talk about Dunnachie?”

“Not even a little bit.”

“You've been pulled off the case,” I guessed.

“Wasn't on it to begin with.”

“Lying to a psychic,” I said, shaking my head. “Seriously?”

“I'm too close to it to be of any use,” he said. “I'm trying to keep my distance.”

“Trying,” I repeated. “There's the truth.”

His chin did an alarming little warble and I thought,
here it
comes
, but to my great relief, he pulled it together. “What I want to do is run, Mars.”

I thought that was fair. I blow up his zombie deputy and the sheriff tortures me with more slogging through the woods. We started in the direction of the fish camp, and I wondered how he'd like it if I
pointed out the spot where Dunnachie's zombie had me pinned on the asphalt with his gaping, fetid maw descending at my face, complete with putrid fumes to rival the worst morning breath ever. It seemed only fair for him calling me “Mars”.

“Why do we have to focus on running every day?” I asked, not so much a complaint as genuine curiosity.

“Direct orders.”

“You take orders?”

His lips quirked up at one corner. “Believe it or not.”

“From whom?”

“Strictly confidential.”

“Tell me,” I said warningly, “or I'll pull your nutsack up to your chin and staple it there.”

“Gross. It was Batten.”

“Wow, you're easily intimidated,” I commented. “No wonder you take orders.”

He snort-laughed his agreement.

“Thought you'd at least put up a fight,” I offered.

“Not in the mood to fight with you. Besides, you're apparently dangerous.”

“So you're taking orders from Batten now?”

“More of a request, really.” He glanced down at me sidelong as he jogged. “Batten wanted you to be able to run from trouble.”

“Like a chicken?” I asked sourly.

“Like a survivor.”

“As if he cares.”

“Think he doesn't?”

“He shouldn't,” I said.

Hood was quiet for a moment, then nodded. “Probably not. I can't see it ending well, if it ever got started.”

“Which it shouldn't.”

Hood bobbed another nod. “Again, probably not. But love doesn't always make good choices. The heart wants what the heart wants.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I objected, turning to run backwards in front of him to look him in the face. “Who said anything about
love?
Dude, yank your filthy fucking tongue out and huck it in the ditch.” The fact that we were not that far from the ditch where Dunnachie's tongue had fallen out was lost on Hood.

Hood smirked, and his charming red-head habit of turning pink in the throat made its first appearance of the day. “You think someone like Batten pursues anyone this determinedly just for sex? Look at him. A guy like him could get sex anywhere.”

That was not something I wanted to think about. “He pesters me because I'm convenient.”
And I make him say “Oh God baby” when he
comes.

“With a vampire roommate and that barbed wire personality of yours?”

“Okay, he pesters me because I'm pitifully easy.”

“No, Mars.” He picked up speed so that I had to turn back around and run properly. “You're special to him. God knows why.”
I can get fucked through a bathroom door like nobody's business. Hey, Asmodeus, you getting the live feed of this, you demonic pervert?

I agreed with the last part with an affirmative
harrumph
. “Well, we've gotta nip that in the bud.”

“What do you mean
we
, woman?” He gave me a worried smile sidelong. “
We
ain't doing nothing.”

“I've got a plan, don't worry about it.”

“Whatever it is, I don't like the sound of it.”

“It's a two-fold plan.”

“I'm going to have to say ‘no’ twice, then.”

“How would you like to earn some extra money on the side, Prince of Thieves?”

Hood snorted. “So I can bribe you to stop calling me that?”

“I'll never stop, and you can't make me.”

“I could,” he said lightly, “but it's not worth losing my badge.”

I thought about that. “Fair enough. I'm talking about some serious cash. Also, a fairly awesome car.”

Sheriff Hood slowed his pace then came to a gravel-grinding halt. He propped his knuckles on his trim hips. I joined him where the sun strained through the generous, leafy canopy to warm the road, and fixed my ponytail with a sharp jerk.

“Well, since you trashed my truck,” he said in consideration, “you do owe me.”

“I told you, that was the monster's fault,” I said. “It's always the monster's fault. Also, it was just a busted window and a dent from
my head and some zombie bits. A good pressure washer will take care of those. Now, do we have a deal?”

“Not until you tell me what you have in mind. And before you tell me, is it legal?”

“Not even a little.” I paused for dramatic effect. “I want you to teach me how to whoop Mark Batten's ass.”

He blinked. I waited for the gears to shift in his brain. “As in, hand-to-hand?” When I nodded, Hood tossed his head back and laughed heartily.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I said.

“I'm sorry.” He wrangled his mirth into submission. “You wanna whoop Batten's ass. What for?”

“Pride.”

“Pride? You?”

I tried again. “Satisfaction? Bragging rights? Take him down a peg?”

“You don't want to actually hurt him.”

I see-sawed one gloved hand. He didn't buy it.

