by Lish McBride
Once Frank returned, I grabbed him by the shoulders and pulled him in front of me. “Okay, most of you know Frank already, but I’d like to reintroduce him as the head of human resources.” I got a lot of blank stares. One of the little gladiators used his sword to scratch his head.
“This means that Frank will be your go-to guy. He’ll oversee your problems, make sure you get paid—whatever you need, Frank will handle it.” This announcement started a lot of chatter. I pushed Frank closer to the rabble. “He will sort this out.” I gave him a quick pat on his shoulders. “Frank, sort this out.”
To his credit, he stepped forward bravely, armed only with a pen and a clipboard, and said, “Now, what kind of jam do you prefer?”
I slipped inside the house.
11
EVEN HITLER HAD A GIRLFRIEND
While I shuffled aimlessly through the kitchen, Ramon made a beeline for the fridge and set to work eating his way through what appeared to be an entire roast chicken before I was even able to collapse into the chair across from him.
“You look tired,” he said.
“That’s because I am tired.” I rubbed a hand over my face.
“Then take a nap.” He placed a bone onto the platter and reached for a drumstick.
Sleep had become a treasured commodity to me the last few months. I’d been short on it before—I went to college briefly—but that wasn’t quite the same thing. There’s a difference between missing a few hours to finish a paper or cram for a midterm and losing sleep because someone is trying to kill you and your loved ones. Or losing sleep because you were kidnapped and stuck in a cage. And now I had a new nightmare to add to my list—a silver dagger buried in my little sister’s door. At the rate I was going, I might as well stop sleeping altogether.
Recently, I’d also been losing sleep because of nightmares and the simple fact that the things that go bump in the night liked to come by and shoot the breeze on occasion. It’s lonely being a ghost. My family aside—my estranged uncle Nick and two baby half-sisters were all part of team zombie—necromancers were rare. That meant the ghosties and ghoulies had few people to sit down and have a nice chat with. And from the sound of it, I was part of the tiny minority who weren’t complete tools. So my sleep time was becoming more and more interrupted, unless I remembered to keep my medicine bag on constantly. Sometimes, though, that seemed like a cop-out. Lots of the spirits just wanted to talk or ask me to look in on their families or whatever, and so sometimes I left it off on purpose. I wouldn’t want to go through any sort of afterlife without having someone to chat with. Brooke had been talking to me about setting up a regular time for spirits to stop by, sort of like office hours for a professor, but in nicer digs.
“Nap time would be awesome,” I said to Ramon, “but I have to figure out what happened to Brannoc, who’s threatening my sister, and probably five other things I haven’t even thought of.” I grimaced. “And I need to burn my sheets.”
Ramon wiped his greasy fingertips on a napkin. “And if you don’t rest your brain, you won’t be any good at any of it. I know you, Sammy. You’ll keep going until you collapse. An hour either way won’t matter. Haley’s out and about, and your mom is at her shop. They’re safe. Go sleep, and I promise I’ll wake you.”
“And if I say no?”
Ramon snorted. “If I have to, I will pick you up and put you to bed myself. Before you try and argue, remember that I could juggle you now if I wanted to.”
I sighed and got up. “Bullies, I’m surrounded by bullies. Fine, an hour,” I said. “But that’s it.”
“An hour, and you can sleep in my bed. No one’s pissed on my comforter, I’m positive.” The implication being that no one would dare. Ramon chuckled evilly and went back to his chicken. I crawled into his monster-sized bed and considered how much my friends had changed and how it was all my fault.
True to his word, Ramon woke me in an hour. “Brid’s here,” he said, and then he left. I was groggy, but I felt a lot better than I had earlier. I crawled out of bed and went to go see my girl.
