by Raven Hart
“No!” I made an attempt to grab Eleanor’s arm and drag her away. The air around her shimmered but she was not moved.
A warning growl stopped me from trying again. Deylaud, still in human form, leaped to the concrete floor next to her and bared his canine teeth—an intimidating combination. He stared at a place near where I hovered, sensing a threat but not recognizing what the threat meant. Neither of them could see me. But Eleanor knew I was there.
“Go away, William,” she whispered. “You promised. Leave me be.”
At her dismissal, fury engulfed me. I would never willingly hurt either of them, but who knew what might happen if emotion overrode my good intentions? In the past I’d used anger to drive me toward revenge or to find prey worthy of a violent death. Fortunately on this night, the power of the shells removed me from the need to decide what should be done. Or perhaps I should have said unfortunately, for I found myself in the dark again. Not the immense darkness of that in-between world of demons and the damned, but the close, suffocating dark of a coffin. My need to see had raised a response from the power flowing through me. And now I saw the monster whose blood I carried in my veins. I found myself staring into the face of my immortal enemy and sire: Reedrek.
His wheeze of surprise was worth the trip. Any uncertainty about Eleanor was pushed to the very back of my thoughts, and my anger proceeded to gather like a cloak around me.
“You look like hell,” I said, my voice filled with artificial cheer.
Reedrek worked his emaciated jaw but could not come up with a proper reply. I immediately felt better. Never believe that well-earned revenge isn’t sweet. Besting Reedrek far surpassed a three-course human meal and a full week of wall-banging sex.
I smiled.
His face contorted, though I could feel hope welling inside him, hope and the joy of contact. He’d been alone in the dark, weighed down by anchor chains, a locked steel coffin, several tons of fine Georgia granite, and Melaphia’s holding juju since the night he’d tried to kill us all.
“They’re…coming,” he wheezed.
“Who’s coming?”
“Hu…go.”
I steeled my expression to keep from showing my surprise. How could Reedrek possibly know anything? He was too far away from his cronies to communicate…unless he could read it from my thoughts. Just in case, I let him soak up all he could of the mayhem that I would wreak on anyone who came to rescue him.
“We’re planning a welcome party for those of your friends who might venture across the pond,” I said. “After all, we have three more vacant corners of this lovely building to fill. A blood bank with vampires planted in the foundations—even the humans would appreciate that irony.”
“What…do…you…want? My—” He managed a rasping chuckle. “—help?”
I thought about that for a few seconds. Asking for Reedrek’s help would be like asking a starving lion to protect a fledgling lamb.
But what did I want?
I wanted him to suffer.
“I have brought you a gift,” I told him. I could feel his hope flare, the hope that I would set him free. “I have a different sort of darkness to show you.” With that the shells set about their work. I heard the demons before I saw them, as they crowded into the small airless space. If Reedrek had no soul to drop into the stopover between life and hell—the place where Eleanor and Shari had witnessed unimaginable horrors—then I, with the help of my personal Vodoun loa Ghede, would bring a corner of hell to him. It was the perfect torture for my revolting sire. I hovered only long enough for Reedrek to notice the demons pressing closer. Immortality had its problems along with its assets. They wouldn’t be able to kill him, but by the time they finished assaulting his sanity, he’d most likely beg to be staked and put out of his misery.
“As Olivia would say, Cheerio!” I called over the din. The only answer was a wail that would have raised goose bumps on my skin—if I’d been occupying it at the time.
Jack
I led Huey by the hand through the tunnels to Melaphia’s house, hoping to goodness that she was home and up to helping me with my zombie infestation. He lurched along beside me like a drunk two-year-old. I don’t know if that was because zombies really did walk like they do in the Living Dead movies or because he couldn’t see. And I didn’t know if he couldn’t see because zombies can’t see in low light or because I had a bag over his head. It wasn’t like I hadn’t cut him some eyeholes.
