Undead to the World

by DD Barant

  I just don’t know.

  “We need to search Doctor Pete’s place,” I say.

  “I might be able to get us in there,” Alexis says. “I know where he hides a key. He’ll be working in the clinic downstairs, though—we’ll have to be real quiet.”

  “I think we can handle that,” I say. No way am I going to tell her about what happened to Dr. Pete, not unless I have to. She’s got enough to deal with already.

  “All right,” says Charlie. “We search the doc’s place. Then what?”

  “Depends on what we find. If he’s the alpha, there have to be traces of thrope presence around. If not—” I shrug. “Then we go to plan B.”

  * * *

  I leave Charlie with Alexis, out in the parking lot of the clinic. She tells me where to find the key—under a cement planter beside the front door—and I let myself in. Even though it’ll screw up my plans, part of me is hoping I’ll find Doctor Pete inside.

  No such luck. His apartment is empty, the movie he was watching still on pause: an old western, just like he said.

  But he was lying about something else.

  He has a woman living with him. Hard to believe he managed to keep that a secret in a town this size, but anything’s possible if you’re motivated enough. I find high heels in the closet—more than one pair—along with women’s clothes and some accessories. From the styles I’d guess she’s going straight to work from here; from the sizes I’d put her at around six feet tall and maybe a hundred and forty pounds. A big girl.

  The medicine cabinet is more revealing. She takes good care of her skin—lots of creams and lotions, all of them natural and unscented. No sunscreen, though, which seems odd considering the weather we’ve been having lately. She favors pads over tampons. She shaves her legs on a regular basis.

  And she’s a werewolf.

  The fridge is what clinches it. Meat, meat, and more meat, with nary a fruit or vegetable to be found. It pretty much tells me that they’re both thropes, or at least they’re eating like they are. It could be that one’s the alpha and the other’s merely been bitten—the carnivorous urges kick in even before the first transformation. It’s also possible neither one’s the alpha and both of them are just bitees, since I don’t find anything like telltale bits of fur or claw marks on the furniture.

  I wonder who the woman is. The last female I saw Doctor Pete with was the new school teacher, Athena Shaker, but none of these clothes would fit her. I don’t find a comb, but there’s a brush beside the bed; the hairs caught in it are distinctive and easily identifiable. She’s black.

  Sure. Except there aren’t any black women in town.

  I go back downstairs and get in the car. “So?” Charlie asks.

  “So Doctor Pete has an African-American girlfriend. Or maybe just African, I don’t know—but whoever she is, she’s practically moved in with him.” I realize I sound a little jealous, which is embarassing and irrelevant. I move on. “She might be the alpha, or it could still be Doctor Pete. No hard evidence either way.”

  Alexis looks disappointed. “So what do we do now?”

  “Plan B,” I say. “We break Terrance out of jail. Assuming he’s still there…”

  * * *

  “Tell me again,” says Charlie, “why this is plan B. Because it seems like it should be considerably further down the alphabet.”

  “Because,” I say, crouching down in the backseat, “we need Terrance for the second part of the plan. Even if he isn’t the alpha, he’s still Doctor Pete’s identical twin.”

  “And if he is the alpha?”

  “Then we’ve got him exactly where we want him.”

  “Sure. Because cozying up to a killer thrope is much better than leaving him behind bars.”

  “He’s not doing us any good in there, is he?”

  “He’s not doing us any bad in there, that’s for sure.”

  “He may not even be there. Which is something we need to know, and anyway, shut up.”

  We’re not in Charlie’s car anymore. Too conspicuous. Instead we’re in Isamu’s junky old Toyota, which was parked next to the diner with the keys in it. We’re across the street from the police station with the engine running, while Alexis is inside trying to see Neil. There’s no guarantee that Stoker will let that happen, but the fact that Alexis is the mayor’s niece gives us a little leverage; I’m hoping that the threat of a major, dramatic breakdown will be enough that he’ll give in just to keep her happy. I coached her carefully beforehand, and she seemed to understand exactly which buttons she has to push. I have faith in her.

