Queen of the Dead (15 page)

The dark alley in the Callowhill section of the city stank of rotting food, urine, and human despair. Against one grimy wall, a man dressed in rags lay in a drunken stupor, clutching a near-empty bottle in one gnarled hand. His face, barely visible in the light that leaked in from the street, was twisted in half-conscious despair and pain—a mask of suffering.

Lilith Cavanaugh reveled in it.

She stood amid the filth, wrapped in a stylish blue pants suit and fine wool long coat, and waited.

Just coming here was a risk, of course, but a worthy one.

Also, as it happened, a necessary one.

Pierce stood at the mouth of the alley, eyeing the street and repeatedly checking his watch. The host he wore was new, barely a week dead. He'd transferred his Self into it just before they'd come out here. But Lilith's own body was in desperate need of replacing. Unfortunately, male cadavers were easier to find than females.

It was unbearable.

For the hundredth time that day, the image of Susan Ritter filled her thoughts.

What
a
fine
replacement
she
would
make.

“He's late,” Pierce said. A pointless observation.

“He'll be here,” Lilith replied.

“Ma'am…” her assistant remarked hesitantly. “I'm…uncomfortable with this arrangement.” He looked at her. Then, reading her irritation, he immediately turned away again.

“Do you have an alternative suggestion to make?” she asked coldly.

“No, ma'am.”

“Are you willing to take on this man's task?” Lilith pressed.

“No, ma'am.”

“Can you imagine any one of our people who would be willing to assume the duty? Any at all?”

“No, ma'am,” he replied.

“Then tell me—what choice do I have?”

Her assistant hesitated again, perhaps weighing whether his next words were worth the danger or not. Finally, steeling himself, he said, “We could find another way.”

Lilith had to admire his courage. Speaking truth to power wasn't something she encountered very often. Her opinion of Pierce rose a little higher.

Nevertheless, she replied flatly, “This is the
only
way.”

Pierce looked as if he might say more but then thought better of it. Apparently, his courage didn't extend to pushing the matter further.

Wise
as
well
as
brave.

“He's late,” Pierce said again.

Fool.

Then a voice spoke from behind her, “Your assistant should learn some patience.”

Lilith spun around, experiencing a sensation she hadn't known for longer than she could remember: shock.

And she didn't care for it—not one little bit.

The man in rags stood before her. He still reeked of alcohol, but his desperate, empty expression was gone. The eyes that now held hers looked clear, their gaze steady.

He spoke again, “Sorry if I scared you, Ms. Cavanaugh.”

“Startled,” she corrected, working hard to hide her annoyance.

“Sure.” He smiled, showing white teeth that gleamed in the dull light.

Pierce appeared at her side, his manner protective. Another small point in his favor, Lilith thought, though unnecessary. The stranger wasn't a big man, barely five-foot-eight, with a slight frame. She could snap his spine in seconds with her bare, manicured hands.

And she still might, considering the “startle” he'd given her just now.

Instead she said, “Mr. Dashiell, I presume?”

“Just Dashiell.”

“All right then, ‘Just Dashiell.' First, let me compliment you. A very effective disguise. Should I assume that you've been waiting here for us all this time?”

He nodded. “I like to get to know my potential clients, observe them for a while. See what sort of people they are.”

The Queen smiled inwardly.
If
you
only
knew.

But of course, this human's mind was as limited as the rest.

Then she corrected herself with some irritation:
well, not quite all the rest!

“And what sort of people are we?”

Dashiell nodded to Pierce, who glared silently at him. “Your man here is the nervous type. They tend to make mistakes.”

“I see,” Lilith replied coldly. “And me?”

“You're a little harder to figure,” the man admitted. “You're not the all-smiles, super-friendly civil servant I've seen on the local news. No, the fact you're even here proves you've got a darker side. And the way you stand in this rat-infested alley, looking not only like you own but
like
owning it…well, let's just say I haven't been able to categorize you yet.”