The reason I’d put a brown paper bag over his head was so he wouldn’t scare the piss out of some poor old homeless bastard who’d been hoping to get a warm night’s sleep in some corner of the tunnels—that is, if he didn’t scare someone plumb to death. As we made our way through the darkness—I had no trouble seeing, of course—I prayed that Melaphia could work the same magic over Huey’s body that she’d worked over Shari’s when she died. It seemed like I was doing a lot of praying just lately, especially for a demon damned for all eternity.
Dying while in the process of being made into a vampire was particularly hard on poor Shari’s earthly body. It had begun to decay rapidly, but Melaphia had said some chants over it and strewn some herbs onto it, and presto—she’d been able to spruce the body up quite a bit. If she could just do the same for Huey it might buy me enough time to figure out what to do with him.
The irregulars had been so shocked and horrified by Huey’s zombified reappearance that Huey had won a few hands of poker. That never used to happen. The poor devil was so dumb he never asked for any cards from the dealer, always keeping the cards he’d been dealt. This time the irregulars were so distracted they didn’t ask for any cards either, so it evened up the odds. It was Huey’s lucky night, all right. Not only did he win at poker, but he really hit the jackpot when I accidentally raised him from his eternal dirt nap. Way to go, Huey.
Werm was having a hard time dealing with zombies and werewolves on the same night, so I’d told him to go home. To the irregulars’ credit, they did try their best to help me think of some options.
“Tell people he’s a leper,” Otis had suggested. “They have pieces fall off all the time, they say.”
This idea had put the others right off their Doritos and Old Milwaukee.
“Dammit, Otis,” Rennie spat. “How many customers do you think we’d have left if we let it be known that our detail man had leprosy? Even if you could keep folks from seeing him, they’d eventually smell him. People like their vehicles to have that new car smell after they’ve been detailed, not that month-old corpse reek.”
A number of other suggestions were vetoed, including one Rufus had about putting a bandana over Huey’s nose and mouth and telling people he had the galloping consumption. I pointed out that people weren’t keen on contracting tuberculosis any more than they wanted a dose of leprosy.
That’s when I decided to throw myself on Melaphia’s mercy. First I would have to admit that I screwed up the voodoo ritual she’d so carefully picked out for me. Then I’d have to admit that my antics had produced a specimen of the walking dead that smelled a whole lot like dog poop and Doritos.
When we got to the tunnel opening that led to William’s vault, I took a dogleg turn that I knew would take me out the root cellar in Melaphia’s backyard. Her cottage was the former servants’ quarters of William’s mansion and shared its courtyard. For servants’ quarters, it was quite a show-place that was on the historic register and was a featured stop on Savannah’s tour of homes every year.
An ornate iron fence separated William’s part of the courtyard—complete with its fancy Japanese reflecting pool—from Melaphia’s, which was full of a huge variety of flowering plants, mostly of creeping vinelike varieties.
I pushed open the slanted wooden lid of the cellar and looked out. The fence around her part of the courtyard was stylish but designed as much for privacy as it was for beauty. The vines, heavily laden with flowers, covered the fence and the tall vegetation with riotous color and a hypnotic scent. The Spanish moss that gr
ew on the close canopy of live oaks hung down so low it almost met up with the vines and taller flowering bushes. The whole effect was of stepping into the garden of Eden.
The courtyard garden had always been like this, even in the days of Melaphia’s foremothers. Flowers that didn’t have any business blooming in the dead of winter were as plentiful in January as they were in May. It was a testament to the power of the generations of kinswomen who had lived here. I suspected the fortresslike privacy was to hide the ancient voodoo rituals that were too expansive to be held indoors and must be performed under the stars.
I told Huey to stay put and was about to climb up the cellar’s stone steps when the back door of the house slammed and Renee appeared, dressed in her school uniform and saddled with a backpack almost as big as she was. Her beaded braids bounced with every step as she walked along the cobblestone path. I tried to close the hatchlike door before she saw me, but I was too late.
“Hi, Uncle Jack,” she said. “Who’s your friend and why does he have a bag over his head?”
“Uh, this is Huey. He’s a…leper.”
