Zombies Sold Separately

by Cheyenne McCray

  “Are you positive it was a Vampire attack?” I asked her as I held the phone tight. I hoped it wasn’t Vampires. If it wasn’t it had to be something easier to take care of, right? “Was there anything unusual about the scene?” I asked.

  Tracey paused for a moment, then spoke. “Robert and I have been talking about it … and the more we discuss it, the less likely it seems that it was a Vampire attack.”

  Like earlier, a rush of relief cruised through me. That rush was followed by a flood of concern over the question of what was actually doing this. The fast shift in emotions made me lightheaded.

  “I’m investigating human deaths that were originally attributed to Vampires.” I rested my free arm on my glossy Dryad-wood desktop. “But when I was at the scene I determined they weren’t.”

  “Too much blood,” Tracey said. “Not to mention the type of bite marks and no neck wounds.”

  “Exactly.” It was good to hear I was not alone in my conclusion. “Did you smell Vampires?”

  I imagined Tracey shaking her head as she said, “No. That’s another reason why Robert and I think we were wrong in our initial assessment.”

  Tracey didn’t have much more to offer. What they’d come across was similar to the human deaths that Olivia, Adam, and I had investigated earlier. Mutilated bodies, chunks of flesh torn out, lots of blood.

  “Oh,” she said just as I was about to disconnect the call. “We think two paranorms that were originally with the group are missing.”

  “Missing?” I tried to wrap my mind around that one. Now why would some people out of a group be taken? If it was a Vampire attack, that was an easy one. Vampires liked to take select humans and “turn” them. If the turn was successful, then the Vampires had a fledgling to add to their ranks.

  After I finished debriefing Tracey, I went into the break room and made myself a cup of hot green tea sweetened with honey. Warmth flowed into my chest as I sipped it.

  “Over the past two months there have been unexplained attacks similar to today’s, only smaller,” Olivia said when I walked out of the break room. She studied her wide screen monitor. “Similar in the way the bodies were dismembered and large amounts of blood. Not to mention huge chunks bitten out of various body parts.”

  The swallow I’d just taken of my cup of hot tea suddenly felt burning hot. I set my teacup on the credenza beside the mail inbox.

  “Let me see.” I walked across the tile to lean over her Dryad-wood desk and peer at her screen. Olivia still smelled of a snowy winter’s day after being outside for so long.

  “Found a police report from Brooklyn that’s pretty interesting.” She pointed toward one of the six windows she had open on her huge screen. “Then I dug a little deeper.”

  “Go on,” I said when she paused.

  Olivia touched the screen over a coroner’s report that she’d managed to hack into. “A college kid was found last week near Dumbo with so many bites taken out of him that he was barely recognizable. Kid was eaten alive.” She looked at me. “Missing his heart, liver, kidney, right lung, and most of his heart.”

  My stomach twisted at the thought of what the guy must have gone through in Dumbo—Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass.

  “The police report said he was with his girlfriend, according to a family member,” she continued, “but they couldn’t find her. She’s an heiress from a very wealthy family so it was thought she might have been kidnapped for ransom. She showed up two days later.”

  “Go on,” I said.

  Olivia nodded and pointed toward a missing persons report. “She didn’t remember a thing. Said she’d been sick, yet no one had seen her or could find her.”

  I frowned. Strange.

  Next to the coroner’s and police reports, Olivia showed me another window with a medical report. Olivia had ways of getting into things without actually hacking into them herself. I was pretty computer savvy for someone who had spent the first twenty-five years of her life without technology. But what Olivia did was beyond me.

  “The girl took the attack surprisingly well considering what happened to her boyfriend,” she said.

  I pursed my lips. “Maybe she’s in denial.”

  Olivia rocked back in her chair. “Something like that.”

  “There was someone missing from the group who was murdered in Riverside Park,” I said. “And two paranorms missing from another group hatchet job last night.”