“Charming,” Lilith remarked, though inwardly, she was pleased. This human, while as blind as the rest, seemed not entirely inobservant. Even that infuriating prank he'd pulled—sneaking up on her that way—suggested a level of resourcefulness that would suit her immediate needs.

I'll use him…then I'll kill him.

“Charm,” Dashiell said, “is not usually what my clients are looking for.”

“I suppose not,” the Queen replied. “Still, I think we can do business. Are you clear on the particulars of the job?”

He nodded. “Are you clear on the particulars of payment?”

“Of course,” she said. “Money. Always money. That's what it's all about to you people, isn't it?”

Dashiell stared blankly at her. “I'm a professional, Ms. Cavanaugh. I have no interest in politics and no loyalty to any particular religion, creed, or country. I thought you understood that about me.”

“Your reputation makes that plain.”

“Then it also makes plain my motivation. I work for payment.” Then, with a sneer, he added, “As you do, I'm sure.”

“My people aren't profiteers, Dashiell,” Lilith told him. “We're artists.”

“I don't understand,” the man said, sounding impatient. “Are we doing business or not? I don't like having my time wasted.”

The Queen of the Dead replied, “Neither do I.”

Then she dropped her Cover.

And suddenly, it was Dashiell's turn to be “startled.”

The Queen knew full well what she looked like and saw that image reflected in the eyes of the terrified man. He staggered back a step, his face going instantly pale. He didn't scream. Instead, bile rose up in his throat, making him gag.

Then he whirled around to run.

Lilith threw herself upon him, clutching his throat with bloated purple figures and turning him back to face her. His horror shone brightly on his features.

She grinned broadly, displaying her blackened, receding gums and rotting teeth.

“This isn't about money,” she hissed.

Then she kissed him, pressing her cold, dead lips against his trembling ones.
Now
Dashiell tried to scream, but the sound was muffled. He struggled wildly, a victim in full panic, but the hands on his neck were too strong.

Then Pierce was there, his own Cover still in place. He seized Dashiell from behind, lifting up the man's coat and shirt, exposing the bare flesh of back. Then her minion produced a small metal tube.

With Lilith still kissing the terrified human, Pierce wordlessly uncapped the tube and pressed its open end against the bare flesh of Dashiell's thrashing lower back.

The helpless man screamed again, the sound going nowhere except into Lilith's gaping mouth. His flailing intensified for a few moments. Then it stopped.

The terror in Dashiell's eyes turned to confusion.

The Queen released him and stepped back.

He stood there, swaying a little, with Pierce still behind him. The human's face, though still pale, was no longer twisted in fear.

“Feel better?” Lilith asked.

He nodded. “What…did you do to me?”

“I'm sorry, Dashiell. But it was necessary. You see, the sad reality is that we don't have the funds necessary to meet your usual fee, so we were forced to do something I don't like to do—show you who we are.”

“You're…dead,” he whispered, more in wonder than in fear.

“Not exactly,” she replied. “We're travelers. We come from a place far away. So far, in fact, that bringing our actual bodies would be impossible. So we unfortunately require human corpses to use as hosts.”

“Hosts,” the man echoed.

“Yes. My face…the face you've seen on television and in the newspapers. The one you saw when we met just now…” She paused a moment, steadied herself, and redonned her Cover. “
This
face…is an illusion. You see, we've come to your world to do your people a great service. But no matter how generous our motives, we would never be accepted as we truly are.”

“What…service?”

“No need to concern yourself with that,” Lilith told him gently. “Just answer me something: given what I've just told you, are you willing to waive your usual fee and perform this task without charge?”

Dashiell blinked several times. His mouth worked wordlessly.

He's resisting.

Humans resisted the
Pelligog
more than any race the
Malum
had so far encountered. It was one of the things that would make their eventual destruction all the more satisfying—and beautiful.

Finally, the man said, “Of course. Thank you for explaining things to me.”