“Oh,” she said. If she thought it strange that a vampire and a leper were hiding among the potatoes and yams in her mother’s root cellar she didn’t let on. In her nine years on earth, Renee had seen more weird goings-on than most people do if they live to be a hundred. “Be careful. The sun’s almost up.”
“Thanks, punkin,” I said. “I will.”
I saw a flash of light through the tiny slats in the fence and heard the ding, ding, ding a car makes when you open the door with the key still in it. “That’s my car pool,” Renee announced and let herself out of a gate that was all but hidden by the vines.
Melaphia, who had poked her head out the back door to make sure Renee made it to the car pool, spied me standing waist-deep in the cellar. “Jack, what are you doing here? And who is that with you?” She stepped out of the house dressed in one of her colorful, African-inspired ceremonial robes made from a patchwork of brilliant silks.
“Uh, this is Huey.”
“Why is there a bag over his head?”
“Well, uh…” Now that I had actually arrived, I couldn’t think of how to begin.
“Wait! Huey? The Huey who was killed a few weeks back?”
Huey waved. “Hey,” he said in a muffled greeting. “Pleased to meet ya, ma’am.”
I laced my fingers together in front of me. “That would be him.”
“Jack! You crazy cracker, what have you done?” Melaphia stalked closer, squinting into the darkness to get a better look at Huey.
“It was an accident! Honest! I prayed to that voodoo god and asked him to make my vampire powers stronger, so maybe I could make the most of that flying thing, and before you know it, Huey here was pushing his way out of the ground like a March daffodil.”
Melaphia winced and closed her eyes. “Your powers with the dead. Those were the powers that got enhanced. Tell me, where did you perform your ceremony?”
“In back of the garage,” I admitted.
“Next to where you buried Huey? Way to go, Jackie. How many times do I have to tell you, the forces I work with are powerful. You have to be careful how you use them.”
“I know, I know. I screwed up. But what am I going to do with him now?”
Melaphia steeled herself. “Let me see him.”
I lifted the bag off Huey’s head. One of his eyeballs had gone askew and no longer looked in the same direction as the other one. It was not a good look for him—not that it would be for anybody, come to think of it.
“Oh, my god!” Melaphia exclaimed.
I let the bag fall back down over the poor guy’s head. Just because he was the walking dead didn’t mean he didn’t have feelings. “Well, what do you expect? He is a zombie.”
“I know he’s a zombie! I’m a voodoo mambo, dammit. I know a zombie when I see one!”
“Mel, calm down. You’ve got to help me. Can’t you spruce him up like you did with Shari? Maybe do some spell or say some kind of chant that will keep him from rotting any more than he already has?”
Melaphia drew herself up and looked away from Huey. “I’ll see what I can do, but I need time. Take him back to the garage and lock him in your office. I’ll gather up some herbs and offerings and consult the texts, and I’ll be right over there as soon as I get through with Connie.”
“Connie?” My breath caught at the mention of her name. “She’s coming here?”
“Yes, I went to her and talked her into coming to what I described as a…a women-running-with-the-wolves ritual that must take place precisely at sunrise. The results should give us more of an inkling of what we’re dealing with where she’s concerned.”
“‘What we’re dealing with’? It sounds like you’re more concerned about what Connie’s power means to us than it means to her,” I observed uneasily.
“When I say ‘we,’ Jack, I mean you. Like I told you before, she could be a danger to you, but I won’t know until after the ceremony. And maybe not even then.”
“I can’t believe that you talked her into coming over here.”
“I think she’s just doing it to ingratiate herself with me.”
“Why would she do that?”
“Because she knows you and I are close. She asked me a lot of questions about you. What happened when you went over there to break up with her?” Melaphia eyed me suspiciously.
“Um. Nothing, nothing at all. I just broke up with her and got the charm back like you said.”
“Uh-huh,” Mel said, clearly not buying it but knowing I wasn’t ready to talk about the incident. Maybe I never would be. I wanted to know what Connie had asked about me, but I didn’t want to have to answer any of Mel’s questions.