The sun was bright. It filtered in through the large pines, dappling the grass in the lawn. When I walked out, Brid was sitting on the newly installed porch swing, looking out at the scene before her, a thin layer of amusement perched over her otherwise sad face. And no wonder. The statue nymphs were lounging on the grass, weaving flowers into the Minotaur’s hair. They giggled and braided while the large beast snored. The gladiators were playing Frisbee with a stone discus from the pediment, and the gnomes were conspicuously absent. Frank sat on the porch steps, his clipboard in his lap, a satisfied look on his face.
Even though Brid was smiling, I could see circles under her eyes and a slight pallor to her skin. I was not new to the signs of mourning. I took her hand, squeezing it to let her know that I understood what that kind of loss felt like. I’m not sure if that’s what she got out of it—maybe she just got the part about the hand squeeze. But even that was better than nothing. I led her away from the house, figuring she could use some quiet time and privacy.
We took a walk down to the water. The coastal line of my property didn’t have a beach as you might imagine it. No, it had more of a jagged-rocks-and-pebble-ridden-strips-of-land thing going on. I didn’t mind. I loved the water, and I was still amazed and grateful that I got to live so close to it.
Brid and I took a seat on one of the bigger and less jagged of the boulders. The sun reflected brightly off the water, but a large pine tree hung over where we were sitting, creating a nice bit of shade. All in all, it was pretty perfect.
“This is nice,” Brid said, getting comfortable. A sliver of sunlight cut across her tank top and shoulder, and I traced it with my finger.
“What’s bothering you?” I asked. “I mean, besides your dad. Obviously I know what’s bothering you on that front.” Brid’s level of preoccupation told me her sad demeanor wasn’t due only to her father’s death.
She popped her sunglasses up on top of her head so I could see her eyes and notice how her rueful smile didn’t quite reach them. “I’m that transparent, huh?”
“Not usually,” I said, “but sometimes I can figure you out.”
She leaned in and brushed my hair out of my eyes. I needed to get it cut soon, but then again, if I did that, she couldn’t brush it out of my eyes. Maybe that comes off as mushy, but I don’t care. I will stoop to mushiness if it means I get to hang out with girls half as awesome as Brid, so there.
“We have to stop seeing each other.”
Some statements come from so far out of left field that they poleax you. This was one of those statements.
“I’m sorry, but I think I misheard you. Did you just break up with me?”
“Not really, I mean, it’s not like we were actually boyfriend-girlfriend, right?”
It was like snakes had shot out of her ears and she’d started drooling cotton candy. Who was this person?
“Yes, I guess I do think of you as my girlfriend.”
She looked uncomfortable now. “Well, I mean, we never discussed it. You know, officially.”
“Were you seeing anyone else?”
“No.”
“And we were going out on dates and whatnot? Hanging out all the time?”
“Yes.” Brid was practically squirming now.
“And it was you I was sleeping with? Not some evil doppelganger?”
She nodded glumly.
“Okay, so maybe I didn’t pin you or buy you a ‘Sam’s property’ T-shirt, but unless I completely misunderstand how things work, that kind of means you’re my girlfriend.” I was having a hard time keeping the anger out of my voice.
“You’re right, I’m sorry.” She picked up a fragment of shell and examined it. “I guess I thought this would be easier if I downplayed what we had.”
“If by easier you meant to have me question every moment we’ve spent together, then yes, that’s much easier.” I was biting off words now, sarcastic and intended to hurt. It
wouldn’t alter anything, and it wouldn’t endear me to her and make her change her mind, but sometimes you can’t help saying stupid things. “Why?” I asked.
She had tears in her eyes now, and she was shaking her head. Brid wasn’t one of those girls who turned into a faucet at the slightest provocation. So when she cried, you knew she was really upset. I was kind of glad, since I didn’t want to be the only one hurting here, but it wasn’t fun to watch her cry, either.
“I just can’t do this right now.”
Okay. What did that mean? “Am I taking up too much of your time? Is it because of your dad? Do you just need some space or something?”
She rubbed one of her eyes with the heel of her hand. “No, it’s just—” She waffled for a minute, thinking. “You know how my parents had to get married? Because it was a good choice for the pack? I mean, it worked out great because they loved each other, but it was still a gamble.”
