Sleep tingles the back of my eyes. I scoot down and grab the throw blanket on the back of the couch, and cover my legs and stomach. I’m not going to sleep, but there’s a chill in the house, even with my hoodie.
Gio's mouth moves at top speed, which is interesting considering all of his other movements are slow and jerky.
Watching him chew becomes hypnotic and before I know it, my eyelids drift shut.
A second later they spring open, and I realize it’s been more than a second.
It’s light outside. According to the analog clock hanging on the far wall, it’s nearly seven thirty a.m. And Gio is no longer on the loveseat.
Holy…
I bolt up, twisting the blanket around my legs, and nearly fall face first onto the floor. I place one hand on the coffee table and look into the empty salad bowl. He ate it all. The fork is still on the cushion and the towels on the table, but the one I put on his lap isn’t in the room. What does that mean, and where did he go?
I unravel myself, toss the blanket on the couch, and grab the evidence of snacking in the living room. I head to the kitchen and plan to call Tomás as soon as I wash these items.
But when I step from the hardwood floor to the tile, I see the fridge door open and Gio by the sink.
He’s still here. I want to do a happy dance but contain myself because while I’m thrilled he stuck around, I’m not sure if it’s a good idea.
A flushing toilet sounds upstairs and our folks are early risers. If today was a weekday, the coffee would already be started.
Gio's facing the sink, his head is tilted back, and he’s drinking straight from the orange juice container.
Eww! Zombie germs.
I make a mental note to dump any remaining OJ and throw out the container when he’s done. I don’t know if his virus is contagious through spit, and I certainly don’t want to find out. Besides, even if he hadn’t been infected, it’s still gross.
He turns, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and smiles at me. “Hey, sis.”
I freeze in my spot.
His grin is normal. He has full control of his facial muscles and his skin is still pale but not nearly as ashy as before. And his eyes… Oh my Goddess, his eyes are almost their natural muddy color.
He sets the juice back in the fridge and shuts the door.
I’ve no idea what’s going on, but he’s back.
He frowns and stares at me. “Wait. Did you say Cari's pregnant?”
Chapter Thirteen
I only have a few minutes to fill Gio in on what I said about Cari before footsteps sound on the stairs. But in that time, my dream of one day having my brother back grows. He appears to be fully animated and he looks normal. I'm not sure he's going to be able to fool our parents though, so when they enter the kitchen, I toss the now empty carton of juice in the trash and bite down hard on my lip, which draws blood.
"Morning," says Mom when she sees me, but then she sees Gio and a mixture of relief, gratification, and anger churn on her face.
She rushes to him, grabs his shoulders, and pulls him into a tight hug. "Where have you been? Why haven't you returned any of my messages?"
"Sorry," he says, muffled into her hair. He manages to wiggle himself free and takes a step back. "My phone died."
His brain seems to be functioning well enough to answer at normal speed, and if the dead phone is a lie, then he’s back to his old self. This is good.
Dad pats him on the back and switches on the coffeemaker. "Next time be sure to contact your mother. You know how much she worries."
Gio wrings his fingers, nervous standing between the two of them. He squeezes past and widens his eyes at me. "I will. Sorry."
Mom lets out a long breath. "Well, since that is over, I can put all my energies into today's dinner after services."
There are two rituals in the Ricci family. One is my parents’ coven meetings early every Sunday morning. It's something us kids went to when we were younger, but as we got older we stopped. Sometimes Cari will go, but the rest of us usually skip it. And two, we always have a big Sunday dinner. The works. Both of my parents cook, so the meals end up being an Italian and southern fusion. Collard greens, spaghetti with marinara sauce, fried chicken, and a huge salad. It used to include a meaty bolognaise but when I went vegan, they switched to a simple marinara and usually add in another steamed veggie.
They’re pretty traditional about Sunday meals and aren’t keen about changing the menu, so I don’t usually do more than prep the salad. But they’re flexible the rest of the week, so I usually take over dinner one or two of the weeknights and try out new recipes. I made spinach lasagna with mashed sweet potatoes instead of ricotta and mozzarella last Monday. It didn’t go over too well with any of them except Nana. She had seconds.
