Alexander Death (The Paranormals, Book 3)

by JL Bryan

  Seth opened the door and grabbed the printout with his non-bleeding hand. He squinted. It had been printed in June, almost three months ago, the same day as the riot. The car had been sitting here since then.

  Jenny was definitely in trouble.

  He hurried along, still trying to find his car. Splinters of glass dripped from his injured hand as the sinew and skin regrew, pushing out the foreign objects. By the time he found his car, the hand was completely healed, though still slick with blood.

  Seth drove as fast as he dared through the city. The secure phone that Hale had issued him was back at his apartment, and he would need to call them with this new information so they would know they were looking at a kidnapping. Maybe they could use forensics and find some clues in Jenny's car.

  Seth's apartment was actually a rented condo in a French Quarter building, near the waterfront. The building was brick, four stories high, and had begun its life as a dock warehouse in the 1920s. Seth's father had wanted him to live in a dorm his freshman year, but Seth insisted on an apartment. He still clung to the idea that Jenny would one day come and live with him, so he needed a place for the two of them. If he'd moved into a dorm, that would have meant he'd given up hope.

  Seth parked in the building's underground garage, then took the elevator up to his floor, pacing back and forth the whole trip. The elevator opened on a hallway that he shared with the floor's other tenant. Seth hurried to his apartment door.

  The place had vaulted ceilings and sculpted masonry, with the occasional wall left bare brick for character. His mother had taken the initiative in furnishing and decorating his apartment, before his parents went back to their usual extended retreat in Florida.

  Seth found the Hale phone in his bedroom and left a voicemail for Jerome Breisgau, explaining that he'd found Jenny's car. He hoped his voice wasn't too slurred to make any sense.

  He sat on a wingback chair in front of a huge window overlooking the harbor, drumming his fingers, half-hoping the man would call him back right away, though it was only about five in the morning. He closed his eyes and waited.

  A buzzing sound startled him awake a few hours later, and he raised a hand to block the searing sunrise over the harbor. The buzz sounded again. The front gate.

  Seth turned on his television and flipped it to the channel that showed the feed from the security cameras at every entrance. The person buzzing him was a woman in a car, trying to get into the parking garage. Seth recognized her right away, and he suddenly felt very cold. She was the CDC doctor who'd done so much to turn his life, and Jenny's, into sheer hell.

  He walked to the security unit by the door, which also had a small video screen. He pressed the intercom button. “Who's there?”

  “Seth?” Dr. Reynard asked. “Seth Barrett?”

  “Your name is Seth Barrett?” Seth asked.

  “No. Sorry. It's been a long drive. I'm Dr. Heather Reynard with the CDC. Can you buzz me? We need to talk.”

  “Oh, I remember you,” Seth said. “I'm not supposed to talk to you without a lawyer.”

  “I just need to talk for one minute,” Dr. Reynard said. “Just let me in. Please? It's really important.”

  “Why don't you just have your friends bash down my door?”

  “I'm not here on official business. And I didn't agree with how they handled the search of your house.”

  “I don't remember you complaining when they were slamming me into the floor. What do you want?”

  “It's personal, Seth. Not official.”

  “Personally, I think you can go fuck off,” Seth said. “Officially, too.”

  “Seth, I need your help!” She looked like she was about to cry, but it could have been an act. “I know you can heal people. That's why you can be with Jenny, isn't it? She spreads disease, you heal.”

  How the hell does she know? Seth wondered. He said, “You're crazy.”

  “My daughter has leukemia, Seth. She's only four. The treatments aren't working.”

  Seth studied the doctor's face. This could be a trick. It probably was a trick. He didn't trust her at all.

  On the other hand, she looked desperate and scared...if she was acting, she was good at it.

  Against his better judgment, he said, “Okay. You can come in for five minutes. Ten if you brought coffee.” He pressed the button to open the gate.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Ashleigh stopped by Esmeralda's apartment with a few cardboard boxes to collect some more of her clothes. When she walked inside, she found Tommy sitting at the kitchen table, while Esmeralda's mother served him frijoles and rice from the stove. Esmeralda's mother looked at Ashleigh over Tommy's shoulders and mouthed help me in Spanish. Ashleigh just smiled. She hadn't been here in a couple of weeks, and she wondered what life was like back in Esmeralda's apartment.