“What do you really want?” Hood asked.

“Here, I'll show you.” I took him by the elbow and maneuvered him first to his knees; he went willingly enough. I placed him on his back in the weeds on the side of the road, propped one dusty red Ked on his chest, and assumed the superhero pose: chest thrust forward, fists on hips, imaginary cape flapping in the breeze behind me, my big cheese-eating smile beaming down at him.

“This,” I said, with a flip of my ponytail. “I want this.”

“Complete with smug grin?”

“
Especially
the smug grin. Preferably with all my teeth.”

“You'd have to really knock him on his ass to get him to stay down for all that.” He wriggled a meaty forefinger to indicate my victory pose.

“But I'm motivated,” I promised. “I'll do whatever it takes.”

“Finally.” He hopped with surprising agility to his feet. “You good for some more running?”

His mouth said running, but his eyes said he was ready to talk, so I gave him a nod and we continued down the road, my feet hitting the gravel twice as often as his to keep pace. We made the curve toward the fish camp before he said it.

“Looked like foul play to me.”

“The making of zombies thing? Yeah, I would think so. Nobody makes zombies to fight for the right or the light.”

“Dunnachie was in your lake the whole time.”

“It's not my lake, and I didn't put him there.”

“Maybe you know who did.”

I bristled. “I didn't chew that hole in him. I've got soft molars.” I pulled inside my cheek so he could see. “I would have snapped a tooth on his Adam's apple or something.”

Hood looked ill. “This isn't a joke.”

“Sounds like a joke to me, though I agree it's not much of a rib tickler. His ribs didn't tickle when he was trying to eat me, that's for fucking sure.”

“That mouth of yours is going to get you in trouble. If you're not careful around the Feds, you could get charged with accessory after the fact.”

“For what?”

“You might think I'm just some backwoods Podunk sheriff, but—”

“Hey, whoa. That's not what I think at all.” Watching him side-ways as I ran wasn't easy, but I felt he deserved to see the seriousness in my face, so I risked taking my eyes off the road until he glanced over. “Rob, I haven't forgotten where you came from.”

“I've got good instincts, Miss Baranuik.”

Uh oh, back to Miss
. “I know it. And what happened to Mars?”

“I know in my gut you're not telling me everything you know.”

“You want me to tell you everything I know?” I was starting to puff, and realized his speed had picked up, though I sensed a lot of his frustration was coming from concern. “I can start with preternatural biochemistry 101, and the history of crypt plague. In the year 1289 …”

“As your friend, I should advise you not to leave town. It wouldn't look good.”

I felt my eyebrows
squinch
, and I waved a hand ahead of us at the fish camp. Even at this early hour boats zoomed by on the lake, cops shouted over outboard motors into radios, a media helicopter made a pass overhead. No doubt my disheveled hair and grubby workout clothes would end up on the news tonight.
Wayward psychic makes a run for it!
or
Mystery Man brings psychic into custody
.

“Look at this mess,” I said. “Where do you think I'm going?”

“If you killed him, Miss Baranuik, and it was self-defense, I'm telling you as a friend, this might be your last chance to tell someone. You can trust me with it.”

“Giving me the Good Cop routine? Really?” I shifted focus back to the road. “The M.E. is going to give you guys a report on exploded, undead tissue? Good luck with that.”

“I'll make sure they're lenient, Marnie, but you gotta come clean with me.”

“Are you wearing a wire, Hood?”

His cheeks flushed, and I doubted it was the run. We reached the end of the road and he kept going, turning back only after I slowed to a stop. “If I have to come back here and wring the answers out of you, I will throw the entire weight of the law—”

I couldn't help but laugh, and hoped the cameramen overhead weren't getting it. I bent at the waist, pressing one hand to a stitch in my side.

“Wring the answers, eh? Come on, dude, you're not gonna do that.”

“I'm not?” He gave me a stern look that I didn't know he was capable of.

“Hey, good Cop Face, Hood.”

“Mars, come on.”

“Super-serious, dude. If it weren't for the cute freckles and the shabby track pants, you'd be totally intimidating.”

He sighed, his shoulders falling with his bowing head. “Woman…”

“Know why you're not gonna wring nothin’? One, you know I'm no killer; two, you adore me, and who wouldn't? And, three, you need me.” I glanced at the fish camp, its ominous yellow tape curling like streamers in the shadow of the Aspens. Cadaver dogs snapped and snarled and went in circles. “Oh boy, do you guys need me.”

I walked away, back toward home, shaking my head, leaving him on the road behind me. He let me walk alone for a full minute before catching up with me, his return announced by crunching gravel. I probably shouldn't have gotten as spooked by the echoes of yesterday's zombie pursuit, but I felt it was an entirely warranted case of the willies under the circumstances. Same road, same early morning dimness, same desire to get at my brains.