“We need to get married?” I wasn’t really following where she was going, and I was smacked upside the head with the realization that, should she prefer it, I would marry Brid without a second thought. That shook me to the core. I was too young. We were too young. Marriages at our age don’t generally last. All the commonsense arguments, arguments I usually believed, began to stack up in an instant.
But.
I would ignore them if that was what she needed. Why? Because I was ridiculous for this girl, it was as simple as that. Willing-to-crawl-through-broken-glass-clucking-like-a-chicken level of ridiculous.
“No,” she said with a laugh. “What I’m trying to say is that sometimes I have to make choices with the pack in mind and not myself.”
“And the pack wants to eat my face.”
“Sam, do you know why we burn our dead?”
I shook my head. I knew precious little about her pack, even though I’d been trying so hard to learn. It seemed like, no matter what, I was always going to be behind the learning curve.
“Because of … your kind.” It was hard for her to say it. Probably almost as hard as it was for me to hear it.
“Ex–fry cooks?” Lame joke, but I needed something to buffer what was going on. I got a little half smile for my trouble.
“Can you imagine what someone with your powers could do if they got ahold of one of us?”
Unfortunately, I could.
“So we build pyres and burn our dead—we have for centuries. Hundreds of years, Sam. You can’t just overcome that kind of thing overnight, you know?” She tossed the shell fragment into the waves. “For the most part, they’re coming around, but I can’t push them right now. And like it or not, you’re, you know, you. The pack had a hard enough time accepting my father, and fey hounds are a lot closer to werewolves than you are.”
Oh, joy. Nothing like being discriminated against for something you can’t change. “Like you said, they’ll come around, right? Can’t we just lay low until then?” There was a pathetic wheedling tone to my question.
“Maybe they will, but I don’t know. It’s hard to argue with them and tell them necromancers aren’t evil after … what Douglas did to me.” She swiped at her cheek. “I just took over, and I don’t have the clout to rock the boat yet, Sam. The pack still needs stability. My father did a great job pulling it together, but the work’s not all done yet. That’s why Bran stepped down, and it’s why I have to do this now.”
I brushed my thumb along the lifeline on her palm. “What does Bran have to do with it?”
She made a face. “You’ve never wondered why he’s not taoiseach instead of me?”
I shrugged. I’d always figured either her father had a good reason or it was some mystical werewolf crap I didn’t know about.
“Bran and I, we’re pretty evenly matched. In fact, he’s got a bit more experience just because he’s older, but, well, he’s never hidden his preferences from the pack.”
Preferences? It finally clicked. “Bran’s gay?”
“You really didn’t know?”
I shook my head. “Is your pack that homophobic?”
“They would have accepted him as taoiseach, no problem. He’d be a good leader, but he wouldn’t produce any heirs, and that would invite trouble.”
“You’d have another dynastic squabble. I get it.” I was still tracing her lifeline, doing my best to avoid her eyes.
“Bran chose to step down because he cared about the pack.” She lifted my chin with her other hand. Hazel eyes searched mine, and my heart broke. I understood her logic, but I’d be damned if I liked it. “I can’t sacrifice any less than he has.”
“You’re worried that if we kept dating, it would cause the same kind of problem.”
“Anyone I date right now, the pack will have to seriously consider. And you’re powerful, yes, but I have to think about offspring. At some point, I have to provide an appropriate heir. Please don’t see that as me being baby crazy or anything like that.”
I smiled at her to let her know that wasn’t how I saw her. I understood. I hated it, but I understood. “Any children we would have could end up like me.” And if Brid and her siblings caused an uproar, I could only imagine what fey-were-necromancer children would do. Talk about diversity.
I pulled her to me, her back against my chest, my chin on her shoulder, her hands on mine as my arms went around her. “I love you. You know that, right?”
“You realize that saying that at this moment makes you a sadistic asshole, right?”
