Dr. Nikas looked in the direction of Pierce’s room and exhaled softly. “I’ve been with him a long time. Mature zombies don’t tend to stay close together, but I . . .”
“You need him, and he needs you,” I finished for him.
A smile twitched his lips before fading. “He shelters me, and I keep him balanced,” he said. “I was broken long ago. For all of our physical and even mental healing capacity, most psychological or emotional wounds remain untouched, even in maturity.” He pulled his gaze back to mine. “Angel, you know I can’t tolerate a crowded room, much less a public life. With him, I can simply be who I am.”
“What happened to you?” I asked after a moment’s hesitation.
He pulled his sleeve back down and buttoned the cuff, focusing so carefully on the task it was clear he was either gathering up the nerve to tell me the story or attempting to come up with a nice way to tell me to fuck off and mind my own business. “I was revealed as a ghoul,” he finally said. “Zombie is a modern name. Ghoul, in various forms and languages, has been our label for centuries. Our kind were seeds for a great variety of legends of demonic association, sorcery, and macabre desecration of the dead.” He drew an unsteady breath, then reached for the mortar and scraped the goopy contents of the mortar into a smaller bowl. “A very long time ago I lived as a physician and surgeon in Thessaloniki.” His hands stilled, and his eyes went distant as though connecting with that past. “A mob ambushed me—the ghoul who’d been robbing the city’s graves and, more recently, its fallen soldiers.”
“Oh, no,” I murmured, dread rising.
He finished transferring the minced root into the bowl then busied himself with tasting the concoction before adding a final touch of what looked like black salt. I didn’t have to be a genius to understand that he needed a moment to compose himself. I doubted this was a subject he talked about much.
“I’ll spare you the horror of the details,” he said, and I suspected the short version was more to spare himself the horror of it. “The mob. People, friends and associates I’d known for years. So savage. So full of hate.”
A shudder ran through me. Though what he described happened a long time ago, he might as well have been painting a picture of my worst nightmares. Louisiana backwoods justice for the monster that ate Grampa Joe’s brain. “How’d they find out?”
“My wife.” His voice grew thick. “I never told her what I was. When she found a cask of brains in the winter cellar, she exposed me.”
Throat tight, I laid my hand on top of his. If he had told her, would she have been swayed to accept his way of living, or would she have turned on him then and there? It could’ve gone either way no matter how deep the relationship. What if Jane had turned on Pietro? There’d been no time to think about it in the moment, but damn, it could have been disastrous. Double kudos to Jane for being super cool.
Dr. Nikas’s hand trembled under mine as he spoke again. “They forced brains on me as they mutilated, broke, and burned my body by every means they could imagine. And they had vivid imaginations.”
Chilled to my bones, I squeezed his hand, silently grateful he’d decided to omit the graphic details. What words were adequate? None, and so I settled on the simple, “I’m so sorry.”
He turned his hand over and closed his fingers around mine, silent for at least a full minute. “They broke me, Angel,” he finally said in a voice choked with emotion, and I knew he meant far more than his physical body. “I don’t know how long it went on. Forever. Eventually they piled wood and brush around me for a final burning, but it never happened.”
I let out a breath I’d been holding, like reaching the turning point in a book when you know everything’s going to be okay. “What stopped them?” I asked, genuinely curious about what could put a halt to a situation so out of control.
“He did,” Dr. Nikas said with a nod toward Pierce’s room. “He emerged from the darkness like an avenging angel, a mercenary captain and his company. In moments he and his men scattered the mob like dry leaves in the wind. He cut me down, told me it would never happen again. I’ve been with him ever since.”
“Pietro. Oh, wow.”
He wiped a stray tear away with the back of his free hand. “Yes. Strong, capable, fearless, and feared.”
“In other words a badass mofo.” A few days ago it would’ve been impossible for me to imagine Pietro Ivanov as a mercenary captain. But now that he had the form of Pierce Gentry I sure as hell could. And hell, what better place to get a supply of brains than a battlefield? “He hasn’t budged off that badassness one little bit, has he?”