  We’ve been waiting for half an hour. Enough time for Alexis to cajole, threaten, and sob her way inside, enough time for her to talk to Neil and get him up to speed. His relationship with Alexis may be rocky, but I’m willing to bet he’ll kiss and make up awfully quick to get out of a jail cell.

  Charlie and I are here to make sure he’s got somewhere to go. It’s mid-morning now, the autumn sun bright and warm overhead, not exactly what a pire wants waiting for him. The thunderstorm that threatened my life yesterday is still there, lurking on the horizon and flickering with the odd flash of lightning. I’ll bet if I tried to leave town it would get a lot closer real quick.

  The door of the police station—hastily repaired with plywood and two-by-fours—opens, and Alexis comes out. She doesn’t walk directly to the car, going the opposite way instead and circling around the block. She jumps into the back seat a few minutes later.

  “He’s in there,” she says “Terrance, I mean. In the cell right next to Neil.”

  I turn in my seat to face her. “How’d it go?”

  She looks troubled, but better than I hoped. “About how you guessed. Stoker was a real hardass at first, but halfway through my meltdown he started to reconsider. I saved Uncle Leo for the closer, and he went for it.”

  “What about Neil?”

  “He’s … he’s with us.” Now she looks more sad than anything. “Except he’s not really him anymore, is he?”

  “No,” I say. “He’s not.”

  Who he is, though, I’m not exactly sure. Someone from my past—but an ally or an enemy? Alexis showed Charlie some pictures, but he didn’t recognize Neil from them. I guess we’ll find out, though.…

  Stoker’s down a man and his station has been damaged. That gives us an edge, though not much of one. The main thing is that he can’t be in two places at the same time, and he can’t secure his building very well while he’s gone.

  Charlie sighs. Again. “Damn shame about the car, though.”

  “It’s sacrificing itself for a noble cause.” I rigged a simple bomb in Charlie’s car by lugging a propane cylinder from a barbecue into the back seat, opening the valve all the way, then tossing a kitchen timer wired to an electric lighter in the front. The interior fills up with gas, the timer runs down, the lighter sparks, and KABOOM! Stoker should easily be able to hear the explosion from the station.

  I check my watch. “Here we go.…” The timer’s only about thirty seconds off, and the boom! is satisfyingly loud. A cloud of black smoke blooms into the sky, and a moment later Stoker steps outside to shade his eyes against the sun and study it. He goes back in again, but only for a minute; when he returns, he locks the door behind him, strides down the steps, gets into his car and drives off.

  “You’re sure nobody else will get hurt?” Alexis asks.

  “We parked it in a field at the edge of town,” I answer. “And anyway, how many people have you seen on the street this morning?”

  Alexis glances around. “None. All the businesses are closed, too. It’s creepy.”

  It is, but I’ll take deserted over filled with bloodthirsty supernatural beings any day of the week.

  “Let’s go,” Charlie says.

  We don’t have time for subtlety. Charlie pulls up on the sidewalk, and I leap out with the tow chain we scrounged from his garage. One end gets hooked to the recently repaired station doors, the other to the front of the T
oyota’s chassis. Then I get back in, Charlie throws the car in reverse, and we yank the plywood out by the nails.

  I look around as we all get out of the car, but nobody so much as peers out a window. Not that I can see, anyway.

  I unhook the tow chain from the car, and all three of us dash inside. There’s another locked door between us and the cells, but that’s operated by a buzzer under the front desk. We get into the holding cell area and peer through the small, wire-reinforced glass windows set into each door. Terrance is in the first cell, Neil in the second. Even though Neil apparently just woke up, he’s still wearing sunglasses and a leather jacket. He’d look incredibly cool if it weren’t for his hair, which seems crazy enough to require a straitjacket. Even vampire musicians need combs, I guess.

  “Morning, sunshine,” I say.

  “I’m not mourning anything, actually,” he says with a smile. He seems to have acquired a British accent along with his fangs. “I just woke up from the most amazing dream. Very educational, among other things.”

  “Terrific,” I mutter. All about how I killed your pet bat and you swore undying revenge on me, right? “We’ll have you out in a minute, okay?”