“No, Dashiell. Thank you. This is a selfless act you're taking on. One that will help not just my people but yours in ways you can't even imagine. You have an opportunity to do something truly great with your life. Doesn't that sound appealing?”

The man grinned his cocky grin, the first time he'd done so since being turned. “It certainly does, Ms. Cavanaugh.”

“I'm happy to hear it,” Lilith said. “Now please understand that this needs to happen on Sunday. And it needs to be public…preferably in broad daylight.”

“I understand.”

“This is Friday night,” Lilith pointed out. “That allows you less than two days to prepare. How confident are you that you can make the necessary arrangements?”

Dashiell smiled another arrogant, white-toothed smile. The Queen fought the urge to kill this immodest human despite her newly established control over him. Using the
Pelligog
guaranteed a human's loyalty but sadly did nothing to make them less loathsome.

“The necessary arrangements have already been made,” he replied. “Realizing that your timetable was so short, I went ahead and set it all up beforehand. I promise you, Ms. Cavanaugh…it'll happen on Sunday.”

Another
Malum
edict:
The
worst
sort
of
fool
is
one
who
believes
himself
brilliant.

She matched his smile. “That's wonderful news, Dashiell! Now let me explain to you the particulars of your task…and the sacrifice I'll ask of you once you've completed it.”

When you're an Undertaker, especially an Angel, you learn to get by on less sleep than you're used to. Back in my old life, I could hit noon on a good Saturday, wrapped in a cocoon of blankets, dozing until lunchtime.

These days, four hours was pretty typical, and six a guilty pleasure.

That afternoon, I got around five.

I opened my eyes to find the candle lit and Dave sitting on his cot, looking at me. I noticed with relief that he didn't seem mad anymore.

“Hi,” I said.

“I'm a jerk,” he said.

“Tell me something I don't know.”

He offered up a small smile. “You awake? Awake enough to talk, I mean?”

I nodded. “What time is it?”

“Going on nine o'clock.”

“Nine!” All my sleepiness disappeared, and I sat bolt upright. “I was supposed to be in an Angels meeting at eight!”

“Chill,” the Burgermeister said. “Tom sent me to get you. Told me to tell you the meeting got pushed back an hour.”

It wasn't like the Chief to postpone meetings. “How come?”

Dave lowered his eyes. “Sharyn. She…um…don't look good.”

I felt that familiar cold knot tighten in my gut. “How not good?”

He shrugged. “I ain't no doctor. Half the time, I don't think that Ian kid even speaks English. I was in the rec room, watching some tube, when Maria showed up and just blurted it out about Sharyn. By the time I got to the infirmary, there were something like thirty kids hanging around. After a while, Tom came out and told us she was in bad shape. I couldn't believe how…I dunno…
tired
he looked. Then he asked me to tell you the Angels meeting got pushed back. Says he's gonna have it right there in the infirmary, I guess so he can stay close to his sister.”

“Holy crap…” I muttered.

“Yeah,” he said. He looked as if he wanted to say more, but he didn't.

I stood up, shaking off the last bits of sleep. “Guess I need to get to that meeting.”

Dave stood up too, swallowing up half the room with his size, and looked nervously at me. “Before you do…” he began.

“Yeah?”

He studied his shoes. “Sorry about before.”

“Forget it.”

“I was just mad…”

“I know. It's not—”

But then, he continued, “'Cause you took down Bobson before I could.”

That stopped me. “Oh.”

His broad shoulders rose and fell. He didn't say anything.

So
I
did. “That's what you were mad at? The whole Alex thing? I thought you were ticked off about the birthday party.”

“Nah.” He waved one beefy hand. “I figured you wouldn't be all that thrilled with that. So did Helene. We did it anyway because Sharyn wanted to throw a party. I only got ticked off at you when you mentioned it 'cause…well…'cause it kind of brought it home.”

“Brought what home?” I asked.