  She raised her brows, then gestured to the screen next to the coroner’s examination, this one a police report. “A month ago in the Bronx, a report came in from someone who said a homeless man tried to chomp on his arm.

  “The victim was wearing a heavy leather coat so the attacker’s teeth didn’t make it through,” she continued. “Guy punched his attacker and ran. According to the police report there were tooth marks on the coat. They were deep enough that it showed the attacker’s teeth had punctured the thick leather and almost made it through the lining.

  “This blog,” Olivia said, indicating the third window across, “is written by a teen here on the Upper West Side who swears she saw a homeless man rip off a woman’s arm before taking a bite out of it. No other witnesses were around and the police never found a body. The girl says the police didn’t take her seriously.”

  I winced at the images that came to mind from the girl’s story. “With no proof it would sound pretty farfetched coming from an adult, much less a teenager.”

  “On WABC a piece aired ten days ago about a rise in the homeless population.” Olivia pointed to another window. “Those who don’t go into the shelters even though you’d freeze your ass off in this weather.”

  “What do the homeless have to do with all of this?” I asked.

  “You tell me.” She tilted her head. “Two of three reports mention homeless men. Then we have an article about a rise in the homeless population.”

  I straightened a little and braced my palms on her desktop. “Do we have some kind of homeless paranorms who could do what we’re seeing?”

  “Maybe it’s a coincidence,” Olivia said. “And maybe it’s not.”

  “Strange.” I rose. “It might be a good idea to interview some of the homeless in areas where the attacks, or alleged attacks, happened.”

  “My thoughts, too,” Olivia said. “But we probably want to do it now while it’s still daylight—when you’re not purple. Otherwise you might scare off all of those poor guys.”

  I stuck my tongue out at her. “Amethyst,” I said.

  “Whatever, grape butt,” she said to me and I snatched up an eraser from the pile on her desk and pinged it off her head.

  Olivia rubbed her scalp. “You do know this means war.”

  “What, you and your army of Dwarves?”

  She went for the wooden rubber band shooter in her center desk drawer and had it loaded with an eraser almost as fast as she could draw her Sig Sauer.

  I raised my hands. “Sorry. Really, I am.” But I couldn’t hold back a laugh.

  She scowled at me. “I’ll sorry your ass.”

  I dodged the first eraser, then threw up an air shield so that the next one almost hit her on the rebound.

  “No fair.” Olivia narrowed her eyes. “Fight like a woman.”

  I grinned. “All is fair in love and magic.”

  * * *

  After I changed into blue jeans and a simple navy boat-necked T-shirt, I stuffed my ID and a fistful of bills into my pocket and grabbed a black leather jacket out of my closet.

  Olivia and I never went anywhere unarmed and I wore my side holster with my Kahr K40 9mm beneath the jacket. I’d also slipped small but wicked daggers with serrated blades into the sheaths on the inside of each of my Elvin boots. I slid my phone into a leather phone holster before clipping it to my belt.

  When I was ready, I jogged back downstairs to meet Olivia in the office. The moment I opened the office door, she nailed me with an eraser. Right on the nose.

  “Ow.” I rubbed my nose and c
aught the next flying projectile in my hand. “Okay, you got me.”

  “Not enough.” Olivia slid her rubber-band gun into her top drawer. “But it’ll do for now.” I gave her a pretend glare as she grabbed her Mets jacket and met me at the door. “Let’s go, Princess.”

  “You are so pushing it today,” I said as Fae bells jingled and jangled as I opened the door. She also knew I didn’t like to be called Princess. “You might want to sleep with one eye open tonight.”

  “Ha,” she said before heading down the sidewalk to where our corner office–slash–apartment building was.

  Even with New York City’s programs and pledge to get all homeless people into shelters, there were still an estimated four thousand people living on the street, so we didn’t anticipate difficulty finding some to interview.

