“Bring it!” Beth screamed, and the pursuers stampeded.
Jasper crouched low, plowing into the three men who remained as if she were a bowling ball and they, the pins.
Jeb tossed the one who flanked their group into the wall of the building.
He cracked the skull of the other while the zombie landed on the tossed assailant.
He fell after a sound punch in the face.
“Stay as you lie, vagrant,” the zombie commanded with quiet menace.
The last one had Jasper by the throat, pressed tight against the brick wall.
Jeb kicked the male between the legs from behind in a cupped strike of toes. It was an effective hook to the crotch.
His angle had been awkward but effective.
The zombie hissed his empathy from behind as the man slid down to the ground on his side in a fetal position.
Jasper slapped her hands against the building for balance. Her eyes found Jeb's.
The Reflectives’ gazes rose to the sphere.
It had lost its luster. They momentarily ignored the undead man they'd saved.
“Can you jump?” Jeb asked as Jasper struggled to draw air through her abused throat.
Jasper came away from the wall as late-afternoon sunlight streamed between the two buildings like a spear.
She stared at the locator.
Nothing reflective remained.
She shook her head.
Jeb swore under his breath. His finger was a crooked flag on his hand. Swelling as he observed the broken digit.
He glanced at Jasper. “Can you set this? It'll heal this way.”
“I can,” the zombie said.
He extended his hand.
“I am Clyde.”
Jeb stepped over one of the beaten men and took the proffered palm. He noticed the gray tinge of the skin; some of it was sloughing off like shed snake skin.
Jeb shook it with his good one, keeping his repulsion under lock and key for the moment.
“Jeb Merrick.” He indicated Jasper with his chin. “This is my associate, Beth Jasper.”
Clyde inclined his head.
“How is it you know medicine? Are you a healer?”
“Merrick,” Jasper warned.
His eyes flicked to hers.
“A doctor?” he corrected.
Clyde's lips twitched.
The interior of his mouth was black.
“No, but I did a turn or two with boxing during Prohibition times. I might understand the mechanics of fixing a break.”
Jasper put her leather reticule between Jeb's teeth as Clyde straightened the joint.
Jeb did not scream, thought the marks of his teeth remained in the soft leather.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Just let it out, Merrick,” Beth said, disgusted by his pinched white face.
Males.
“No,” Merrick said through clenched teeth.
“Okay—whatever.”
Clyde straightened.
“There. It is not a perfect set, but it is what I could manage because of prior breaks.” Clyde lifted an eyebrow, and a little glob of skin rolled from a decomposing tear of flesh and plopped to the ground with a dull splat.
Beth could hear the dry click of her throat as she swallowed. Disgusting.
She had always prided herself on not being squeamish. Beth had never expected to have prejudices like others held against her.
However, the zombie was another thing entirely. He was absolutely awful, and he seemed to be worsening as she watched.
Beth was well versed in all the sectors the Reflectives maintained. Sector Three was known for the teen and young adults who possessed many different paranormal skills—which the Reflectives did not have. The Reflective lifespan was unprecedented in other sectors, yet they could not read minds or shift things without touch. And the dead of Papilio stayed dead.
In Sector Three, a handful of individuals could excavate the dead, like mining for rotting jewels. Papiliones referred to these Sector Three inhabitants as animators a mortuis.
Beth thought the loose translation in English would be death animators. But that was the difficulty with the new language that had been cultivated so pervasively across the other sectors—it was splintered and difficult to translate. In this case, it was close enough.
Too close for comfort.
“Thank you,” Merrick said.
“You are most welcome. However, it is I that is in your debt.”
“Clyde!”
Merrick and Beth whipped around to the sound of a commanding female voice, which sounded relieved.
Oh no… Sector Three police.
However, the zombie—Clyde, seemed to be greatly pleased to see her.
“I'm here, dear heart.”
He smiled, and Beth retreated a step.
Principle, his teeth were awful… and the smell.
Merrick and Beth instinctively moved away, but remained flanking Clyde.
They had not just assisted him, to then hand him over to a new and unknown threat.
Beth thought the female officer appeared equal in size to her.
Of course, that meant nothing. Beth knew she could go toe-to-toe with five Sector Three males and come out the victor. Perhaps this Three female was similar?
“Clyde,” the female's eyes tracked them like a hawk, and Beth gave Merrick an uneasy glance as she absently stroked the weapon at her hip.
“Roberta,” he replied.
Her eyes swept them and Clyde, “Who are these bozos?”
“Like clowns?” Merrick frowned.
“No,” Beth responded. “It's meant as a disparagement.”
Roberta stared.
“Okay, who the grand fuck are these two, Clyde?”
Clyde frowned. “You know my stance on coarse language, Roberta.”
She bobbed her head. “I gotcha, lover, but it's 2030, not 1930… you've gotta buck up, baby.”
Oh, dear Principle… they’re—together?
Merrick gave Beth the look of horror she was feeling.
Roberta took Clyde's hand.
“Can we trust these two? Because I'm getting a weird-ass vibe, especially from the tall dude there.”
