One Foot in the Grave: An Almost Zombie Tale (14 page)

“Other than the fact that Nacelles isn’t from Hell,” I point out, burrowing my hand in Maxx’s fur.

“There is a saying I have heard…to-may-to, to-mah-to? Yes, that is it.”

“What do you do if the souls don’t want to go back? I mean, they aren’t exactly corporeal, so how do you transport them?”

“It is one of my innate abilities.” Maxx yawns and I get to see the rows of sharp Rotty teeth up close and personal like. And smell his nasty chicken breath. Gross. I turn my face away, coughing. And see the cute little calico kitten that cost me my arm perched on top of a nearby headstone.

It stares at me with big green-gold eyes.

“No,” I say. “Oh no, I am so
not
taking you home.”

Maxx cracks open an eye. He seems disinterested in the kitten itself, unlike before. “You could use a pet.”

“No. I could
not
use a pet. My apartment doesn’t allow pets. Why are you encouraging this?”

“I have learned that humans are less lonely when they have pets to care for. You could enjoy that.”

“I don’t have time for a pet.” I try again, but Maxx is having none of it. Neither is the kitten, which jumps off its perch and saunters over to me.

“What else are you going to do with your time? You cannot hunt for the vampire who turned you forever. That is a sad excuse for a life.”

Buddha Maxx. That’s what his name should’ve been. “Stoopid hell hound and your stoopid insight,” I grumble, not meaning it. Luckily, Maxx doesn’t hear me. Or, if he does, he ignores it.

The kitten wriggles its way into my lap, curls into a ball and begins to purr. It hasn’t dug its claws into my leg and
is
super cute. I remove my hand from Maxx’s fur and begin to pet the kitten. It purrs harder, arching its tiny back up to meet my palm.

Darn it, it looks like I’ve acquired a pet. I want to hate that Maxx was right, but I don’t have the heart. Petting the tiny thing does make me feel a little less alone. I’ll figure out the apartment restrictions later.

Twenty-Four:

Holy Hell Hound, Batman!

Maxx and I, along with my newly acquired pet, decide to go to the church after the cemetery visit. My heart speeds up a bit at the idea of a hell hound at church, but it doesn’t seem to bother the dog any.

“I already told you, crossing the threshold of the building will not hurt me.”

I nod. “I know, but still…don’t you think it’s weird,
you
going to church?”

He tilts his head upward to look at me. “Not particularly, especially since you have told me what sort of a church it is. I look forward to meeting Father Moss and speaking with him at length.”

I wonder if Father Moss will feel the same way. The beauty of being close to the church is that it doesn’t take me long to find out.

I step into the darkened foyer, sun-spots dancing in front of my eyes. I blink to clear my vision.

“You came back.” I hear Father Moss’ voice with a sense of relief. I’d rather deal with him than with Lydia.

“Uhhh…yeah. Is that okay?”

“Of course,” the gargoyle says, stepping into the light. “Are you ready to talk about what happened?”

“Ummm…well, I kind of brought a visitor.”

“Then now is not the time.” He focuses on my empty sleeve. “It looks like you have other things to worry yourself about. But you cannot avoid it forever, Isis. This is Noelle’s home, too.”

“I understand. I’ll talk to her,” I promise.

“Good. Now, who did you bring?”

I glance behind me and see that Maxx is back to a normal size. Well, normal size for him, which means huge for everyone else.

“I smell gargoyle, witch, vampire and human,” Maxx states. His tail sweeps from side to side, like a lion’s.

“I am the gargoyle, as you can plainly see,” Father Moss steps forward, his wings completely unfurled. “I never thought I’d live to see a hell hound in my church. What brings you here? This place houses no souls to hunt.”

I open my mouth to reply, but Maxx shoulders me aside. “I come as a guest, nothing more. Isisss was quite adamant about my visitation.” He looks sideways at me. “She seems to be under the impression that I will enjoy your sermons.”

“I’m surprised she’d say that considering we don’t have sermons here.”

“I never told you there’d be sermons, Maxx,” I admonish. I like the old gargoyle and don’t want him to think I’m telling stories.

Father Moss folds his wings down with a loud scraping sound. “My calling is somewhat different than you might have been led to believe,” he says to Maxx.

“We were never taught about priests and their callings,” the hell hound replies. “Our sole duty was to our demon and to our hunt.”