“Indeed I do.”
“You’re such a jerk,” she said, but she pulled me closer when she said it.
We didn’t talk much after that. I think too much had been said already. So we watched the waves crash, and the sun move, and held on to each other, knowing we might not get to do it again. Brid stayed until her legs fell asleep. Then she got up to leave.
I would have stayed until my legs fell off and the vultures came.
Despite the heart-deadening pain of it, I walked her to her car. “For the record, even though I understand your logic and want to make this easier on you, I think this is completely stupid.” I opened her door for her. “For the record.”
She hugged me good-bye, one of those long, painful squeezes of farewell.
“And in the spirit of honesty, I think it’s only fair to let you know that I’m going to do my best to thwart your plan.”
“I know,” she said. Then she kissed me and left. I watched her drive away, moving only long after her taillights disappeared.
I’m not sure when Frank, Ramon, and Brooke joined me. All of a sudden, they were just there. I have the best damn friends in the world.
Brooke suddenly attached herself to my back, her arms wrapping around me. “Cuddle shark!” she yelled, snuggling in closer to me. I laughed, a broken sound that hurt coming out. I covered her arms with one of mine and squeezed back.
“Cuddle shark?”
“Yes,” she said. “Very dangerous. You might, in fact, need to get a bigger boat.” Then Ramon started humming the theme from Jaws.
“I love you guys,” I said.
12
NO MORE MR. NICE GUY
Douglas shook. How long had it been since he’d felt something like this? A mixture of relief and elation so strong his whole body quaked with it? Not since his teens, surely. He twisted the key, popping the lock and stumbling into the room of his bungalow. Over the years, he’d purchased a few safe houses, places to lie low, should he need to. He’d just never needed them before.
The room was spotless, thanks to a cleaning service, but no amount of dusting and vacuuming can cover the smell a house gains when no one lives there. Musty like a decaying shell, that was what it reminded him of, that was what was left in a house without life to fill it up. And now with him staying here, he wondered if that would change. Would his half-life suffice?
Giddy, he turned the locks and rested his head against the door. It had been so easy. Too easy? No, those were just idle doubts. Sneaky things, plaguing him since he’d woken up.
He’d never had them before Sam, and he didn’t want them now.
He ordered Minion to start the fire, which the wooden-faced zombie did without too many mistakes. Douglas stood by the fireplace until the flames licked the edges of the wood, biting the smaller pieces first. Once it was big enough, he slipped off his bloody jacket and tossed it in. Slowly, he unbuttoned his shirt and did the same. After those were gone, he tossed in his pants, socks, and underwear. Blood might not be on them, but better safe than sorry. The last thing he needed was to smell like Brannoc. It was easier to burn away any chance of scent than to risk it. When everything was burned down to ash, he took a long shower. He cleaned every little bit of skin, scrubbed it until he was sure the blood was all gone. Once he was dry, he put on a fresh suit. It was like nothing had ever happened.
A good suit is like that sometimes.
The fire had died down and Minion had fallen asleep curled up on the rug. Douglas kicked the man awake and sent him to do a perimeter check, even though it was unlikely anyone had tracked him here, or even knew he was around at all. Mostly, he wanted time to himself.
He found a few scraps of unburned cloth around the edges of the coals. He pushed them back in and built the fire up. That done, he settled into a musty chair and played the evening back in his head.
How many nights had he waited for Brannoc to walk the grounds alone? Tonight he’d gone out and … what? Sensed that something was off? Animals a little too quiet? Douglas wasn’t sure what had raised the fey’s suspicions, but the result was the same. Brannoc had gone out to investigate. And Douglas had made just the right snap of twig, just enough rustle of branches, until the man had followed him to the clearing. The best part about being dead? He had no scent. The coin had granted him a solid form, but it lacked that particular detail. It had freaked James out at first. That’s the thing about creatures that rely on their superior sense of smell—trick the nose, and they’re no longer superior.