  “Tommy, when you're done eating, I need you to carry some boxes out for me.”

  “That's it?” Tommy asked. “I don't hear from you for a month, and when you finally show up, that's all you have to say to me.”

  “It hasn't been a month. Two weeks, maybe. I'll be packing.” Ashleigh carried the empty boxes toward Esmeralda's room.

  “Damn it!” Tommy overturned his plate, and it shattered on the floor. Esmeralda's mother shrieked. Tommy stood up and followed Ashleigh. “Where have you been this time?”

  “Oh, you know.” Ashleigh shrugged while she pulled clothes from Esmeralda's hangers and dropped them in a box. “Washington and Atlanta, mainly. Plus Sacramento, San Francisco...we have a whole state to cover, you know.”

  “You and Eddie.”

  “It's my job, Tommy.” She began packing shoes.

  “Are we moving out?” Tommy asked. “I think Esmeralda's mom is finally starting to like me. I've listened to all her stories about Esmeralda.”

  “We're not moving. I'm just picking up a few things.”

  “You're taking all the clothes.”

  “No, I'm not. I'm leaving those tube tops.”

  Tommy grabbed her shoulders and turned her around to face him. “I want to talk to Esmeralda.”

  “Tommy, not now.” Ashleigh sighed. “We're on a tight schedule. The cab's waiting for me.”

  Tommy knocked the box from her hand. “I don't care about your schedule. I want to see her.”

  Ashleigh sighed. “Okay. Five minutes, no more.”

  “Hurry up.”

  Ashleigh closed her eyes. She slowly rolled her head around on her neck, then opened her eyes again.

  “Tommy,” she said. She kissed him. “I missed you so much.”

  “I miss you, too.” Tommy held her close. “Don't you think it's time we find a permanent body for Ashleigh? Then you and me can be together.”

  “And I want us to be together. But we have to wait until after the election, okay? Because Ashleigh knows how to do this work for the congressman, a lot better than I do. I don't want to get stuck with all her work.”

  “What do you care about any of that?” Tommy asked. “You say you love me. But you don't even try to stay with me. You let Ashleigh control you all the time.”

  “I love Ashleigh.”

  Tommy grimaced. “What's to love?”

  Ashleigh scowled at him. “Fuck you, Tommy.” She pushed away from him and reached for the box he'd knocked to the floor.

  “Do you love me or not?”

  “Of course I do. We're just very busy right now.”

  Tommy pulled her back to him and stared into her eyes. “You don't sound like Esmeralda.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about? It's me, Tommy.”

  Tommy stared at her a minute longer. “Do you remember the gold coin I gave you?”

  Ashleigh had no idea what he was talking about. “Of course I do, baby. It was really sweet.”

  “Do you remember the year on the coin?”

  “The year?” She giggled. “What are you talking about?”

  “What was on the coin? Which president?”

&nb
sp; “Tommy, just tell me what's wrong.”

  “Just answer the question.”

  Ashleigh sighed. “I don't remember.”

  “Try.”

  “Was it...Washington?”

  “There wasn't a president, Ashleigh. It was an Indian chief.”

  “Oh. Hey, you called me Ashleigh. Silly boy.” She tried to kiss him again, but he pushed her back.

  “You are Ashleigh, aren't you?” he said. “You're trying to trick me.”

  “Tommy, no, I just couldn't remember—”

  “Esmeralda would remember. Has she ever been with me, since she let you take over her body?” A snarl curled his lips. “Have you been tricking me the whole time we've been here?”

  “Tommy, you're crazy.”

  “I am not crazy!” He slammed her back against the wall, and grasped her throat in one hand. “You are a liar. I've seen how you tricked everyone. Darcy. Jenny. You lie to everyone. And most people are stupid enough to believe you.”