“No, he has not,” Dr. Nikas stated. “The Pietro identity proved quite challenging for him, as he chose to adopt Pietro’s relatively tame and passive lifestyle in order to ensure a seamless transition. It meant he had to enlist others to conduct business he would normally do himself.”
My respect for Pietro expanded. He’d willingly taken on a life that didn’t suit him for the sake of securing a steady—and mostly non-violent—source of brains for his people. He sure as hell wasn’t a squeaky clean, shiny hero, but he was turning out to be a tried-and-true tarnished one. “With you as his sounding board and moral bullshit meter, you two seem to make a good team.”
Dr. Nikas laughed. “When he listens to me.” He kept hold of my hand even though the tension had eased. Between his story and what I knew of him from the lab, I had the feeling he truly was a people person, a healer who couldn’t be around people, and probably had little physical contact with anyone. How sucky was that?
Dr. Nikas squeezed my hand then reluctantly released it. A wave of sadness swept through me as if I’d lost a comfy blanket, and I took a deep breath to shake off the feeling.
The sound of the garage door rumbled through the house, and about half a minute later Brian came in from the garage. He wore a leather jacket over dark jeans instead of his typical suit, which was so out of character I’d have probably passed right by him on the street without recognizing him.
“That was a pain in the ass, but it’s done,” he announced.
I stood and stretched as Dr. Nikas poured the pale blue contents of the bottle into the bowl of glop. “Did you bring home something fun?” I asked.
“Sure did,” Brian said. “A cargo van and a small dumpster.”
“Do I want to know what this plan is?”
“Probably not,” he said with a wink.
I rolled my eyes. “How about the basics of what we’re up against.”
“Our best estimate is at least a dozen of Saberton’s Special Security Team,” Brian told me. “In general, they’re hardcore pros handpicked for company loyalty and willingness to do whatever is required.” A muscle in his neck briefly tensed. “Out of the SST, a select few who apparently have an extra dose of fuck you about human rights are assigned to work directly with zombies.”
“Zombies don’t even count as human to them,” I said with a black scowl. The memory of my own capture was still crystal-clear, including how much Mr. Perfect Eyebrows and the others had gotten off on humiliating and abusing me. “I hate those fuckers.”
“No argument from me,” Brian said, matching my scowl. “Some of them use torture as entertainment. I’m ready to bury the lot.”
“I’ll bring the shovel,” I said. “What’s next?”
“A chat with Saber. Want to come with me?”
I gave him a dubious look. Chatting with Andrew wasn’t exactly on the top of my list of fun things to do. “Depends. What are we talking about?”
Brian’s smile faded. “I had a talk with Mr. Iv—Gentry. We need to put a little heat on Saber to determine where he stands concerning his sister.”
“You mean so we know whether or not Naomi should see him in person?” At his nod I continued, “No matter what, I think he needs to be told his mother knew Julia wasn’t dead. That should piss him off and rock
the happy family when he goes home.” If he goes home, I added silently. That wouldn’t happen if Pierce considered him a serious threat. But Brian’s broad smile told me I was right on target. “What about Naomi?” I asked. “She needs to have a say in this.”
“When she gets back from the clinic,” he said. “My hope is that our little interview will help her decide what to do.”
“Gotcha.” I was totally happy to gather info to help Naomi out, especially since it was a lot like being nosy, which I was already pretty damn good at.
“Not to mention, I figure this could be a good start to your training,” he added.
“Training?” Was I supposed to run around the house a few times before talking to Andrew? I gave him a baffled look. “I’m lost.”
“After you outed Dr. Pennington’s bodyguard, I promised both you and him that I’d cover the basics,” Brian explained. “Interview and interrogation isn’t really a basic, but it’ll help you think on your feet, and it’s as good a place as any to start.”
“Oh! Right.” Whew, no running or pushups. Yet. “Sure, totally up for it.” Especially if it could keep me from having another incident like the one with Victor and Jane.
