Deader Still (27 page)

Given the width of the opening into the room, only two could force their way in at the same time, and I came down hard and fast on both of their heads with the bat.

In my short time doing all this, I’d never quite gotten used to braining something so identifiably human, but the dull crunch of the skull caving in did the trick on one of them, and it collapsed. The other was more resilient and stumbled into the room with two more right behind him. I backed away, tracking the damaged one, and swung down at it again. It dropped to the ground and stopped moving. I backed up and stepped to the side of the arch.

The zombie closest to me made a beeline for Mina, which was what I had hoped for. I grabbed it by its rotting arm and used its own momentum to swing it off into the open space of the room. I did the same to the others as they entered. As long as I could keep moving and using my brain as more than snack food for them, I might get through this.

I shifted myself back between them and Mina. She was taking forever to swap the weighted adjustable frame with
The Scream
on the wall. Any bumps or pushes from my fight, and she’d set the alarm off.

I pushed one of the zombies away from me with the tip of my bat. A closer one lunged for Mina, and I swung around and down with a strike to the back of its head as I sidestepped. There was a crunch and it dropped. I paused for a moment. My arms were shaking. I realized that despite my adrenaline rush, I was still truly terrified.

“Almost done,” Mina said. She had the frames swapped out and was busy stuffing
The Scream
into the padded bag. Cold, rotting breath filled my nostrils. I turned and one of the undead was inches from my face, its lips peeled back as it moved in for a bite.

“Ready,” she said, and I felt a tug at my arm as she whisked me away. I felt slimy teeth brush against my skin as she pulled me along behind her. I shuddered and felt at my neck to see if the skin was broken anywhere. I couldn’t feel anything, but it did cause me to go weak in the knees, forcing me to lean on Mina. By the time we hit the top of the stairs, I started to feel a little stronger and made it down without breaking my neck. When we reached the main lobby, I looked back up them to see the three remaining zombies just coming into sight.

Mina stopped. I thought she was winded since she was breathing heavily, but there was a lustful sparkle in her eyes. I remembered that type of high from back when I was a thief. I felt the sensation a little now and realized that I had missed it. Mina gave me a wicked smile.

“Thanks for keeping me safe,” she said. Then she kissed me. Her mouth was warm and inviting, but it wasn’t what I wanted from her. Not now, not ever. I pushed away from her.

“Mina, I …”

I stopped myself. I was at a loss for what to say.

Mina turned away from me and slid the painting bag over her left shoulder. The moans of the remaining zombies came from the top of the stairs.

“Oh, and Simon?” she said, turning back.

“Yeah?” I was still somewhat dazed.

She raised her right hand. Her gun was in it, this time held by the barrel like a set of brass knuckles. “For the record,
this
is how you pistol-whip someone.”

She swung, hitting me squarely above the shoulder blade, right in the neck meat. If it hurt, I wasn’t sure. I was already unconscious and falling.

When I came to, I was thrilled to see that I didn’t have a sudden craving for human brains. I did, however, find myself in the back of a cab parked outside my apartment in SoHo with the driver giving me a gentle shake into consciousness. The side of my head throbbed to a bossa nova beat and I felt dizzy when I tried to reach for my wallet, but the driver waved me away. Apparently, the ride had already been paid for. I guess it was the least Mina could do after giving me a potentially life-threatening concussion and making away with a multimillion-dollar painting. How she had managed to drag me out into the street while carrying the painting
and
fleeing the zombies, I had no idea. But at least we hadn’t been caught, and now I hoped I’d never see her again.

On my way up to my apartment, I almost passed out several times as my head swam. After I let myself in, I shuffled across my darkened living room, surprised to find my psychometric powers triggering off everything I touched. Apparently, they were back for good … or at least until I ran into the gypsies again. I felt oddly comforted by their return, less alone.

I lowered myself onto my couch, letting it swallow all my pains and kinks from the night. I sat there for a long while, enjoying the quiet. It was nice for a change not to get jumped or find someone lurking in the shadows. My head still ached, but I could live with it.

I made my way to the kitchen and fished some aspirin down from one of the cabinets. Then I noticed my answering machine blinking.

Seventeen new messages.

My stomach tightened. Given my less-than-savory dating history, over ten messages usually meant that I was being dumped. With some hesitance, I hit play and was relieved to discover that only three were from Jane, which meant the likelihood of us still being a couple was high. Those messages were fine, more concerned and checking up to make sure I hadn’t gone off the deep end after hanging up with her. It was messages four through seventeen, though, that had me freaked. All of them were Connor asking me to call him back, and he did not sound happy. Still a bit groggy from my evening, I pulled out my cell phone. Sure enough, there were even more messages from the both of them. The last one simply said to meet Connor at the office; he’d be working late.

Although it was past two now, I ditched my disguise and cleaned myself up in the bathroom before heading over to the Lovecraft Café. A few night owls were sitting in the coffee shop and movie theater, but I paid them only cursory attention as I headed out back to the office. It felt like a long, slow march to the gallows. We hadn’t talked since the gypsies had cursed me earlier in the day, but I had left the show floor all freaked-out.

Connor was at his desk, working his way through a stack of case folders.

“Hey.”

“Ah,” he said, looking up from the file he was writing in. “I was wondering when you were gonna check in with me, kid.”

“Sorry, busy night,” I said, averting my eyes to my own desk. I sat down. “Got a friend in from out of town. We were at dinner.”