“It is fine, sweetheart. They came to my aid when the ruffian bunch of scallywags tried to give me a taste of hickory.”
“I'm so sorry, baby.” Roberta’s right hand left her weapon to caress his rotting flesh.
At Roberta’s touch, Clyde’s skin knitted together like fabric, becoming fuller, tighter, and smoother.
Color bloomed on his cheeks, spreading and giving ruddy life to every piece of visible flesh.
Beth's eyes snapped to Roberta.
“What are you?”
“Okay, what is your story? You should know what I am instantly.” Her eyes narrowed on Beth then went to Merrick. “Look at how fine my man is now,” she purred.
Beth shuddered.
It didn't matter that Clyde seemed as alive as she. Beth remembered the smell, the taut gray skin that lay stretched like badly pulled canvas across the high cheekbones of his face.
In Roberta’s presence, Clyde was handsome, virile, and very much alive. He no longer smelled of the horrible rot that had hung in the air as they’d fought his attackers. His hair had filled in and was a true, light chestnut. His eyes were a perfect cross between moss green and brown.
The sockets were no longer shriveled. The whites of his eyes were flush in the pocket of healthy flesh that held them.
“What magic is this?” Merrick whispered, well and truly shaken.
Beth couldn't blame him.
“Let us not push our questions…” Clyde said.
Beth could see expression in his eyes because they were now fully formed. He knew there was something different about them.
They would have to be careful in this sector, where the random young person could know their thoughts through touch and where the dead walk.
In their presence, Beth thought then land
ed on the answer.
“Affinity for the Dead,” Beth blurted.
Merrick turned to her.
“Of course,” he said, nodding.
“Wow, give the girl a prize!” Roberta rolled her eyes. “Who else could make a corpse stay alive?” She gave them a critical look. “I guess you two are okay, if a little slow up top.” She tapped her head, and Merrick frowned.
Beth had forgotten how rude Sector Three people could be.
One of the men lying on the ground groaned.
Roberta strolled over to one. “Who's the one who did in your arm, Clyde?”
“Roberta, leave them. They are not worth your time.”
“Which one?”
Clyde sighed, leaving Merrick’s and Beth's side. He pointed to the one that was propped up against the wall.
He had partially regained consciousness, though Beth determined he was not a very smart adversary.
“I'd do him again, bitch,” he said.
A smile unfurled like a sail in full wind, right before Roberta landed a boot to his crotch.
Merrick and Clyde flinched.
The man groaned and rolled over onto his side.
It must've been a decent strike, because he threw up whatever trash he'd consumed for his afternoon meal.
“Was that necessary?” Clyde asked. “You know I could tear their limbs off and beat them about.”
“Yes… but that’s not nearly as satisfying.”
“Wildcat,” Clyde said, bending from his considerable height to nuzzle her neck.
“I think we're done here,” Beth said.
Merrick nodded, returning her uneasy glance.
They needed to find a large water source. Beth hoped against anything they would be able to jump to Papilio without a locator. The larger the reflective surface, the easier the jump.
She didn't possess the finesse that Merrick did.
Beth could jump through anything, but her destination was a crapshoot. She shivered at the memory of the jump she’d made that fateful day in Rachett's office. She'd been a youngling. It was a miracle that she hadn't spun off to Sector One.
She glanced at Merrick, and he gave her the barest nod.
Beth's shoulders dropped in relief.
She could turf it to him.
Roberta's face turned to study the retreating pair.
“Where are you guys going?”
Clyde's healthy eyes followed them, glittering with knowledge. “Let them go, Roberta.”
“Wait.” She moved away from Clyde, and his fingers slid down her arm reluctantly. “Why did you save Clyde?”
Beth thought about it, knowing she could never take back the pause in her answer.
Roberta's brows jerked together in a frown.
“He was in danger.”
“So let me get this straight,” she said, shooting Merrick an appraising glance. “You just decided to tag team this carload of assholes when they would put the beat on Clyde—a zombie?” She barked a disbelieving laugh.
Beth didn't reply.
Zombies were a newer development, and they were still rare enough that their history hadn’t been logged. But apparently—her eyes went to the disbanded group that decorated the alley—they were abhorred because they simply did not live.
Their existence offered tangible proof of death and a grim reminder of every person’s mortality.
The Threes and their obsession with life.
Their concern was an insult to those who wished to ignore their eventual demise, a robbery of the lies they would feed themselves.
The zombies starved them of the lies, leaving only the truth.
“What does it matter?” Merrick tried for casual.
Her eyes narrowed. “I just wanted to know. Don't get all defensive, fella.”
Merrick was treading water, and Beth jumped in. “We're just trying to do the Good Samaritan routine.”
She shrugged.
Roberta studied the two then stabbed her hand out midair. “Then—thank you.”
Beth understood the custom of shaking hands. She gripped the other woman’s hand and toned down her own strength. Beth loosened her grip more when Roberta winced.
“Bobbi Gale,” she said then grinned. “Nice handshake ya got there.”
Beth released her hand.
“Officer Gale!”
At the mouth of the alley stood another officer of the law. Beth did quick calculations of physicality.