I’ve always looked forward to Sunday dinner. I’m not sure about today though. I can’t imagine calmly sitting at the table for a leisurely dinner with everyone including Gio. Yeah, he looks better, but what if he reverts back without a steady feeding of cruciferous veggies? And there’s only a little bit of broccoli in the house.
Mom gives Gio a long, hard stare, examining his face. She glances down to his body. “What’s different about you?”
I hold my breath. It’s unlikely she’ll guess “zombie,” but she could badger him into blurting out the truth. She has her ways. Each of us has admitted fibs and less than stellar behavior over our lifetimes solely from “the look.” I hear all moms are famous for their looks. Ours has worked it into an art form.
Gio shrugs, playing it off. “I don’t know.”
Mom glances him over again but doesn’t insist. Then she turns to me and frowns. “What’s wrong with you? Why do you look like you’re going to jump out of your skin?”
Darn, she’s good.
I square back my shoulders and shake curls from my eyes. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
Mom huffs and walks to the coffeepot. “Sal, your children are acting weird.”
Dad nods and grabs the milk out of the fridge.
“I’m going to take a shower,” Gio says and walks to the doorway.
I draw my brows together and ask him why with my eyes. I can’t imagine zombies sweat. They must decay. Eww.
“Good,” Mom says. “Your clothes stink.”
Gio cocks a brow at me. Oh, that’s why. Keeping up appearances and all.
Mom and Dad eventually leave for their meeting, and I change into outside clothes. Gio looks surprisingly good after his shower. He has on fresh jeans, a long sleeved, red T-shirt, and blindingly white socks. His hair is wet and combed in his typical side-part. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he appears normal.
Cari is still sleeping and Leo heads out to grab lunch with a friend, which must be a girl because his smile is way too big for the friend to simply be a friend. This leaves Nana, who is the exact person I want to talk to.
While she gets up, I call Malik, Tomás, and Phoebe. We need all the help we can get.
An hour later, the four of us are sitting in my living room. They’re all staring at Gio as if he’s grown a second head. Thank goodness that’s not a zombie consequence. We definitely couldn’t hide it from our parents.
“He looks so real,” Tomás says and pokes his finger against Gio's cheek. My brother’s skin moves and then springs back into place. It’s a big plus.
Gio gently slaps Tomás’ hand away. “Yo, Bunny, I am real.”
The teasing nickname doesn’t seem to bother Tomás this time. He must be very grateful to have his friend back.
“Before we try to figure this out, can you now tell us how Zombie Sire infected you? Were you sleeping? Why did it look like he wanted to kiss you?” I ask. Maybe it’s not important, but I dislike unanswered questions.
One side of Gio’s mouth lifts into a painful looking smirk. “I dozed off, and when I woke up, he was beside me. He seemed to be sniffing me. I reached out to push him away before jumping up, and he scratched me. It only took a se
cond and I immediately felt woozy.”
I didn’t expect that answer.
“He was smelling you?” Tomás asks with a frown.
“Yeah, it was weird and creepy.”
His words buzz in my head and try to form a pattern.
“What part of you?” I ask.
Gio’s brows lower until a shadow forms over his eyelids. “My face? My mouth, I think.”
Phoebe giggles.
“So, your breath?” The patterns start to emerge.
His frown fades. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“What did you eat before going to the cemetery?” I ask.
“Um, Tomás and I had sandwiches.”
Tomás nods. “Ham and cheese on rye with mayo and tomatoes.”
“Yeah, and Mom saw and said tomatoes weren’t enough of a vegetable and forced your salad on us. I mean, I like it now but then…” He shakes his head.
My salad?
“I didn’t have any of it,” Tomás says and then gives me his puppy dog expression. “No offense but broccoli’s gross.”
I am definitely not offended. In fact, this is starting to make sense. I giggle.