Brian’s expression grew more serious. “We also need to see what information can be wrung from Saber that will help us rescue Kyle and Marcus.”
“As long as I get to do some of the wringing,” I said with a glower. “Anything besides Pietro’s change-of-body off limits?”
“No, that’s the only info that needs to remain completely hush-hush,” he said. “But you have plenty of other ammunition.”
“I know lots of shit that he doesn’t,” I said then looked down at myself. Baggy sweatpants and a T-shirt that swallowed me. Pretty unimpressive. “Let me throw my clothes in the dryer first.” The pants had a bullet hole in the ass, and the jacket and shirt were burned and melted in the back from when I got stuck beneath Naomi’s car in the Saberton parking garage, but it would still be a better look than my current one. I’d have to find a way to score some less-damaged stuff for the rescue raid though. Maybe I could be Naomi’s personal fashion doll again.
“I’ll make a sandwich for our guest while you do that,” Brian said.
“Don’t put anything weird in it,” I replied as I trotted off to the laundry room.
Brian’s chortle followed me. “Not promising anything!”
Chapter 31
With fresh clothing and a tough attitude, I headed upstairs with Brian. “Do we have a plan?” I asked.
“Get a feel for it,” Brian replied as we reached the door at the end of the hall. “Follow my lead if you get stuck.” And with that, he threw the door open.
Andrew startled so badly he rattled the headboard against the wall as he jerked his wrist cuff. After a few seconds of wide-eyed hard breathing he put on the toughest face he could manage, though it did little to hide how tired and scared he looked. “What now?” he rasped. “More threats?”
I followed Brian into the room, and when he didn’t respond to Andrew, I realized he expected me to start. Crap. “We don’t have any reason to threaten you,” I said, doing my best cool interrogator impression. “You’re in a world of shit, and you know it.”
Andrew shifted to the awkward half-sit the shackle and cuff would allow. “Yes, I know it.” His eyes flicked from me to Brian. His fear smelled like the tang of shorting wires, and a sheen of sweat broke on his forehead. He probably figured we’d eat his brain the instant he stopped being useful. A whisper of uncertainty passed over his face as he noted the sandwich and the glass of sparkling grape juice in Brian’s hands. Probably wondering why we’d feed him if we were only going to kill him.
“Hungry?” I asked as I took the plate and glass from Brian.
He hesitated, clearly torn about whether to be stubborn and hungry, or cooperative and fed, but after a few more seconds he gave a tight nod. I placed the sandwich and juice on the nightstand within his reach, then sat on the edge of the other bed.
Andrew mumbled thanks and wasted no time in taking a bite of the sandwich. I gave him almost enough time to finish chewing, then asked my question. “Why do you hate us so much?”
He froze, then swallowed the bite and washed it down with juice. “Your people murdered my sister.” His voice remained calm, but I felt the anger behind it.
Brian stepped forward. “I did that,” he said. “Though from what she said you two didn’t seem all that close.”
Fury flashed in Andrew’s eyes. “Who the hell are you to judge me on that?” he asked, not so calm anymore. “We didn’t always get along, but I still loved her. She was my sister.”
Brian’s nostrils flared slightly. Scenting truth or lie. “We’ll keep that in mind.”
Andrew shot him a baffled look. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means, when I’m deciding whether or not to kill you, it might factor in.” Brian folded his arms. “It was a waste for that girl to die, but it had to be done.” I had to hand it to Brian. He knew which buttons to push on Andrew.
Andrew’s jaw trembled as his composure crumbled. “Why?”
I leaned forward, completely on track with Brian. “What part? Why was it a waste, or why did it have to be done?”
“I know why it was a waste,” Andrew snapped. “She was talented and clever and full of life. I didn’t always agree with her choices, but I respected her drive and skill.” He fixed his gaze on me. “I want to know why the hell Ivanov had this goon kill her.”