“Jack, this is a very sensitive time for her, so you leave her alone. Now you have to get out of here and take your walking corpse with you.”
I got my key ring out of my pocket and removed the key for my office. As I was handing it to Melaphia, Huey spoke up. “I’m hungry, Jack,” he said, kind of pitiful-like.
I looked at Melaphia in alarm. “They don’t really eat human brains, do they?” I asked. When she only rolled her eyes heavenward, I said, a little annoyed, “Seriously. It’s not like I can go to the corner grocery and pick up some zombie chow, now is it?”
Melaphia sighed and stared at me like I was getting on her last nerve. “They eat meat, and they aren’t picky about what kind. Go get a few packs of pork chops or something, and make sure he has all he wants.”
“Yeah? And what happens if I run out?”
“Let’s just say you might want to invest in a muzzle to keep him from gnawing the customers.”
“Oh man!”
Melaphia put her hands on my chest and pushed gently, as if to get me on my way. “You go on now. Connie will be here any minute and I don’t want you distracting her. Lock Huey in the office with some T-bones, go home, and get some sleep, and I’ll come as soon as I can and see what I can do. Try not to worry.”
“Thanks, Mel. I owe you one.”
“You got that right.”
I put my hand on top of Huey’s head and pushed gently to get him seated on the stone steps. Then I lowered the wooden hatch over us. “I’ll get you some breakfast soon, buddy, real soon,” I told him. I turned around to face the courtyard, settled myself on my knees, and peered out through a crack in the hatch and into the gathering light. My fangs started to itch the way they did whenever I was caught outdoors near sunrise.
Directly, Connie came in through the same gate that Renee had used. She must have been fresh off the night shift, because she still wore her uniform. Melaphia took her to a structure in the middle of the garden, one that I hadn’t noticed earlier. It was a grouping of three wooden poles, lashed together at the top and spread out at the base, forming a pyramid.
I focused my batlike hearing, trying to make out what they were saying. They whispered to each other so as not to be heard by any passersby on the side
walk outside the fence. Connie said, “All right. I’ll do what you say, but when all this is over I have some questions about Jack McShane.”
“Very well,” Melaphia said, and gestured to the east, toward the pink and purple fingers of sunrise reaching out from the hidden horizon.
So Connie was going to question Melaphia about me. She could try. Mel and her foremothers had kept the secrets of the undead—and voodoo secrets of their own—for generations. Not even a tough cop like Connie could make her talk.
Connie took off her hat and shook out her thick, shiny hair. She nodded her understanding of the instructions that Melaphia was giving her. Something about the Mayans worshipping some kind of sun god and that’s why the ceremony had to be done at sunrise. I hadn’t had time to read the printouts Werm had come up with, not that reading them would give me much of a clue as to what was about to take place.
When Mel calmly instructed Connie to remove her clothes—all of them—my mouth watered and my loins tightened. After carefully setting her cap on the ground, Connie started unbuttoning her blouse. There was a movement to my right, and I saw that Huey had turned around and was watching, too. I took hold of the edge of the paper bag and slid it around so that the eyeholes were in back. Zombie Huey had even fewer IQ points than Regular Huey. Just figuring out how to turn the bag around would occupy him for twenty minutes.
By the time I looked back in Connie’s direction, she was removing her bra. The sun, although it had still not broken over the horizon, was getting warm enough to make my eyes sting and water. Her breasts sprang from their elastic holster like they had minds of their own, and my fingers tingled with the need to touch them again. Her breasts were full and shapely, with deep rose areolas and nipples that responded to the cold January air by hardening into plump buds that begged to be licked and suckled. I angled my head to get a better look.
She untied and kicked off her shoes, peeled off her socks, and began to unfasten her belt buckle. I forgot to breathe. Off went her uniform pants, revealing a pair of white panties with lace panels on the sides and a solid panel in front covering her sex—but not for long. I sighed and hugged myself when she was completely naked, feeling a need so strong it was more akin to pain than pleasure. She was the most perfectly formed woman I’d ever seen.