“Does that mean something?” Malik asks and everyone turns to stare at me.
“I don’t know exactly, but Zombie Sire had no desire to sniff me or Tomás. Something led him straight to Gio. And the time Malik and I saw him, he ran away from us.”
Phoebe lets out a sigh of relief. “It’s great they don’t like brains. Right?”
I nod and concentrate on what we know. I point to my brother. “Okay, we have a zombie who craves broccoli. He also seems better after pigging out all night on vegetables.”
“Actually, the ones in the store weren’t satisfying. The ones which helped the most were yours.”
My broccoli.
I can’t help but smile as a surge of pride rushes through me. “That’s silly.”
Gio shrugs.
“Well, is it different somehow?” Phoebe asks.
“Where’d you get it from?” Malik asks me.
“Our garden. We grow a bunch of different fruits, herbs, and vegetables.”
“Maybe a special manure?” asks Tomás.
I think back to watching Dad spread the stinky stuff. He scooped it out of a bag. “No, it was pre-packaged.”
“Maybe there’s something different about your garden, your soil or seeds. You are witches,” says Malik.
I turn, walk to the front windows, and stare at where the Japanese maple used to stand. Is it our garden? Maybe Mom’s powers rule our property? She is Earth after all. But why wouldn’t we know this already?
“Do you have more?” Malik asks. His voice is tight.
I turn to the hope in his eyes. He’s asking for his grandfather. “There’s another bunch in the fridge. You can have it.”
“Hey,” Gio says. “What if I need it?”
“You look pretty good for the moment. There’s more in the garden. They aren’t fully grown yet, but there’s enough if we get in a pinch. Malik needs this too.”
“Why?” Phoebe scoots over a few inches, as if she’s afraid Malik’s been infected as well.
I don’t answer because it’s not my story to tell.
Malik hesitates and then says, “It’s for my grandfather. He’s been infected too.”
“Fahim is a zombie?” Nana asks from the doorway.
I didn’t hear her come downstairs. She is a Ninja.
Malik peers over his shoulder. “Yes, ma’am. He’s not doing well.”
“Take me to him now.”
There’s no debating with her tone, so I nod to Malik, and the others stand up.
“We won’t all fit in my dad’s car,” Malik says.
Gio sits back down. “I don’t need to go anyway. I don’t want to see.”
That’s right. He has no idea what he, himself, looked like just hours ago. I don’t blame him for wanting to stay away.
Tomás plops down beside his bestie. “I’ll stay too.”
The rest of them head out.
I run to the fridge and grab the last head of broccoli. On my way out, I glance back and stare at my brother. “Please don’t leave.”
He nods and heads upstairs with Tomás at his heels.
“Don’t worry, Aria. I’ll watch him.” From the firmness in Tomás’ tone, I imagine he’s feeling partly responsible for Gio’s state too. I’m positive Tomás will watch and fuss over him like Mom does when we’re sick.
The drive to the Zayid house is quick and silent. Everyone is in their own head. When we get there, we lead Nana through the side and backyards to the shed.
“He’s in there?” her voice cracks.
Malik nods and pushes open the door. He peeks in, takes the broccoli from me, and heads inside.
Nana follows.
I have no desire to revisit the inside of the shed, so I stand in the yard with Phoebe.
“This is crazy,” she says.
“Tell me about it.”
“Gio looks good though.”
“Our folks didn’t even know. Mom sensed something was different, but it wasn’t obvious. Why?”
She widens her eyes and shrugs. “No clue. I asked my parents, and they couldn’t help. They went on and on about reanimating the dead and how unsafe it is, as if I’m stupid. But they know nothing about viruses that kill and reanimate.”
This is more than reanimation though. Gio has full use of his brain. He comprehends and has memories. He’s been reborn, back from the dead.
“Thanks for trying.” I pull her in for a quick hug. Phoebe’s the best.
Suddenly there’s thrashing around in the shed, and it literally shakes.
Nana!