  “Tommy, let me go. That hurts.”

  “It's supposed to hurt.” He squeezed her throat tighter. “You don't think you've hurt me, Ashleigh? Or do you just not care?”

  Ashleigh couldn't breath. She slammed her knee up into Tommy's crotch, and he howled and staggered back.

  “Bitch!” he snapped.

  Ashleigh grabbed the lamp on Esmeralda’s bedside table. She swung it around, cracking the ceramic base into the side of Tommy's face. Then she drew it back and slammed it into his nose, breaking off a chunk of the lamp's base. She hit him again and again, staying close while he tried to back away. When the base of the lamp was completely broken, she swung the lamp like a baseball bat, denting the aluminum tube of its body against Tommy's jaw.

  He knocked the lamp aside, grabbed the front of her shirt and raised his fist.

  “Don't hurt me, Tommy!” Ashleigh screamed, in what she hoped sounded like Esmeralda's voice.

  Tommy hesitated. Blood trickled from his nose and mouth, and one of his eyes was swelling up. Ashleigh knew he would be feeling conflicted, between his desire to punish Ashleigh and his affection for Esmeralda.

  “If you hurt me, Esmeralda will stop loving you,” Ashleigh said in a low, calm voice. “You know she will.”

  Tommy let go of her and lowered his fist. He sank to the bed. “I just want her back. And I want you gone.”

  “Aren't you a sweetheart?” Ashleigh picked up the box of clothes again. “You're going to get half your wish right now.”

  She turned her back on him and walked out of the bedroom. Esmeralda's mother was hurriedly cleaning the kitchen. She ran up to Ashleigh.

  “You must get that evil boy out of here,” she said to Ashleigh, in Spanish. “It is like living with the devil.”

  “Too bad,” Ashleigh said. She nudged the older woman aside, and she walked out the front door.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Jenny watched as Alexander's men assembled the row of wood and cloth dummies near the crumbling back wall of the compound, towards the ocean.

  “I haven't used these modern guns before,” Alexander said, nodding to the row of zombies with AK-47s at their feet. “They say these AKs are the easiest machine guns to use.”

  “So easy a zombie could do it?” Jenny asked.

  “I hope so.” He touched her hand. “When your power is feeding mine, I could probably get them to dance a ballet, if I wanted to.”

  “That would just be grotesque,” Jenny said.

  “I thought you liked grotesque,” he said, and Jenny smiled.

  It had been about two months since her awakening. She understood how much she and Alexander belonged together, how many lifetimes they had spent as companions and lovers since learning to incarnate in human flesh. Her recent attachment to the healer was almost certainly a trick by the love-charmer. The healer had served the charmer since their earliest incarnations among the primates of this world.

  Her recent time with Alexander had been the most delightful in this entire incarnation. She had cast aside the mask of poor little Jenny Morton and become her true, ancient self, to whom human life was just an amusing game. Her senses seemed sharper, her ability to experience pleasure greatly enhanced. They had attended concerts and plays in San Cristobal, a beautiful city with several centuries' worth of European-style architecture and a population of expatriate artists and dilettantes from around the world. She no longer feared cities at all—it was others who needed to fear her, after all. Jenny was learning to enjoy life without fear.

  She'd also ditched the jeans-and-sneakers look, insisting on fashions imported from Italy and France, and jewelry to match. Alexander was happy to indulge her resurrected sense of taste and style, honed over the millennia.

  “Let's give them a try,” Alexander said. He clasped his hand tight around hers, and Jenny felt the dark energy flowing from her into him.

  Ten zombies stepped forward, picked up their AK-47s, and fired at the wooden dummies. Some of them were firing wild, their bullets chipping at the rock wall or sailing away over the ocean. Alexander looked at each one in turn, making them adjust their stances and grips until they were shooting at the targets. The bullets sliced the dummies to pieces.

  Alexander raised a hand, and they all stopped firing, their dead eyes expressionless.

  “What do you think?” Jenny asked.