Well, damn. This whole faked death thing looked a lot different up close and personal. No wonder Andrew hated Pietro. Part of me wanted to cave in, comfort him, and tell him his sister was fine, but the rest of me knew I had a job to do. Other people’s lives depended on my staying strong here. I drew a breath to steady myself. “Because she knew too much. She was desperate to get away from Saberton, but your mother had her so terrified we couldn’t risk her going back.”
For a second I thought Andrew was going to throw up, then he smashed his free fist into the headboard. His words came out between clenched teeth. “My mother is a desperate, manipulative, heartless woman, and Julia had good reason to be afraid of her.”
“No shit.” I did my best to kept my voice even and steady. “What about you, Andy? How’d you pick up such a cruel streak?”
He flexed his bleeding knuckles then grabbed the sandwich and took a vicious bite to cover his angry frustration. And fear. And to avoid answering. And to get some food while we were in the mood to feed him. Darn useful sandwich.
“You broke Heather’s—I mean Julia’s—heart,” I said, correcting my intentional use of her cover name. “You know, when she watched a video of you right alongside Nicole being all okay with cutting up a live zombie.”
He paled, and I thought he might crack, but he pulled his act together and lifted his chin. “It was that or abandon my grandfather’s company and have no say whatsoever in its future.” He placed the rest of the sandwich on the plate and shoved it away. “My mother knew Dr. Charish’s Zoldiers project was a long shot, yet she wanted to mine anything salvageable from it. Saberton provided only minimal resources. There were other projects but all were beyond my ability to stop or control. I told Julia that.”
I stood, jaw clenched tight as my calm went out the window. Those minimal resources had fucked up my life, terrorized my dad, crippled Philip, and killed an innocent man.
“Interesting.” Brian drawled the word. “You’re saying that, if you were in charge, you’d put a stop to the vivisection, torture, and experimentation?”
Andrew squared his shoulders. “If I was in charge? Yes.” He hesitated as if about to say more, but didn’t.
“Why don’t I believe you?” Brian picked up the plate with the unfinished sandwich. “Your sister had a real affinity for zombies. You and your mother set her up with John Kang, then t
ried to turn her against him—her best friend. And you call us monsters.”
With that he strode out of the room. I really wanted to stick around and punch Andrew, but I followed Brian instead, though I did slam the door behind me.
Brian walked a short distance down the hallway. “We’ll let him simmer a bit while you get yourself together,” he told me in a low voice.
“I almost lost it,” I confessed. “Dude pissed me off.”
“I get it,” he said. “But you want him to be the only one off-balance. You’ve accomplished that. Now it’s time to drop the bomb about his sister, then fish for information. We’ll play it by ear as it unfolds. You lead again, and I’ll take over if you need a boost.”
“Got it,” I said. “Learn by doing and screwing up.” An odd thrill of excitement and nerves shivered through me, but I took a deep breath and made myself chill. The urge to punch someone faded, and I returned to Andrew’s door and opened it gently. He still sat on the edge of the bed, his good hand locked over the injured knuckles as he glared at us.
I reclaimed my seat on the other bed. Cool and calm. I can do this. “The last time you saw Julia,” I began, “you threatened to tell your mother that Julia helped a zombie escape and killed a Saberton lab guy. You scared the shit out of her, and because of that, she figured her only options were to go under your thumb forever or smash you in the face and run for her life.” I paused for effect. “We know how that turned out.”
His glare dissolved into anguish. “You don’t think I feel the guilt of that every goddamn day?” he asked, voice cracking. “I’m her twin. Was her twin.” He reached out with his bloody hand as though to touch something, then closed his fist on empty air. “I can’t even let her go because it feels like she’s still right here.”
Was that because of the twin thing? Maybe on some level he knew she wasn’t dead? “Andrew, we’re not going to fuck with you anymore over this,” I said. “Your mother is a piece of work—more than you can possibly know.”
He narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean?”
How the White Trash Zombie Got Her Groove Back Page 33