“Let me show you around the premises,” Father Moss says. “Isis, what on earth has happened to your arm?”

I’m glad he noticed, though I’m rather embarrassed about the whole thing. “Maxx tore it out of its socket. But it wasn’t his fault. He saw that kitten.” I point to the kitten, which looks up at the priest and purrs.

“I can see it has since adopted you,” the priest says. I hear the smile in his voice.

“It’s adopted one of us, that’s for sure,” I reply.

“It’s cute,” Father Moss says. “Come, both of you, the cemetery out back is quite unique. I think you, hell hound, will find it especially fascinating.”

That’s intriguing. I follow the two of them to the back of the church and out an arched doorway.

It’s very different from the cemetery we’d just left; overgrown and ancient. I watch Maxx squeeze himself through the archway and look around.

“Ummm…doesn’t Maxx need to be in disguise?” I ask Father Moss.

“Ah, that’s his name. You neglected to introduce us,” he admonishes me. “My church has protections, Isis. Your guest is safe.”

Maxx nods as though in perfect understanding.

I’m stupider. “What does consecration have to do with anything?”

“It is not the consecration,” Maxx explains. “It is protected by magic.”

Oh. That’s cool. “So who’s buried back here?”

“Take a look around,” Father Moss says.

I wander further into the cemetery, the nameless kitten at my heels. The first headstone reads “Wanda Yates; 1985 – 2006. Born of a human; died a half-wendigo.”

What the heck is a wendigo?

“It’s sort of like a werewolf, but scarier,” Father Moss answers the unasked question.

“This is a half graveyard?” I look around. There are tombstones squished together, set apart, standing upright and flat on their backs. It’s haphazard at best. “I didn’t know so many existed!”

Maxx sniffs around a downed headstone before lying next to it, his immense head on the stone itself.

“Is that—was that—someone you dragged back?’ Considering his behavior at the other cemetery, it’s possible. “Do we even
have
souls?” I direct the last question to Father Moss.

“I believe every creature born of God has a soul.” The gargoyle glances at Maxx. “No offense meant.”

The hound sneezes. “How do you know I am not born of God? Was not the Christian Devil himself one of God’s angels?”

The gargoyle nods. “You bring up an interesting point, Maxx, and one I would love to discuss with you at length, if you’re so inclined.”

I’m bored, so I wander away, their conversation turning into a bee-like background buzz. The other tombstones bear similar epitaphs to the first one. It’s amazing how many half creatures there are. Some of the dates go all the way back to the early 1700’s and are only visible because I squint at the headstones. I have no idea how they survive the humid summers sort of intact, but they do. Maybe it has something to do with the magical ‘barrier’ Father Moss says surrounds the church. I spot something curious and bend down to take a closer look.

“Hey, Maxx, did you know this person was in Salem, Mass during the witch trials?

The massive hound turns his head to look at me and I realize I interrupted him. “Sorry, but her tombstone reads ‘witch’. Do you think she came here to escape persecution?” I’m fascinated by the idea.

“What is the name on the stone?” Father Moss asks. “I may have known the woman.”

“How old are you?” I blurt.

The gargoyle scratches his head with the tip of one claw. Tiny pebbles rain down. “I can’t give you an exact figure. I don’t know. I’ve been here, at this church, since around 1720. Or thereabouts.”

“That’s impossible,” I say. “Buildings don’t stand that long. Not without restoration.”

“They do with preventative and protective measures,” Father Moss says. “Has it never occurred to you that no-one but half breeds ever come here uninvited?”

Actually…it hadn’t.

“But that doesn’t matter,” he continues. “What’s the name on that tombstone?”

“Anne Wood.”

The priest nods his head. “Ah, yes. I remember her. I believe she was one of Lydia’s friends. She was a sweet child who wanted nothing more than to study herbs. She used to spend hours out here, just watching her plants grow.”

Maxx yawns hugely.

“Are we boring you?” Father Moss asks.

“Hell hounds are supposed to nap frequently,” Maxx explains. “It helps us keep our energy charged for our hunts.”

“I see,” the gargoyle says. “Then I apologize for keeping you up. By all means, nap.”

The hell hound closes his eyes.

“So how do you find these people, anyway? The halves, I mean.”

“Lydia,” Father Moss replies. “She scrys for them.”