  “Much better than muskets,” Alexander said. “Imagine trying to get them all to clean, reload, add powder. This is just point and shoot.”

  “How many can you control at once?”

  “I could do thousands of them, with a little practice. And calories, lots and lots of calories. Are you hungry yet?”

  “We just ate an hour ago. How far do you plan to conquer this time?”

  “Conquest is slippery in the modern world. A mass of soldiers can be bombed from the sky. We will construct our empire with bribery, diplomacy and deception, as well as fear and force. Our immortals will only be one part of the strategy.”

  “And what great monument to your vanity will you leave behind?”

  Alexander smiled. “Perhaps it will be a great monument to your beauty.”

  “Beauty is not my strong point in this lifetime.”

  “I disagree.” He drew her close and kissed her.

  “Alejandro,” a man said. “We must talk.”

  Jenny saw Ernesto Calderon, the big boss's nephew, crossing the lawn, his usual entourage of gunmen in tow. Ernesto, she'd learned, was the regular contact between Alexander in Chiapas and Papa Calderon in Tijuana, hundreds of miles away.

  Alexander released Jenny. “Then let's talk.”

  “Privately.” Ernesto glanced at Jenny.

  “One second, Jenny.” Alexander kissed her again before going into the house with Ernesto.

  Ernesto's gunmen lingered behind, looking at the corpses holding their AK-47s, and then at the shattered targets.

  “Where did you get these men?” one of them whispered to Jenny. “They look...strange.”

  “They look strange because they are dead,” Jenny said. “The bodies are swept up from the streets of Juarez.”

  “How do you make them walk?” he asked.

  Jenny held up a hand. Bloody lesions opened all over her fingers and palm. “Come closer, and I will make you into one of them. Then you will understand.”

  One of the men crossed himself, and all three backed away toward the main house.

  “Come on,” Jenny said. She stalked toward them, letting more blisters open on her face and throat. “Doesn't anyone want to try?”

  The men ran inside the house, whispering the word bruja to each other, and Jenny laughed at the terrified looks on their faces.

  ***

  In his office, Alexander poured a small glass of local mezcal for Ernesto, then another for himself. They sat on facing couches.

  “How was your trip from Ciudad de Mexico?” Alexander asked.

  “I am always traveling.” Ernesto shook his head and sipped his mez
cal. “It seems the whole country is full of people I must see.”

  “That's why I like it down here. Summer all year, the beach, not many people around.”

  “Except for the dead.”

  “The dead never make problems. Nice and quiet.”

  “The girl? Does she seem trustworthy?”

  “She is. We could not accomplish so much without her.”

  “And my uncle is pleased with the size and speed of the harvest,” Ernesto said. “He wanted me to convey this.”

  “Is that the reason for your visit today?”

  “No.” Ernesto sipped mezcal again. “This is good.”

  “It's made about twenty miles from here.”

  “There is a man you must meet,” Ernesto said. “Felix Arellano Francisco.”

  “And he is...?”

  “Among many things, an agent with CISEN.”

  Alexander raised his eyebrows. The Centro de Investigación y Seguridad Nacional, or CISEN, was the country's intelligence agency, the Mexican equivalent of the CIA. “Is he investigating us?”

  Ernesto laughed. “He is an important friend. He keeps several units of the Mexican military friendly to us.”

  “He hands out bribes for us.”

  Ernesto smiled. “We wish to keep him as a close friend.”

  “Then what does he want with me?”

  “Only to speak.”

  “About what?”

  “He says it is personal.”

  “I've never heard of him before,” Alexander said. “How can it be personal?”

  “You will have to ask him yourself. Do not upset him.”

  “But you're certain we can trust him?”

  “I am not certain of that with anyone. Least of all government agents. Or sorcerers who use the witchcraft to raise the dead. But we all do what we must.”

  Alexander nodded. “Tell me where to meet him.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Seth rode in Heather's car all the way to Atlanta. If he hadn't been groggy, tired and more than a little hung over, he might have driven separately, but he was already struggling to keep his eyes open.