  Since the teenage girl who mentioned a homeless man happened to live in my part of the city, the Upper West Side, Olivia and I walked from the office, down 104th to Broadway. There it would be easy finding panhandlers and the obviously homeless.

  A bit of sunshine made it through a spot in the gray cloud cover as we walked, but then it was gone, leaving the city looking tired. I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets and we elbowed our way through the crowds once we hit Broadway. Yellow taxis zipped by, weaving through traffic like bumblebees buzzing through a field of sleeping sunflowers.

  The first man we met looked tired, haggard, but gave me a smile and an enthusiastic “thank you” when I dropped a ten-dollar bill into his almost empty collection jar. I had a feeling that any other cash he’d received was tucked away in his coat pocket.

  I returned his smile, but it slipped away as I took in his obviously malnourished body and gaunt face. His threadbare but relatively clean clothing hung on him, several sizes too large for his thin frame.

  Despite his fatigued and starved appearance, it was easy to see he took pains to clean himself up. I had never become a hardened New Yorker like some, but I was used to panhandlers. I still felt for him as I read his sign that looked like it had been torn from a cereal box, the message written on the side that was blank and gray:

  lost job lost home

  wife and 2 kids

  Please help

  I took a deep breath and met his soft brown eyes. “Can I ask you a couple of questions?”

  The man said, “Thank you,” to a woman who dropped a dollar into his jar before he returned his attention to me. “Sure.”

  His accent had a distinctive southern twang to it, but I wasn’t familiar enough with the South to guess what state he came from.

  “Do you and your family sleep in one of the shelters at night?” I asked.

  He nodded. “Crowded this winter but as long as it’s a place out of the cold, we thank God and count our blessings.”

  “Have you noticed a rise in the homeless population?” I said, hoping he had something that I could use.

  “Not more than a person could expect in a place like this,” he said.

  “What about at night?” Olivia asked.

  “Don’t get out much at night.” He said, “Thank you,” to another passerby who dropped change that rattled in the jar. He addressed Olivia again. “Keep to ourselves. Don’t want no trouble.”

  “I understand,” I said, disappointed that our first try hadn’t turned up anything. “Thank you for your help,” I added before Olivia and I moved on.

  The next panhandlers we came across, a woman and a man, were equally unhelpful. One was rude, the other very kind.

  We found a guy who was reclined with his back up against a brick wall. In one hand held a sign painted on a broken piece of plywood that had me laughing too hard to talk for a moment.

  BOOGIEMAN ATE MY FAMILY

  SPARE ANY CHANGE

  FOR NEW CLOSET DOOR?

  Just for making me laugh I dug in the front pocket of my jeans and handed him a ten. Olivia didn’t seem as impressed as I was—but then she’d been an NYPD cop before I met her and had probably seen it all.

  I think the man was smiling—his tangled beard was so bushy it was hard to tell for sure. But his “Thank you, ma’am” was loud and clear and he had a spark to his dark eyes. He didn’t look as though life had beaten him down. He had the appearance of a man who took it a day at a time and found things to smile about.

  My gut told me he wasn’t one of the panhandlers who weren’t really homeless and took advantage of the city’s tourists. And my gut is usually right on.

  “What’s your name?” I asked after I handed him the cash.

  He looked surprised that I’d hung around and was asking his name. “Victor,” he said. His voice was deep and lovely. He should probably have been singing for his supper with a voice like that.

  “Victor, we’d like to ask you a few questions.” Olivia bulldozed right into it with a tough expression to her tone and on her features.

  His expression shuttered and if he’d been smiling he probably wasn’t anymore. “You’re cops.”

  I held up my hand to Olivia to indicate that I wanted her to shut up so that I could handle the interview. Sometimes she had the grace of a Gargoyle in a ballet with Mikhail Baryshnikov.

  “We’re private investigators.” I kept my voice businesslike and professional but not hard-core like Olivia could be. “Can we talk for a moment?”

