“Thank you, for the invitation.” He looked relieved, and so sincere that she ducked her head and fished her keys out of her purse.
“Here’s the key to the front door. I’ll keep the one to the back door. That way you can come in and out as you like.”
“Thanks.” He gave her a boyish grin.
Damn. That smile. Those dimples. Somehow he was even better looking now than when he’d been alive. He made Jeffrey look anemic, and Jeffrey was the hottest guy she knew. Get a hold of yourself girl. He’s sleeping on the guest couch and he’s a zombie. “Right. I’ll see you there as soon as I figure out what my client wants with me.” She stood on tiptoes and gave him a kiss on the cheek. Smooth cheek. Faint smell of dirt.
To Dee she said, “I’ll give you back your pants as soon as possible. Thanks for lending them to me.”
“No problem,” he said.
“How much do we owe you?” she asked Mamie Hoya, reaching for her checkbook.
“I haven’t sent you the bill yet. Relax. I’m not a fortune teller. I’m a m’ambo. A voudon queen—or voodoo, as you like to say. I’ll see what happens after we go to the morgue. You have to relax and stop worrying or you’ll end up with an ulcer.”
Brianna headed down the stairs three at a time, and caught the subway at the station across the street. It rattled and clattered through the city, heading toward the suburbs. Soon crammed-together tenant apartments gave way to residential areas boasting parks and shopping malls. Those became the riverside as the train headed west. It crossed the river near Christmas Junction, and as always, Brianna craned her neck to get a view of the city from this side of the river. The sun was starting to set. Orange light bathed the tall buildings and turned the water to a gold swath of rippled silk. Sunlight glittered from a thousand windows on the skyscrapers. Somewhere, among those thousands of lights, must be a man who could satisfy her and make those fireworks happen. She pressed her forehead against the window, and then the train went around the riverbend and the city was lost to sight.
She didn’t know what to think about Jack. Zombies might be a dime a dozen in horror movies, but in real life they were mostly stories you read about in comic books. Mutants were another story. They’d always been around, sometimes common, sometimes uncommon; vampires, werewolves—hell, everyone knew about them. Zombies were the rarest of the rare. She’d never come across one before.
“I’m just nervous about the Heart Taker,” Brianna said to herself, the clattering train covering the sound of her voice. “Damn thing moves so fast if it comes in, I’ll be powerless to stop it. Remember what happened last time.” She’d been debriefed about that so many times it was like a litany in her head, thought Brianna glumly.
The attack had been violent, sudden, and invisible. At first, the police had thought she was dying too, had pried her hands off Jack and loaded her on a stretcher. She’d been covered from head to foot with blood. But she didn’t have a scratch. Then she’d started babbling about the noise, and they’d brought her in to the station where she’d stayed for damn near a week.
The thing was, she’d heard the Heart Taker. It had made a buzzing sound. She’d tried to describe it. Scientists and detectives had quizzed her about it. They’d played tapes for her and had her listen for hours; listen for a buzzing sound similar to the one she’d heard in the discotheque. They discovered that her hearing was acute. Maybe not mutant level, but far more finely tuned than a normal human’s. The police scientist finally figured that what she heard was the Heart Taker as he literally moved through time, displacing air molecules with the speed of light. Hoping her sight was as developed, they had her watch the security video over and over.
It was grainy and rough, even after being cleaned up by the pros; and it showed a bunch of happy people on a dance floor. There were Brianna and Jack, doing a funny two step together and laughing about something stupid. And then Brianna spun around, and Jack sort of exploded.
A wave of nausea always accompanied this memory. She clenched her teeth and squeezed her eyes closed. Each time she’d watched the film with the hope she would see something that would give her a clue, something that would jar her memory. All she ever saw or remembered was spinning around and coming face to face with Jack again and thinking his eyes were strange. Then having him collapse in her arms. Then slipping on the blood and falling down. Getting the wind knocked out of her lungs and cracking her tailbone on the floor. Having Jack’s heavy body on her legs and lap. Trying to get up. Pushing him. Not comprehending why he was so still. Slipping in more blood. And then the screams.