A deep, terrifying rumble fills the cemetery garden. The ground quivers and headstones begin to topple. I expect lightening to raze across the sky, but when I look up everything is clear.

“What is that?” Father Moss’ wings unfurl and he looks ready to take to the skies. “Are we under attack?”

I glance over at Maxx. His eyes are completely shut and the sounds shaking the foundations of the earth itself are coming from his nose. Good night, the hell hound is snoring.

Twenty-Five:

We’re Nothin’ More Than Stone Soup.

I start to snicker, but Father Moss isn’t as polite. He begins to laugh and if I didn’t know better I’d swear we’re caught in a rockslide.

The rumbling ceases. Maxx opens his eyes. “What?”

My snickers turn into full blown laughter.

The hell hound quirks his eyebrows.

“You were snoring,” I say. “Look around.”

Maxx’s huge head turns first to the left, then to the right as he looks at the damage he’s caused. “I do apologize,” he says. “It has been a long time since I slept in my natural form in your world.”

“No harm done.” The gargoyle reassures him. “A few knocked over headstones won’t make a difference. Not in this cemetery. If you’re sufficiently rested, would you like to see the rest of the church?”

Maxx nods.

“Isis, would you care to join us? The others will be here shortly, and I’d like Maxx to feel at home before they arrive.”

I shrug. “Sure, why not?” I thought I’d seen the entire church, but the cemetery/garden was new. And having Father Moss as a tour guide can’t hurt.

Maxx clambers to his feet. “Where will we begin?”

“The church isn’t large,” Father Moss says, waddling toward the archway.

“Can you fly?” I follow the gargoyle into the church, and I feel Maxx’s hot breath coat the back of my head. It’s disgusting, but I do my best not to shudder. After all, it’s not his fault he has to breathe.

“Yes, of course,” the stone creature says. “But I do only when the occasion demands it.” He doesn’t elaborate what might constitute an ‘occasion’, but I’ll admit, at least to myself, that I’m curious.

“But your wings look so delicate…”

He laughs. “They’re still made of stone, Isis. They’re made out of stone, just like the rest of me.”

“Gargoyles keep evil away from places of worship,” Maxx rumbles.

I stop walking and turn to face him. The kitten winds itself in and out between my feet. “Then why didn’t he do anything when you walked in?”

The huge dog huffs out a sigh. “Why do you insist on not understanding this, Isisss? Hell is a place, not a state of being.”

Father Moss surprises me when he nods his agreement.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I respond, “maybe because it’s contrary to everything my mom ever tried to teach me.”

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned over the centuries, it’s that parents are not infallible. Maxx, would you care to see the computer room?”

The dog lifts one paw off the ground as though he’s going to offer to ‘shake’ my hand. “There is no point, since I do not have the dexterity to manipulate the keyboard.”

Father Moss smiles. “We’ll skip that, then. I would show you my quarters, but neither of you could reach it, I fear.” He gestures upward. I follow the line of his sight and see the ceiling.

“You live on the roof?” You know, there are days when everything that comes out of my mouth is just pure idiocy. Today feels like one of those days and the look Maxx throws me just cements the feeling.

“I live in a small room located to the right of the bell,” the gargoyle says. “It necessitates flight.”

“Where’s the rope?” I ask. “Don’t bells usually have ropes attached?”

“It rotted away long ago,” Father Moss replies. “I used it a few times before that happened, but there’s something about flight…” His voice trails off.

“Have you ever flown?” I ask Maxx. Hey, it’s possible. After all, he can change shapes.

“Excuse me? Have you ever seen a winged canine?” The hell hound’s tongue lolls out. I get the distinct impression that, if he could laugh, he’d be on the floor, convulsing.

I have to reply in my own defense. What’s that saying? ‘In for a penny, in for a pound’? “But you can disguise yourself as other beings, right?”

“I have never had a need to transform into anything else,” Maxx says. “There are enough canines to choose from.”

“Isis!”

“Hey, Daniel,” I greet the half-vamp. “Did Ink tell you what happened?” I don’t want him thinking I abandoned him at the club.

“Yeah, she filled me in. Are you going to go back?”

I nod. “Yeah, actually…I am. It’s not so bad.”

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” he says. “I wasn’t sure you would.”

“Neither was I,” I admit readily. “But I made a new friend, so…”