“I see,” he said, then fell silent. He went back to work on the file. “So you didn’t catch the news yet.”

“What news?”

“Thought you might be interested in this story they’re running,” he said, “you being all into the art scene. Somebody, or should I say somebodies, broke into the Museum of Modern Art tonight.”

He looked up from his desk and met my eyes. I didn’t dare look away.

“Really?” I said, forcing as much surprise into my voice as I could muster. “Anything interesting stolen?”

He stopped writing, sat back in his chair, and folded his hands over his chest.

“The news isn’t saying what, exactly,” he said, “but here’s the interesting thing. They’ve got David Davidson handling all the press coverage of it.”

“Over a burglary?” I said. I was afraid I knew where this was going.

As far as I knew, Davidson only handled politicking things for the mayor that fell into supernatural jurisdiction.

“Well,” Connor continued matter-of-factly, “the news is already showing footage from the security tapes at the museum. Looks like a small gang of people broke in, at least that’s how Davidson is spinning it. Thing about the footage, though, is how herky jerky most of the gang members look … and with Davidson out there running a denial campaign to the local networks, I’m thinking we’ve got a little shuffler and shambler action going on there.”

“Zombie robbers?” I said, once again trying to sound more surprised than guilty.

“That’s the way it looks to me,” he said. “From the footage, it appears that only two living people were the ring leaders on this, a blond couple.”

“How clear are the security tapes?” I asked. “Can you make out their faces?”

“Barely,” he said, and I felt a small wave of relief cool my nerves a bit. “It’s a guy and a girl. From what I can tell, the girl’s kind of hot. I’d hit that.”

I’d hit that too, I thought, rubbing my pained jaw. I’d hit that with a bat if I ever saw her again.

Connor looked at my hands. “I see you’re wearing your gloves again.”

“Yeah,” I said, realizing I had put them back on after triggering off everything in my apartment. “Crazy thing … those Illinois gypsies must not be as powerful as we previously thought. Their curse just kinda wore off while I was out … with my friend … during our appetizers.”

Connor stared me down, but I refused to flinch.

“Anyway,” he said, drawing his words out slowly, almost painfully so. “Hope you enjoyed … dinner with your friend.”

He was making it so obvious that he had pieced it together himself that the hair on the back of my neck stood up.

“Fine,” I hissed across to him. “Her name’s Mina. She’s from my past, alright? What do you want me to say? You want a full confession?”

Connor shook his head with disappointment.

“You think that wig would fool me, that I wouldn’t recognize my own partner?” he asked. “I just wanna know why, kid.”

I paused. Mina was my business, and I was damned if I was going to bring everyone into it when it was my mess to clean up. “I … can’t tell you,” I said finally.

“There’s a world of difference between
can’t
and
won’t
, kid.”

There was such superiority in his voice, I snapped.

“Why don’t you tell me about your letter, then?” I asked.

Connor looked like he’d been slapped in the face.

“We’ve
all
got our dirty little secrets,” I continued. “So don’t get holier than thou on me, alright?”

“So you know about the letter, then, eh?” he said, standing up. He grabbed his coat from behind him. “Yeah, why don’t we both mind our own business?”

“You’re keeping things from me,” I said, feeling defensive about having been caught. Now I was lashing out.

Connor put on his coat, fished out his keys, and made sure to lock his desk.

“There’s a world of difference between keeping something private and breaking the law while
lying to your partner about it
,” he shouted. “You don’t want to trust me enough to help you? Fine, kid. But don’t expect me to keep this from the Enchancellors forever, especially since you seem to think you’re running the show around here now, giving the orders.”

“I am giving the orders,” I shouted back. Connor fell silent. “The Inspectre put me in charge of this whole vampire chupacabra mess under the jurisdiction of the Fraternal Order of Goodness. I didn’t tell you because … well, because I didn’t want to pull rank, and also because I knew you’d fly off the handle, just like you are now.”

Connor’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t. Instead he just turned around and stormed off, heading for the doors.

I felt like the worst partner in the world. I couldn’t even bring myself to stand up to follow him. What good would it have done anyway?

Fucking things up with everyone around me was becoming my new pastime.

I went home and slept, but woke up the next morning good and depressed. I unlocked the door that led to my Fortress of Solitude, the White Room. I flicked on the light. Every piece of furniture and even the walls were all the same shade of white, and, more importantly, nothing in the room would set off my psychometry. I was hoping to clear my head by sitting in the neutral room, but it was no good. Its blinding whiteness and blank features only served to depress me further, and so I decided to skip out on going to the Javits Center later. If I didn’t see Connor, I wouldn’t have to deal with him, right? Instead, I would work on this chupacabra case all on my own. Well, mostly on my own, anyway. First I had to bait Godfrey.

“Donut?” I said, holding out the box I had just bought from the front counter of the Lovecraft Café. Godfrey Candella looked up from the wingback chair he was sitting in, pausing his pen on the page of his open Moleskine notebook.

“Oh,” he said, quite surprised by my offer. “Thank you.”

“Try the powdered ones,” I said. “They’re lemon filled, I think.”

“I don’t do powdered donuts,” he said, quite serious. He took one of the plain ones out of the box. “The powder gets all over my suit.”

Given the fastidious nature with which Godfrey dressed himself, it wasn’t surprising. I sat down across from him and helped myself to one of the powdered ones.