“How useless I am.”

I stared at my friend, trying to figure him out. He was twice my size, easily the biggest kid in Haven—even bigger than Tom. “You're not useless,” I said uncomfortably. “That's just stupid.”

“Yeah,” he said, sounding utterly miserable. “I'm that too.”

“What?”

He kept his eyes lowered. “Stupid. That's why I won't ever be no Angel. I don't have the brains for it.”

“That's not true!”

“Yeah, it is, dude. Everybody knows it. I'm big and strong, so they use me for the heavy stuff around here. I'm the forklift, the jackhammer, the pack mule. But every time I try out for the Angels, I get my butt handed to me. That's 'cause the kind of fighting you guys do ain't about size and muscle. It's about speed…and brains.”

I tried to think of something to say, but nothing came to mind. The best I could manage was a halting “Burgermeister…I…”

He met my gaze, and for half a minute, neither of us spoke. He looked like a kicked puppy, and there I stood—his supposed friend—without the slightest idea how to help him.

Some “grown-up.”

“You should get to your meeting,” he said. “I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry.”

“Dave…” I began. But he turned away and dropped back down onto his cot. It creaked beneath him, as it always did. Since he had come to Haven, the Burgermeister had so far put two cots in the trash heap just by laying on them.

I said, “Dave…it might help if you learned how to handle your temper.”

He didn't reply.

“Save all that anger for the Deaders,” I suggested.

He laughed, no humor in it all. “And when do you think I'm gonna get a chance to fight a Deader? I ain't seen one in months. They never let me out of here.”

I went to the curtain and paused, deciding. Then I said, “Come with me.”

He didn't budge. “It's an Angels-only meeting.”

“Come with me anyway. I'll smooth it over with Tom.”

That got him to look at me. “He won't like it.”

“Probably not,” I said, though inwardly, I wasn't sure if—right now—the Chief would care all that much. His sister was badly hurt, maybe dying. And if that was twisting in
my
gut like a cold knife, what must it be doing to
his
? “But Dave…I'm going out on a mission tonight. And I want you to come along.”

“What for? You don't need me. Look at how you handled Bobson. I was ready to tear his head off, but you tripped him up before I could. And you did it on purpose too. I know that. You did it to keep me from getting into trouble for wiping the floor with that crud.”

I shrugged.

The Burgermeister sat up, a move that his third suffering cot didn't seem to care for. “Will, you got the guts and you got the moves.”

“So do you,” I said, meaning it. “Your moves are just…different than mine. It's not about brains. It's about style of combat.”

It sounded good. I wasn't sure if I really, deep down, believed a word of it, but his response surprised me. “Yeah, that's what she says.”

I blinked. “She…who?”

“Sharyn.”

“Sharyn told you that?”

“Yeah. More or less.” Then his expression suddenly turned shifty. He cleared his throat. “Um…you sure you can smooth it over with the Chief?” he asked. “If I decide to come with you to the meeting, I mean.”

“I think so. Come on.”

For the first time since I'd woken up, Dave “The Burgermeister” Burger grinned. He had a big toothy smile that would've looked good on Alice's Cheshire Cat.

Then he stood, and together, we headed into Haven's dark hallways.

The corridor outside the infirmary was crowded—real crowded. There had to be fifty kids jammed up there. At first, I was annoyed. Most of these boys and girls were just gawking. I'd seen it a hundred times back in school. Whenever something tragic happened, there were always those who wanted to get close to the action, ready to spread rumors or gossip.

Except,
these
are
Undertakers…not kids.

And none of them were gossiping…or talking much at all. The faces we passed as Dave plowed us a path through the crush of bodies were still and expectant, maybe even reverent, nodding to me as I went by.

This wasn't a mob. It was a vigil.

For Sharyn.

