Death Warmed Over

by Kevin J. Anderson

  “But don’t you want us to vindicate you?” Robin said with an innocent smile. “You do believe the spell is harmless, don’t you?”

  The reporters loved it. Mavis chanted louder.

  Phillip, the “legal department” brother, was even more agitated. “Wait! We wish to reconsider our position!”

  Mavis looked at Robin for guidance as to whether she should continue or not.

  “We’re listening,” Robin said.

  “My brother and I, uh, need to study the matter further. It’s possible that there might have been a typographical error.”

  “The typographical error is indisputable,” Robin countered. “We have copies of the original wording and a side-by-side comparison to the version you published.”

  “But it hasn’t been shown the misprint caused any direct harm,” Howard spluttered.

  “Then by all means, let’s continue and remove any doubt.” Robin nodded at Mavis, and the witch held up the spell book.

  Phillip the Legal Department raised his hands again. “That’s not necessary. Without admitting responsibility, perhaps there are some reparations we could offer? A donation to your favorite charity, a revised edition of the spell book—”

  “An office with a window,” Mavis said quite clearly.

  Howard and Phillip looked at each other, perplexed.

  Robin picked up the conversation. “The Wannovich sisters believe that your company is sorely in need of experts to do spell-checking. They have generously agreed to dismiss the suit if you give Mavis Wannovich her own office and a position in Howard Phillips Publishing, at an appropriate salary.”

  “And my sister, too,” Mavis said. “She needs an office of her own.”

  “But she’s a sow!” cried Phillip.

  “Only because of you,” Mavis snapped. “And part of my job will be to research a reversal spell to restore her.” She held the error-ridden spell book like a hand grenade from which she had pulled the pin.

  The sow grunted. The cameras continued to record the scene.

  “I think . . . that’s acceptable,” said the publisher.

  “I’ll draw up a hiring agreement and a waiver of liability,” said the legal department.

  “With my input,” Robin insisted.

  “It’s my dream job,” Mavis said. “I’ve always wanted to work in publishing.”

  CHAPTER 27

  Miranda’s random casual visits occurred so regularly that we could guess when she was going to come in. She disliked being bound by appointments anyway, believing that the rest of the world operated on her schedule, not vice versa.

  That afternoon she sashayed into the office in a sparkly amethyst cocktail dress, her bright red lips curved in a smile. A heavy necklace of pearls the size of poodle eyeballs hung at her throat. Not one strand of Miranda’s unnaturally (so to speak) copper hair had moved since the last time we’d seen her.

  She threw Sheyenne an air-kiss at her desk. “I don’t mean to be impatient, sweethearts, but . . . well, I’m damned impatient. I simply must be out of this loveless marriage, but I don’t see penniless as preferable to loveless. Please tell me you have news for me.”

  “As a matter of fact, we have made some progress, Mrs. Jekyll,” I said. “It’s a good thing you’re here—we need your help filling in some answers so we can plan our next move.”

  She flashed a set of dazzling teeth. “I remember when I used to plan my moves with Harvey. Yes, even Harvey.” She looked up, as if expecting us to be shocked that she’d once been attracted to her own husband. “But we haven’t had sex in years. He finds me disgusting now.”

  Robin sounded scandalized. “Disgusting? But you . . . you’re”—she couldn’t quite bring herself to say the word beautiful, and instead settled on, “a very classy woman.”

  “Ever since the Change, Harvey refuses to touch me. I’m a werewolf. I get hot flashes. I think it scares him. Some people have a furry fetish—they like the animalistic energy. Wouldn’t you?” She looked meaningfully at me, and I found the question too awkward for a response. She let it go, getting down to business. “So tell me what you found. Is he fooling around with another woman? I knew it.”

  Robin asked, “What makes you so certain your husband is having an affair?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Isn’t it obvious? He’s not getting any from me, and he’s a man.” She gave Robin a pitying smile. “You’re so very innocent, sweetheart. Everyone fools around. It’s not unusual—it’s expected. Harvey knows that I fool around, but he can’t prove it. That’s the important thing.”

  “And how does he know that, Mrs. Jekyll?” I asked her.