The train shuddered to a halt, brakes squealing. Her eyes flew open, and she put her hand on the back of the seat and stood up. This was her stop. Well, she thought wryly, I know that I did learn something from the attack, so it might give me an edge if it ever happened near her again. The buzz. He moves so fast there’s a vibration in the ears. No sound—but a tickling feeling. That’s the only thing that she could pick out of the wreckage of that night, but it was enough. She’d have to tell Jack when she saw him next.
Chapter Six
The Zombie Master
Jack guessed that Mamie Hoya, Dee, and he made a strange threesome. Dee’s long, blond hair attracted glances. Mamie Hoya’s short stature and colorful attire attracted more. And everyone turned and stared at him. Maybe it was the unearthly pallor he had. He’d caught sight of himself in the mirror at Mamie Hoya’s house. His black hair gleamed, his skin glowed, and his blue eyes shone. Now that the veil had been ripped away, he definitely seemed different than an ordinary human. Something about him shined like a newly minted penny.
As they walked down the street, Jack couldn’t help thinking about Brianna. He’d remembered her, but nothing specific, like, had they made love? She’d invited him to stay at her apartment, but maybe she was counting on him sleeping in the guest room. He could recall her apartment, but for some reason, only the living room. Had he even been in her bedroom?
By the time they got to the bus station, several ways of casually asking her if they’d slept together had crossed his mind. “Did the earth move for you when we made love?” No, that sucked. How about, “Do you feel the same about me as when we first made love?” Even worse. The only way to ask was straight out: “Did we ever make love?” and it would be embarrassing to both of them no matter how he phrased it.
When they got their tickets and climbed on board the uptown bus he’d decided that the less he said, the better off he’d be. He’d let Brianna take the initiative. Another, more sobering thought crossed his mind. If he really was dead, would Brianna ever want to sleep with him? Would anyone? Would it be …What was that word described to making love to dead people? Necro-something-other? Necro-romance?
His stomach lurched at the thought. No. It wouldn’t be the same at all. He might be technically dead— but he felt alive. All right. He didn’t have a heartbeat. But his skin was warm. According to the journal, his body burned food as fuel. Most everything functioned as it used to. But with a strong spell, not with … his thoughts were interrupted by Mamie Hoya’s words. She leaned forward and took his hands in hers.
“What you got to know, child, is that the man who made you is your master. You will feel an irresistible urge to obey him. But you have to fight it. If you don’t, you’ll become his slave. My guess is he was waiting for you to be born so he could intercept you at the graveyard. Something must have gone wrong, and you were left on your own. He’ll be looking for you. It’s lucky you came to see me. I can help you resist him.”
“Is all this in the journal?” Jack asked.
“Oh no. That book was written by a zombie still very much under the control of his master. They don’t want their slaves to be free. He’ll be tearing his hair out right now, mark my words, Jack. When you see him, he’ll try his best to bend you to his will. And you’ll see—you’ll feel as if you won’t be able to withstand him. But you have to stand up to him. The fight won’t last long. Once a zombie defies his
master, he’s free. Remember that. You must not let your spirit be cowed.”
“Hell no,” said Dee. “I need you for the show. Just remember that. The show. You’re going to be a star. Don’t end up like some mindless zombie.” He stopped and looked at Mamie Hoya. “Is that where that expression comes from? Zombies are mindless slaves following a master?”
“Exactly.” She looked worried, new wrinkles creasing her face. “The spell used on Jack is incredibly strong. So I can only assume that the master will be strong as well. We can’t underestimate him. By going to meet him, we’ve got the advantage of surprise. He won’t be expecting us. He’ll be out looking for Jack.”
“Where will he be looking?” Jack wanted to know.
“In and around the cemetery. He won’t have expected you to remember anything. The fact you remembered your name and where you were killed tells me that you are a very strong person.”