  The man looked down at the ten in his hand and then back at me. “If you have another one of these.”

  Olivia gave a disgruntled noise while I pulled another ten out of my pocket. He reached for it but I shook my head.

  “I want to talk a little with you first.” I stuffed my hands into my jacket which hid the money from his gaze. “Do you sleep in one of the city’s shelters, or on the street?”

  Victor said, “I hate the shelters.”

  I studied him, frowning inside. “But it’s freezing out here.”

  With a shrug, he said, “I’m from Alaska. I dig the cold.”

  “Are there more people than usual hanging around who are not in shelters?”

  He tilted his head to the side. “Yeah. I guess. Hadn’t really thought about it.”

  “Have you noticed anything strange at all?” I looked around me as if I might see something weird now. “At night.”

  “Some of the dudes I’ve seen hanging around just aren’t cool,” he said. “Mostly everyone keeps to themselves but these other guys walk around like they’re mental.”

  “Mental?” I said, puzzled.

  “Like they belong in a mental institution,” Olivia said.

  “Oh.” I studied Victor’s face. “Have you seen any of them attack people?”

  Victor’s expression changed, his eyes looking almost angry. “Just because we don’t have money or a place to live doesn’t mean we should be blamed for people getting hurt.”

  “I know.” This was not going easy, but I still felt like I was getting somewhere. “But these strangers—you don’t know them.”

  Tenseness seemed to leave his body. “Hadn’t thought about that.”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out.” I pushed my hair behind my ear. “Some strange things are happening in this city.”

  Victor gave a short laugh. “Hell, lady. This is New York City. Strange isn’t so strange here.”

  “Got me there.” I slipped the ten out of my jacket pocket. With it I included a business card.

  He took both and looked at the card. “I know. Call you if I see any weird shit.”

  “Please do.” I smiled. “Good luck with that closet door.”

  Six not-so-helpful panhandlers later, Olivia and I spotted a bearded man with a giant sign. He’d taken a black marker and had written in huge capital letters:

  MY FATHER WAS

  KILLED BY NINJAS

  NEED MONEY FOR

  KARATE LESSONS

  Bonus points for making me smile again.

  By the smooth skin around his eyes and on the parts of his face his beard didn’t cover, I could tell he was only in his ear
ly thirties. I wondered what his story was.

  The weight of the roll of cash in my pocket was considerably lighter but I still had plenty.

  After giving him a ten, Olivia and I questioned the man named Richard. He was a thoughtful man, answering our questions after considering each one with slow deliberation.

  “Yes,” Richard said when I asked if he’d noticed anything stranger than normal about some of the homeless on the streets at night. “Some of these new guys are creepy. A few that I’ve seen look like they crawled out of a grave.”

  I shuddered at that image.

  “That went well,” Olivia said when we headed back to the office. Her tone held sarcasm, indicating she didn’t think it went well at all.

  “I don’t know about you,” I said, “but I think your hunch was a good one and that in part that was affirmed by the two who were most helpful.”

  “I suppose.” Olivia brought her hands out of her jacket pockets when we reached the office door. “I didn’t expect much to come out of this anyway. It’s a far-fetched idea to begin with.”

  “I don’t think it’s so far-fetched.” I unlocked the door with my air elemental magic and Olivia stomped the snow from her boots as I opened the door. “And I don’t think it’s all a coincidence.” I shrugged out of my coat and tossed it on the credenza, next to a stack of file folders. “Something is going on and we need to figure out exactly what that is.”

  “Whatever you say, grape butt,” Olivia said with a smirk.

  My retribution was swift as I whirled and nailed her in her belly with a jumbo eraser.

  Heh.

  SEVEN

  “Your Highness.” I set Kali’s Waterford crystal bowl on the hardwood floor in the kitchen as I called to her. “The Fancy Feast is going to get cold.”

  Kali liked her food a little warm, so I indulged her by heating it for a few seconds in the microwave.