  “Well, I didn’t become a werewolf by accident, and I wasn’t scratched while out doing charity work. I had an affair with a werewolf, a big handsome brute.” She sucked in a long breath, then licked her lips. “Ahh, what a wonderful time! We tried to practice safe sex, but we got carried away. I got infected from one of his little love scratches. No wonder Harvey wants a divorce. He can’t stand unnaturals, and he would never sleep with one.” She clicked her tongue against her teeth. “His loss.”

  “If you are committing indiscretions, Mrs. Jekyll, I advise you to be extremely careful. I’m not the only PI in town, and if your husband gets photos that prove your infidelity, our entire case is sunk.”

  “Don’t you two worry about me. I’ve had plenty of practice covering my tracks. Besides, I’ve got better investigators than Harvey does, because you’re the best. Am I right?” She pointed to the manila file Robin carried. “Now, are you going to show me what you’ve learned? I have an appointment with my dental hygienist.”

  We described our recent meeting at the JLPN factory, and then I explained how I’d followed a disguised and nervous Harvey Jekyll to a secret nighttime gathering at the abandoned Chaney & Son warehouse. By now, Sheyenne had tracked down the information I needed.

  “That warehouse is just a front,” I said. “According to records, it’s owned by a dummy corporation called Ramshackle Solutions, and all the names on the paperwork are fake. Despite the warehouse’s run-down appearance, a lot of interior remodeling has been done in the past year—new wiring, light fixtures, plumbing, a sound system.” I paused for effect. “Every one of the contractors turns out to be an employee of JLPN. The work orders were signed with an illegible signature—and Harvey Jekyll has an illegible signature. It’s proof he’s involved with whatever’s going on inside that place.”

  Miranda wasn’t as impressed as I had hoped. “Oh, that’s just boys pretending to be important. I wouldn’t be surprised if they wore furry hats with buffalo horns. They even have a secret handshake, a little sign they make when they think no one is looking.” She licked her forefinger and scribed a line in the air, as if making some kind of invisible tally. “They think nobody can figure it out!”

  Robin looked puzzled, turned to me, but I didn’t get it either. Miranda let out an exaggerated sigh. “A line, sweetheart. A straight line. Up and down?” She waited. “The Straight Edgers, of course. Harvey joined them a long time ago, probably to get back at me for becoming a werewolf.”

  Now I remembered the vertical line on the red T-shirts the four losers had worn in Straight Edge headquarters. “I served a restraining order against the organization just this morning, but I can’t imagine your husband would be involved with amateurs like that. The secret gathering I saw at the warehouse looked much more sophisticated.”

  “Oh, only the novices work in public view,” Miranda said. “It’s like a hazing. New recruits with big dreams, tiny brains, and even smaller cojones. The real Straight Edgers are a better organized bunch. Harvey funds a good portion of their activities with JLPN profits—which is very annoying, since currently half of that money belongs to me. He hopes to get promoted to Grand Poobah or whatever.” She shook her head. “But I need something more salacious than a secret clubhouse if we’re going to make him budge on the prenup.”

  The little cogs and gears clicked together in
my mind. “Not necessarily. If we could come up with concrete evidence that Harvey Jekyll is involved with an anti-unnatural fringe group, think of all the bad press—and right before the release of his new Fresh Loam promotion. The manufacturer of the most popular line of necroceuticals secretly hates his own customers? That might twist his arm.”

  Robin looked scandalized that we would stoop to such tactics, but Miranda chuckled again. “I like the way you think, Mr. Chambeaux. If you need evidence, Harvey keeps all of his special little treasures in a locked desk drawer in his study at the house. I’m sure it’s evidence you could use.”

  “Could you get access to those items?” I asked. “Slip inside his study, retrieve anything that connects him to the Straight Edgers?”

  Miranda glanced at her gold watch. “Of course not, sweetheart. That’s what I pay you for. I haven’t been home to spend the night in more than a year. I’m staying at the Grand Plaza Hotel in the Full Moon Suite, and it’s costing Harvey a pretty penny . . . but he considers it worth the expense not to have me around.” When she smiled, Miranda’s teeth looked more pointed than when she’d entered the offices. “Now, I have to be off to my dental hygienist. Good work so far. I’ll add a little bonus when I pay this week’s invoice.”