  I don’t wait for his reply, moving on to Terrance’s cell instead. He’s already at the little window, staring at me. “Jace,” he says. “What the hell’s going on?”

  “Checkout time,” I say. “You could sleep for another hour, but then you’d be charged for an extra day. Or, you know, murder.”

  “I didn’t kill anyone!”

  “You did where I come from,” I say under my breath. “Take it easy, all right? We’re getting you out of there.”

  “How?”

  “Like this,” I say, holding up the shotgun. “Better stand to the side, away from the lock.”

  I’ve replaced the special loads I built with standard buckshot, and it pretty much destroys the lock at close range. The door swings open and Terrance steps out, looking a little wary. “Not that I don’t appreciate it, but why exactly are you breaking me out of jail?”

  “I’ll explain once we’re someplace else. Hold on.”

  I tap on the glass to Neil’s cell and let him know what I’m about to do. He doesn’t bother getting out of the way; the second after I blast the door he strolls out of the cell with a friendly nod. “Cheers.”

  “Don’t try anything,” I tell him, and motion toward Charlie. “His gun isn’t loaded with buckshot.”

  Neil nods at Charlie, too. He looks like he’s enjoying himself. “You have a plan for getting me out of here unsinged, I hope?”

  “Yeah, but you’re not going to like it,” I say. Alexis steps forward with a large canvas duffle bag we found in Charlie’s garage. “You’re getting in that. We’re going to carry you out and stuff you in the trunk until we can get you indoors again.”

  “I see. Well, not exactly first-class accomodation, but the devil drives when needs must.” He climbs in with Alexis’s help. She looks a little sick.

  “I hope you’re not planning on stuffing me in a sack,” Terrance growls.

  “No, but you can help carry him,” I say. I switch guns with Charlie, and he grabs one strap of the duffel. After a second, Terrance grabs the other and we hustle back out toward the car.

  We stash our cargo, get in, and take off. Our destination isn’t far: the church. With Father Stone and Maureen Selkirk dead it’ll be empty, and it’s a good place to hole up with a vampire I don’t trust. Lots of windows means lots of sunlight, too—I plan on keeping Neil in that bag as long as I can. It’s not like he’s going to suffocate.

  We get to the church without any problems. We get inside the foyer—Charlie and Terrance carrying Neil again—without a hitch; it’s not even locked. I send Alexis to hide the car and tell her I’ll call her when it’s safe to come back.

  Then we haul Neil through the inner doors, and I notice a slight flaw in our plans.

  The stained-glass windows have all been covered by heavy black curtains. The large cross behind the pulpit is upside down. And lashed to it with heavy-duty wire is Jimmy Zhang, red eyes glaring at us, fanged mouth gagged with what looks like a large chunk of wood.

  “How about that,” Charlie says. “Two for the price of one.” He and Terrance drop the sack to the floor and step up beside me.

  “What’s he trying to say?” Terrance asks. He moves a little closer, trying to hear.

  There’s a sharp thrum, and an arrow appears in the center of Zhang’s chest. He bursts into flames with a sharp crackle, like ripping cloth.

  Then I hear a polite cough behind me, and I realize that no, that actually was ripping cloth. Canvas, to be exact.

  We all turn. Neil grins at us with very sharp teeth, his no doubt very red eyes hidden behind his shades. “I think he’s trying to say look out for that tripwire. Pity—but all the more for me, I suppose…”

  SIXTEEN

  “You’re going to eat us?” I say.

  “Drink, actually…”

  “After we broke you out of jail?”

  Neil shrugs. “It’s awkward, I know. But I’m not really who you think I am.”

  Charlie brings his shotgun up. “An impending homicide victim?”

  “Charlie, Charlie, Charlie … first of all, technically I’m already dead, or at least not living. You can’t kill a corpse. Second of—”

  And then he’s gone.

  One of the things I’ve apparently forgotten is just how fast pires can move. Neil hasn’t. In fact, his assured tone of voice seems to indicate that he’s adapted rather quickly to his new circumstances.