Jack didn’t feel particularly strong. He glanced out the window and winced. Mile after mile of trailer park flashed by. This looked familiar. More memories hit him. He’d seen this before. Set up after the storm of the century for the victims of Katrina, the park had been intended to be temporary shelter. But most of the people who moved in were too poor to move out again, and with wages cut and jobs scarce, the trailer park turned into a permanent eye-sore. It was huge, and didn’t have a name. But the roads going through it were full of pot-holes, and derelict trucks and cars rusted on nearly every corner.
Silent kids stood and watched as the train rattled by. There were two stops serving the park. Named in a vain effort to glorify the spot, one was Salvation Junction, the other was Fresh Start Station. Both were run-down and beat-up. The city police morgue was the next stop. It’s where murder victims were taken.
Mamie Hoya stood up and took her umbrella. “Our stop,” she announced.
Jack met Dee’s glance. “It’ll be fine. Mamie Hoya said you were strong. I’m betting on you,” said Dee.
Jack wished Dee had sounded more sure of himself.
The station was nearly empty. The sun was starting to set. In a while, everything would be closed. Dee held the gate open for Mamie Hoya and Jack, and then followed them up the cement walkway to the Public Morgue number twenty two. A sign directed them into a large entry where neon lights made everything look faintly greenish.
Behind a counter, at the reception, a large blonde woman in a black dress spoke on a phone. She waved them toward seats as they came in, but Mamie Hoya would have none of that. She stood right next to the woman and stared at her. Since her nose was about level with the counter, the effect was disconcerting. Jack couldn’t see how anyone could have a phone conversation with Mamie Hoya staring so hard.
The woman put her hand over the receiver and said in a twang, “What do yew-all want?”
“I want to know which mortician took care of my nephew, Jack Severn.”
“Yer nephew.” The woman pursed her lips. They were painted red and were very shiny.
“Jack Severn,” said Dee helpfully.
“Ah suppose he was yer nephew too?” Jack didn’t like the tone of the receptionist’s voice.
“Yes.” Dee went to stand next to Mamie Hoya and propped his arms on the counter. “Thing is, they didn’t do such a great job with him.”
“What do you mean? If you have a complaint, fill out the form.” She took a paper off a stack, clipped it to a clip-board, and shoved it across the counter at him.
Dee, Mamie Hoya, and Jack looked at the form. There was a list of problems, all you had to do was put a check next to the one that concerned you. They were “Not satisfied with coffin, not satisfied with service, not satisfied with make-up, not satisfied with music.”
Jack looked up from the form and tapped the receptionist’s arm. “Can you just tell me which case I should check? I don’t see my problem here.”
“Well what is the problem?” The lady sighed into the phone. “I’ll call you back, Darla. There’s some people here.” Spoken in a tone that meant, “There are some low-life creeps standing in front of me.”
Dee waited until she hung up. “They forgot to make sure he was dead.”
Silence.
“Is this some sort of joke?”
Jack knew she was going to say that. But Dee leaned closer. “This is not a joke. My nephew was put into his grave still alive.”
“Do you have proof of that?” The woman asked.
“Yes. He’s standing right here. Jack, come say hello to the nice lady.”
Jack stepped forward a little shyly, and gave a small wave. “Hey there,” he said.
Dee shook his head. “No, no, no! Presence. You have to have presence. When we introduce you, you stride in. Keep your chin up. Smile. Watch.” He spun around, walked three steps away from the desk, spun around again, tossed his hair back, and then stuck out his chin and chest, saying, “I’m Dee Martin.”
“Dean Martin’s dead,” said the lady at the desk. She pronounced “dead” like “day-ed.”
“Well, Jack Severn wasn’t, and they stuck him in a grave. Let me see the name of the mortician.” Mamie Hoya tapped an impatient finger on the clipboard.
“I kin do better than that. I kin call him for you.”
“Perfect,” said Mamie Hoya. Jack suffered a sudden case of nerves and had just been about to say, “hang on,” but the voodoo queen raised her finger. A strange smile played about her lips. “I’ve always wanted to meet a talented zombie master,” she said.