  Robin seemed flustered. “But how exactly are we going to gain access to the evidence? Shall I file a discovery request to see documents or items in his study? I don’t think we have grounds—”

  “If you do that, he’ll make sure that anything interesting is long gone,” Miranda said.

  I reassured her. “I’ll come up with something.”

  Harvey Jekyll had made a point of how effective a ghost could be in corporate espionage. It might just be time for Sheyenne to do a little legwork.

  CHAPTER 28

  After Miranda departed, but before I could lay out my plans to dig up dirt on Jekyll, the phone rang. When Sheyenne answered, I could hear a frantic voice on the other end. She said, “Mr. Fennerman? Stay calm, Mr. Fennerman. Yes, he’s right next to me.”

  She handed me the phone, and I heard the nervous vampire’s voice warbling over the line. “They’re back, and they’ve ignored the restraining order! Please help!”

  I said in the calmest voice possible, “What are they doing, Sheldon? Are you safe?”

  “For now. They can’t get in, but they’re pounding on the door. They broke my windows. I can hear them outside! They’re coming to get me.”

  “Did you call the police?”

  “They put me on hold. Mr. Chambeaux, save me!”

  “I’ll be right there, Sheldon. Just hang tight.”

  I’d thought the morons would lie low for at least a day or two, but something must have egged them on. I tucked my piece in its shoulder holster and headed out. With the pistol I could scare the Straight Edge dweebs away for now, but they could always harass the vampire again. Since I did not intend to set up a new career as a doorman at Sheldon Fennerman’s brownstone, I needed a more permanent solution, one that would make the Straight Edgers leave my client alone.

  As I hit the street, I took out my phone and punched in another number. Time to call in reinforcements.

  Splattered raw eggs left gooey starbursts on Sheldon’s front door. Rocks had broken the black glass of his windows. The three young men—Patrick, Scott, and Todd—wearing red T-shirts with the white line down the front, lounged on the street corner as if pretending to be hoodlums, but they didn’t look old enough to smoke. Priscilla, the shrewish young woman, stood beside them waving a new hand-lettered sign:

  UNDEAD

  UNCLEAN

  UNWANTED

  I was surprised they had the balls to be so overt; I’d thought they were nothing more than armchair terrorists. Maybe Jekyll himself had coerced them into this underhanded retaliation. It was common knowledge that Fennerman was a Chambeaux & Deyer client, under our protection, and Harvey could well have riled them up just to cause trouble after Robin and I visited him in his factory office. Maybe he’d even promised these kids their own secret decoder rings if they completed their mission.

  The Straight Edgers recognized me as I approached. “Did you have trouble reading the restraining order I served you? Too many big words?”

  “We’re on a public street,” Priscilla sneered.

  “You’re harassing my client. I can see the broken windows.”

  “It was an accident,” Todd said. “We’d apologize and offer to pay, but we can’t go within fifty feet of him.”

  “And the eggs?”

  “We were delivering groceries,” Scott said. “I tripped, and they went flying.”

  The Straight Edgers were so full of themselves they didn’t seem to realize where they were. The unnaturals already despised them and their intolerant activities. Priscilla, Scott, Todd, and Patrick were close to being fatally clueless.

  Hearing the ruckus, a few monsters had stepped out of their front doors or emerged from their businesses, looking with disdain at the demonstrators. Some of the unnaturals rolled their slitted eyes, viewing the Straight Edgers as ill-behaved children who needed a good scolding and a weekend of public service. Other creatures, though, seemed happy for an excuse to return to their baser natures.

  “We have a right to free speech, man,” Patrick said. “Our opinion is our opinion.”

  “And everybody has one,” I said, stepping closer, in their faces. “Like assholes.”

  This confrontation had the potential to degenerate into one of those interminably stupid “I know you are, but what am I?” debates. The mood of the gathered unnaturals was getting ugly. Claws extended, fangs bared. I had already rescued the beanpole Todd from a troll’s deep fryer; now maybe I’d have to intervene to keep these dweebs from becoming a Straight Edge smorgasbord—and that really annoyed me. I was here to protect Sheldon, not his harassers.