  “—all, I’m rather quick,” Neil continues. His voice is coming from somewhere in the pews, but I can’t see him, and the echoey acoustics make it hard to pinpoint the sound. “Third, I’m more than simply undead; I know a little about magic, too.”

  I look around. The trap that killed Zhang was most likely a crossbow, and the direction it came from means it must be in the upstairs gallery. The cross is throwing orange light and flickering shadows across the pews, but the fire doesn’t seem to be spreading. “Terrance,” I whisper. “Get upstairs. We’re going to need all the weapons we can get.” I hope he doesn’t just bolt, but I’ll have to take the chance.

  “I won’t have to worry about competition now, in either category,” Neil says. “In the instant before Jimmy died, I could tell he was once a reasonably competent shaman; whoever brought us here must have blocked that knowledge from his brain, of course. I can tell my memory’s been tampered with, too.” I think he’s moved since the last time he spoke, ducked down between the pews. “But the kind of sorcery I practice has always had very porous borders—harder to quantify than many kinds of magic. Oneironmancy tends to shift and flow, depending on the situation and the one dreaming it.…”

  A shaman. Oh, this just keeps getting better and better—the word better in this context meaning “well and truly screwed.” But he hasn’t actually tried to kill me yet, so that’s something.…

  “Uh, Neil?” I say, moving toward the windows on my right. “You seem fairly rational … this doesn’t have to be confrontational. We’re all stuck in the same situation and trying to figure a way out of it, right?”

  Charlie sees what I have in mind and edges toward the other side of the church.

  “Absolutely,” Neil says. “Tell you what: both of you go stand in the center aisle, away from the curtains covering the windows, and I’ll take that as an indication of good faith.”

  I freeze. So does Charlie. After a second, I walk back toward the middle of the room and a little way down the aisle. Charlie shakes his head but joins me—I can always count on him to back my play.

  “Excellent. I just needed a minute to finish the conversation I was having with the floorboards of this church.…”

  I’m remembering how shamans do magic. They talk to the spirits that live in everything, from inanimate objects to rivers to weather systems, and convince them to act in a particular way. From the creaking
and groaning all around the room, it seems Neil is very persuasive.

  The wood of the floorboards underneath the windows sprout rapidly thickening stalks. They grow within seconds into tall, straight shafts, sending out branches to the sides that link to one another and turn the whole thing into a grid. Every curtained window is now trapped behind a thick-barred wooden mesh.

  “A little insurance,” Neil says.

  “Understandable,” I say. “And impressive.” For a pire to get wood to listen to him, he must be pretty damn powerful.

  His chuckle echoes around the room. “Oh, it’s not as difficult as all that. Buildings dream, too, you know. Especially ones that have had ritual magic performed in them.”

  Ritual magic. I remember what Stoker told me, that Father Stone and Maureen Selkirk spent a lot of time with Old Man Longinus. They were also the first three murder victims; I’ve assumed Stone and Selkirk were part of the cult ever since, and this seems to confirm it. But Longinus’s basement was clearly used for ritual purposes—why two locations?

  Maybe because this one has a lot more room.

  “So this is the headquarters of the cult, huh?” I say. “Yeah, I know about that. Funny, I could have sworn I heard actual hymns being sung here on Sunday mornings—well, that one Sunday morning I got up before noon to walk Galahad.”

  “Oh, that was real.” I realize he’s standing behind the pulpit, the burning upside down cross behind him. “This place is fully consecrated. Before this cross was turned into a funeral pyre, it was mounted in the standard position. The heavy black curtains covering the windows, now … well, I can’t say for certain without interrogating them directly, but I believe they’re a fairly recent addition. Seems someone was anticipating some changes around here.”

  Could that be it? Was Stone prepping his church for a new congregation, one that consisted of pires instead of cultists? Was that why Ahaseurus was murdered—because Stone was planning some sort of takeover? It almost makes sense.…

  I wonder if Terrance has made it upstairs, or if he’s just taken off. I realize now the crossbow won’t do much good, not unless there’s a handy cache of arrows right next to it.