Hispanic descent, mid-thirties, six feet, one hundred ninety pounds, left-handed.
She couldn't sense his intelligence from the distance, but as he moved toward them, she knew he could handle himself in a fight and almost run her down.
This, they did not need: complications and questions that could not be answered.
“Merrick.”
He was already ahead of her. They exchanged a look with Clyde when Bobbi Gale was distracted by the appearance of her partner.
Merrick jogged silently to the opposite side of the alley.
Beth whirled to tail him.
They ran in sync, her hair a nuisance streaming behind her.
“Good day,” Clyde said in a low voice, allowing their departure.
The Reflectives’ hearing was perfect, though they did not turn back to return the goodbye.
“Stop!” cried the unknown officer.
“Hey!” Bobbi shouted.
Merrick slapped his palm into Beth's.
They simply had no time.
“Where?” She delivered the single word like a terse slap.
Running footsteps echoed. Beth heard a weapon clear a holster.
Beth's assessment of the officer Bobbi Gale had found her to be of keen intelligence.
The Reflectives’ potential had been gleaned and found to be other. They'd missed their jump and were desperate to remove themselves from the moment.
Beth's palm began to sweat in Merrick's hand as it swallowed hers.
“Beth!” he hissed, using her given name for the first time.
She scanned the parking lot that the alley had opened into.
One transport was parked alongside the curb; a shattered side mirror poked out like an ear.
“No,” Merrick said, following her gaze.
A warning shot fired above their heads, and Beth ducked.
“I'll shoot!”
Beth unconsciously analyzed the officer’s voice patterns: Unknown male voice, English as second language, stress detected, follow through likely.
“He's going to plug us,” Beth said as the sun bled into the horizon.
A final strangled bit of sunlight cut the parking lot like a knife. The dull blade of gold shimmered, striking the spiderweb of glass in that small mirror that hung off the car like a severed body part.
The reflection called to Beth like a melodious note that sang for her and her alone.
Merrick's eyes widened as he wheezed.
He could have cut away at any time. Instead, he moved closer to Beth's body.
Trust was the last thing she saw in his eyes as Merrick's arms wrapped her small frame.
She leapt, tearing into a piece of mirror that was a fractured remnant and an impossible jump.
Bobbi Gale and the man known as Raul Garcia almost dropped their guns when a blinding flash of light burst like a falling star in front of them. Two entwined bodies, a muscular male and a small female, glittered in a fragmented rainbow, rivaling the bloody tangerine of the sunset as it broke over the curb.
They became a ribbon of swirling color, slamming into the side mirror of the car.
They they were gone.
The pieces of mirror fell like rain onto the curb, splintering into smaller fragments.
Clyde turned to Bobbi.
“What in Fuckenstein was that?” Bobbi whispered.
Clyde made a noise, and she ignored him for the moment.
Raul met her eyes, holstering his weapon without looking. “I'm not sure, but if I was a betting man—”
&
nbsp; “You're not,” Bobbi said without rancor.
“Let the man speak,” Clyde said.
Bobbi folded her arms across her chest in a huff.
Raul narrowed his gaze on her. “I'd say they were Dimensionals.”
“Like Randi Chen?”
“Exactly like.”
The three stood together in a loose triangle of unease. In the world of paranormals, a new threat was not met with welcome.
The trouble was: the purpose of the two strangers was uncertain.
***
Jasper could jump through what was nearly untraceable with even Reflective eyesight.
However, her landings left quite a bit to be desired.
Jeb instinctively curled around his partner, again stretching out of the familiar because she didn't share his gender.
He fell hard, his ribs bruising instantly. One cracked as Jasper's weight added to the insult of the rough landing.
The air left him, and Jasper rolled away.
Jeb opened his eyes. Without air, he just lay on the ground like a fish stranded out of water.
He heard Jasper scramble up and could just make out her silhouette in the gloom.
“What are you doing? Get up, Merrick.”
Her hands flew to her hips.
He lay there, his lungs begging for oxygen, rebelling against the pain it would cause his ribs if he filled them.
Jasper toed him. “Come on. Don't be a pussy.”
Anger flared through Jeb and he struggled up. And suddenly the movement unlocked him. He took a great, swooping lungful and a harsh cough barked out of him.
The pain about did him in, his ribs like shards of glass.
Jeb lurched to his feet and Jasper stepped away, making the look on his face easily with only a dimly lit quarter moon to aid her.
“I am not. A. Pussy,” Jeb said slowly.
So much for chivalry.
Jasper glanced away, and he could almost taste her embarrassment.
“I do have one cracked rib and several others that are tender.”
“I suck at landings,” Beth admitted, keeping to the sector's verbiage.
Jeb put a hand at his side, wincing.
“You can drop the English slang.”
He peered through the gloom, seeing nothing but a thick wood and mountains beyond.
He pulled his pulse from his pocket and thanked Principle it had survived their horrible transit. He depressed his thumb.
Merrick, Jebediah—Sector Three, Quadrant Cascade Range, Greater Quadrant of America.
Lycan Alpha Claim 3 Page 44