  I looked up with relief to see the black-gowned bulk of Mavis Wannovich waddling toward us, accompanied by the huge sow, as if the two were out for an afternoon stroll. Mavis carried her spell book now, confident and unafraid. And thanks to an anti-glamour spell Mavis had worked on her sister, Alma now smelled like sauerkraut rather than delectable pork, which kept her safe from the unnaturals who had considered her a snack a few days ago.

  “Ah, Mavis! Thank you for coming down to help.” I raised a hand to greet her.

  Both sisters seemed renewed, self-esteem bolstered by their new positions at the publishing house. “Delighted to be of assistance, Mr. Chambeaux. One small way we can repay you for your kindness.”

  The Straight Edgers hooted and jeered. “Ooh, he’s brought in a pig as reinforcements. I’m scaaaared!”

  “Throw water on the witch and see if she starts melting,” Priscilla suggested.

  Mavis glared at them with a gaze that nearly turned them to stone. “Just try it, you little snots, and we’ll see who starts melting. Better watch out, or I’ll turn to page sixty-two!”

  While the sow stood guard, Mavis opened her spell book. I slipped down the two steps to Sheldon Fennerman’s front door and rapped with my knuckles. “Open up, Sheldon. It’s Dan Chambeaux.”

  “I’m not coming out! It isn’t safe!”

  “I’ve got your back, don’t worry. I need you to watch this, trust me. It’ll be the end of all your troubles.”

  The door opened a crack, and the vampire poked his face out. “Is it going to bring my friends back? All the other vampires in the neighborhood?”

  “I’m afraid they’re not coming back, Sheldon, but at least you’ll be safe.”

  Undeterred, Priscilla kept pumping her sign up and down, but she didn’t continue her insults. All four looked queasy, trying to summon nonexistent courage from one another. The angry unnaturals on the street growled, as if they didn’t want to wait for what I intended to do. “Humans, go home!” yelled a man who looked very human, probably an un-transformed werewolf.

  “Fresh meat,” a shambler said in a voice that sounded like a rumbling stomach.

/>   A tall, pasty-faced necromancer moaned, “Why can’t we all just get along?”

  A potbellied ghost drifted among the angry people, glaring at the scrawny punks. “You’re not better than us!”

  I brought Sheldon out into the daylight, and he hunched into his loose bathrobe, keeping to the shadows of his front step. I removed my fedora and placed it on the vampire’s head to shield him from the sun. “Sheldon Fennerman, I’d like you to meet Mavis Wannovich and her sister Alma, two other clients of mine.”

  “Very satisfied clients.” Mavis smiled. “Mr. Chambeaux and Ms. Deyer solved our problems in a most satisfactory way, and he’s asked me to help.”

  “Thank you,” Sheldon said, “for whatever it is you’re going to do.”

  “We’re going to protect you.” Mavis leafed through the spell book, found the correct page, cleared her throat, and glared at the Straight Edgers. “It’s only fair to warn you that this is a very powerful protective spell, although you bullies already deserve whatever you’ve got coming to you.”

  “You don’t scare me,” said Todd, looking even more scared than when I’d rescued him from the hot-oil hot tub.

  “A pity,” Mavis said. “I’m casting this spell over Mr. Fennerman’s domicile and his person. Anyone who harms him, or even threatens to harm him, will regret it.”

  “W-what does the spell do?” Patrick asked.

  I said to her, “Be specific, Mavis. They’re slow learners.”

  The witch grinned at the cringing Straight Edgers. “Anyone who harms, or threatens to harm, Mr. Fennerman will experience severe gastric distress. This spell will transform your last meal into a clump of live cockroaches inside your stomach—cockroaches that will do their best to burrow their way out.”

  Meanwhile, the crowd of monsters had started out ugly and was getting uglier.

  “Maybe you should hurry up, Mavis,” I whispered.

  The witch began reading the incantation, drawing designs in the air and—more for theatrics than magical efficacy—she threw a pinch of smoke powder and set off a tiny bang. Priscilla dropped her sign with a clatter, and the Straight Edgers scattered like crows startled from an old corpse.