Chapter Fourteen
I run forward, ready to cause pain to anyone hurting my grandmother, but before I step inside, Nana staggers out.
“Whew, that was scary for a minute,” she says.
I check out her arms for any broken skin. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She gently pats my hands away as if I’m annoying her.
My thoughts immediately turn to Malik, but before I have a chance to worry, I spot him in the doorway too. And standing to his side is his grandfather, who doesn’t look good but no longer looks like death either, more like he’s alive but hasn’t slept in a month.
“How are you feeling?” I ask.
“Better. Thank you.” His voice is weak and shaky.
Malik leaves his side for a moment and grabs a white and green chair from the patio table. He brings it over so his grandfather can sit down.
The older man lowers himself slowly, but I’m not sure if his stilted movements are due to being a zombie or being old.
“What happened to you?” I ask. “Do you know how you were infected?”
He gently shakes his head. “No.”
“But you knew you were turning into a zombie because you called your son.”
He squints at me, his eyes still sensitive to the sun. “Yes, I knew something was wrong.”
“Where were you before you felt different?” Malik asks. “Do you remember getting scratched by someone?”
“I was eating lunch at a restaurant and when I left, I started to feel sick. I thought it was something I ate, but then I could tell this was something very different. I started going numb and stiff. I managed to get home and passed out in my kitchen. When I woke up, I couldn’t hear my heartbeat.”
“But you knew enough to call your son?” Nana asks. Her tone has an edge of skepticism to it.
“My phone was in my hand and I hit the button. He’s programmed into my speed dial. I’m not even sure if I managed any words.”
“You didn’t. I answered Dad’s cell. I thought you butt dialed but Dad knew something was wrong.” Malik looks down to the ground as if he’s ashamed he also didn’t know.
“Where did you have lunch?” I ask.
“Mummy’s Diner.”
My stomach tightens. That’s where Davey wo
rks. What if he’s been infected too? Was that why he was at my house the other night? No, it doesn’t make sense. If he’d been infected, there would’ve been signs, and he seemed normal.
“I’m going there now,” I say.
Nana says, “I’ll stay here with Fahim. You three go.”
I lay a hand on her arm. “Be careful. Mom and Dad will kill me if you get infected too.”
Her grin is soft and kind and not full of usual Nana sass. “I’ll be fine, girl. Go. And bring me back some blueberry pancakes. They have the best.”
I roll my eyes with a smirk and Phoebe and I follow Malik to his father’s car.
Mummy’s Diner has a 50s diner flair with red vinyl booths and a counter with stools. Dad and Mom used to bring us here once a month growing up. Saturday mornings we’d pile into Dad’s old SUV and come to Mummy’s. Gio always tried to steal my bacon. This was before I decided to go vegan. Gio hated it when I no longer had pig to steal. This place holds a lot of memories. And their pancakes and pie really are to die for, as they say.
As soon as we walk in, my eyes lock with Davey’s. He starts to smile but when he spots Malik step in behind me, it fades.
We grab a booth by the front windows, figuring it’ll be easier to get information if we’re also paying customers.
I slide in across from Phoebe and she whispers, “I hope it wasn’t something Malik’s grandfather ate.”
I hadn’t thought of that. “Is that possible?”
We stare at menus with frowns on our faces.
“No, it can’t be,” Malik whispers. “If it is, half the town would be infected.”
Yes, of course.
Phoebe and I half giggle, half sigh with relief.
Our server, a woman around Leo’s age with red hair and a small diamond nose ring, arrives and takes our orders. Malik and Phoebe ordered cheeseburgers, fries, and chocolate milkshakes, while I got fries, a veggie wrap, and a Coke.
After our server leaves, Davey walks over and slides into the booth beside Phoebe. “Hey, what are you guys doing here?”
I’m not sure why he sounds surprised. Phoebe and I have been here numerous times. Then I realize he’s referring to Malik, whom he does not know. I make the introductions and they do that male nod way of greeting. It says they’re acknowledging the other’s existence but they’re not familiar enough to be downright friendly.
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