We pushed through the curtain to find Sharyn still on her stolen gurney, limp and ashen. Ian fussed over her, checking the IV drip plugged into her arm, shining his little doctor's penlight into her eyes, and looking generally unhappy. Amy stood at his side, handing him instruments as he asked for them, quiet and dutiful. A born nurse.

Across the room, the Angels had gathered in a loose standing circle with Tom at its center. He spotted me and waved. Then he spotted the Burgermeister and stopped waving. His brow furrowed, but he said nothing.

Dave and I walked over, taking a spot beside Helene, who looked at me, then at him, then back at me with a questioning expression.

The Chief said, “I'll be needin' two teams. The first is going into combat. Now, because my sister is…sick…and because Chuck and Burt”—he gave the two boys a pointed look. But neither saw it because they were staring at the floor as if worried it might suddenly jump up and make a break for it.

Tom continued—“are off duty with trainin' injuries, the next in seniority on the Angels crew takes command. That's you, Katie. You up for it?”

Katie glanced back at Sharyn and sighed. “I guess so.”

“Thanks,” said Tom. “Now this is gonna be a hard one, dudes. So I want every combat-ready crewer to go along. Here's the gig: I want y'all to bag me a female Corpse. Get that? Female. Find one, corner it, and incapacitate it. Then bring it back to Haven, blindfolded, of course, and trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey. But it needs to be functional. No permanent damage to the body. That's important.”

Nervous looks were traded around the circle. Finally, a boy named Sam, one of the newer Angels, raised his hand.

“This ain't a classroom, Sam,” Tom said. “If you got something to ask, ask.”

Sam swallowed. “What for? I mean…we only just started actually killing them, and now you want us to bring one back alive?”

“Not sure ‘alive' is the right word,” Burt murmured.

Sam glared at him. “You know what I mean!”

His question was taken up by the whole circle, except for me. I had a pretty good idea what Tom might have in mind.

“I'll get to that in a minute,” the Chief said. “Now the second team. Helene, because the senior Angels are gonna all be needed to pull off this Deader-napping, I need you and one or two others to go out and get me a real dead body.”

Helene said, “Huh?”

“You want a cadaver,” I said. “One that's just plain dead and hasn't been transferred into.”

Tom nodded. “The second team's going to play it smart and low key. I've already had the Chatters looking up the recent obituaries. They've found a good candidate at one of the nearby funeral homes. This operation is strictly ‘in and out.' No combat. No direct contact at all with the enemy. Just some good old-fashioned body-snatching.”

“I want Will with me,” Helene said, throwing a smile my way.

“I figured,” the Chief replied.

“And Dave,” I said.

Helene hesitated for only a second. Then she nodded. “And Dave.”

The Burgermeister pumped the air with his fist.

“Hold up,” Burt complained. “Chuck and me can't go…but you're sending
him
? He's not even an Angel trainee! I mean, why is he even here?” Then, when Dave shot him a dark look, he added quickly, “No offense.”

“He's here because I invited him,” I said. Then to Tom, who looked skeptical, I argued, “This mission doesn't need someone with combat training. But we
are
gonna want somebody who's strong enough to carry whatever body we get. Dave's perfect!”

“Yeah!” the Burgermeister added loudly.

“I'm with Will,” Helene said.

Tom studied us both. For a second, he looked like he might smile. If his sister hadn't been laid out on that gurney, I thought he might have. But she was, and he didn't. “Okay. Sharyn'll probably have my head when she's better, but…just this once…I'm cool with it. Both teams leave in two hours.”

Katie asked, “Um…you said you'd explain why?”

Tom replied, “Y'all know about the FBI agent we've got in my bedroom? Well, I've decided that, the situation bein' what it is, we need to do more than just let him go. We need to
convince
him. We need to show this dude that the Corpses are real and that we're not just a street gang of delusional minors.”

“How?” Burt asked.

This time, the Chief actually managed a slight grin. “I'm settin' up a demonstration for our new friend,” he said. “And to make it happen, I'm going to need a Corpse…and a corpse.”