The woman behind the counter rolled her eyes as she picked up the phone and dialed. “Jim. There are three people here you should see.” She pronounced Jim “Jee-yum”. She was silent a minute, and then her face became distinctly paler. “Why yes,” she said, “one of them is Jack Severn.”
She hung up and turned to them, a frown on her face. “Mr. Ling-Li will see you in his private office.”
Dee leaned over the desk and handed her one of his cards as they filed past her. “Come to my club sometime. You’ll have fun.” She took the card reluctantly.
Jack was nervous now. He kept telling himself he was strong. But he didn’t feel that way. He didn’t have a heart to pound in his chest—but he did have a bead of sweat start to trickle down his back.
“You ready?” murmured Mamie Hoya to him.
He nodded.
“Just let me do the talking at first. Listen to his voice. Try to resist it. You have to resist.” For the first time she looked worried.
The door was open. They walked in. A small man in a pinstripe suit sat behind his desk. He was bald, slight, and wore glasses. He had dark brown, almost black eyes with an Oriental slant to them. His skin had a faint cast of yellow, like old paper. He had his hands folded in front of him.
Mamie Hoya said, “Mr. Ling-Li? We found this person wandering around the graveyard in ...”
He didn’t let her finish. He took his glasses off and stood up. “Jack,” he said, and Jack felt a strange tugging in his limbs, as if strings attached to them.
Mamie Hoya stepped in between them. “Mr. Ling-Li, I need to speak to you.”
He looked at her, a flicker of annoyance in his gaze. “I’m talking to Jack right now,” he said. His voice was as dry as two sheets of paper whispering together.
“I’m Madame Hoya. I’m from Haiti,” she said, sticking her arm out to shake his hand.
That got his attention. “Haiti?”
“Oui Monsieur, and I know what you did to this child.”
Jack didn’t think he qualified as a child, but he kept his mouth shut. The more the strange little man spoke, the less impelled he felt to listen.
“Jack, sit down.” The man indicated a chair and Jack sank into it without thinking. It was automatic. His muscles obeyed, his mind couldn’t protest at all.
Mamie Hoya didn’t look pleased. “That was unnecessary.”
“If you know what I did, then you must wonder why I did it,” said the little man. He leaned over his desk, his face earnest.
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br /> “Go on,” said Mamie Hoya. She took a lemon drop from her pocket and popped it into her mouth. She offered one to Mr. Ling-Li but he shook his head.
“No thank you. When Jack’s body came in, I saw right away what had happened to him. I heard the news. The Heart Taker. A mutant gone mad. I had to do something.”
“How did you know what to do?” Mamie Hoya interrupted.
“I’ve been making zombies for over two hundred years now.”
Jack sat up straighter. There was no way this guy was over fifty. Dee uttered a snort, but Mamie Hoya nodded slowly.
“A necromancer. I should have known. Jack was far too well made for an amateur. And animating him without his heart is quite a feat. All right. Tell us why you made Jack.”
A satisfied smile creased his face, only to fade and disappear. His shoulders hunched and he sat back in his chair, suddenly looking older and rumpled. “I made Jack because he lost his heart to a mutant, and I needed a zombie with a purpose. A calling, if you wish.”
Jack started to get a sinking sensation. This conversation was not going in the right direction. Purpose? Calling? At least he’d been made by a necromancer. That meant that he was powerful, and that powerful magic coursed through him. He’d gleaned that much from the journal so far.
The little man continued, speaking earnestly to Mamie Hoya. “You’ve realized, I’m sure, how strong he is. When I went looking for him this morning, I saw he’d gone off on his own. It gave me great hope.”
“I don’t get it,” said Dee.
“My only daughter, my sweet May, was killed. No one took the killing seriously. They said she’d committed suicide. Suicide! May loved life. She would never have done that. Besides, she’d been drained of her blood. There was not the slightest mark on her. Just pinpricks on her neck. The police couldn’t explain it, so they didn’t even try. But I knew. A mutant vampire had killed her. Since then, I’ve been tracking them and killing them when I can.”
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