Smitten With Death

by Sharon Saracino

  “Do you think you can concentrate for five minutes?” He glared across the table in my direction.

  “Well, I’ll try, but you’ll have to promise not to shrug, shake your head, or bend over.”

  He drew in a deep breath and opened his mouth, then snapped his lips together and rolled his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, closed his eyes, and—I could be mistaken—but I’m pretty sure I heard him count to ten under his breath.

  “Okay, imagine an organism enters a victim. Typically the immune system kicks in and releases substances to fight the infestation causing the host to feel sick.”

  “Infection…yeah, okay that makes sense.” I nodded. “But what does it have to do with Buddy the Zombie King?”

  “I’m getting to it,” he growled. “Sometimes the organism manages to mutate or find a way to manipulate the host’s immune system to escape destruction.”

  “On the order of antibiotic resistant bacteria,” I nodded again, getting the gist.

  Hey, I was married to a doctor for thirteen years. He may have been a proctologist and not an epidemiologist, but let’s face it, colons are not immune to bacteria, and a girl overhears things.

  “Exactly. But some organisms have taken things an evolutionary step further. They don’t simply manipulate the victim’s immune system in order to survive, they manipulate it into producing modulators that change behavior. For example, there’s a species of worm that needs to get inside a sheep to reproduce. It infects and hijacks the brain of a certain species of ant, programming it to climb to the top of a blade of grass and stay there until the grass is eaten by the sheep. The parasite hijacks the ant’s nervous system, effectively turning it into a Zombie.”

  “No offense Morgan, but while it might be creepy, little tiny ant zombies windsurfing on a blade of grass waiting to be eaten isn’t exactly the stuff of which horror movies are made.”

  “Somehow I think the ants might disagree,” he smirked. “Anyway, that was just an example to demonstrate the concept. To compound the problem, a lot of these organisms tend to favor the brain because it shelters them from the full fury of the immune system while giving them full access to the mainframe for the alteration of behavior.”

  Now it was my turn to pinch my nose between my thumb and forefinger and close my eyes as it all began to come together in my mind like a lump of cold oatmeal. I suddenly feared I knew exactly where this was going, and my stomach churned as the fog dissipated and the big picture took shape.

  “You’re telling me the influenza virus carries a parasite that burrows into the brains of every person who’s ever been infected?” I glanced up to find Kane staring at me intently.

  He nodded slowly. “The parasites remain dormant, unless activated, at which time they begin to reproduce and modulate the host behavior.”

  “Putting the host under the control of the parasite, just like a Zombie. And the parasite is activated and under the control of…?”

  “Your friend, Buddy.”

  Chapter 12

  “This is so not the kind of news you should spring on a girl unless there are doughnuts,” I groused. I mean, okay, I realize fried dough stuffed with raspberry jam and covered in white frosting and coconut wouldn’t prevent the Zombie Apocalypse, but honestly, I was pretty sure it couldn’t make things any worse, either. And it would sure as hell make me feel better. “And at the risk of being redundant, may I reiterate for the record that Buddy is no friend of mine?”

  “Okay, so I don’t have doughnuts, but I did get you these. Forgiven?” Kane pushed the crinkled paper bag across the table with an expectant gleam in his eye.

  “You bought something for me?” I pulled the bag closer and peered inside, spying a cellphone bag filled with small brown pellets.

  “You bought me a bag of rabbit poop?” Tugging the cellophane free. I turned it over and read the label. Chocolate Covered Arabica Beans. I quickly unzipped the pocket of my jacket and tossed the dry-as-a-fart granola bars on the table, replacing them with my new nuggets of nirvana.

  “Thank you.” I knew my smile was far brighter than a pocket-sized sack of snack food warranted, but c’mon. The Grim Reaper bought me chocolate…and coffee…all rolled up together in tiny portable bites. He was obviously as perceptive and brilliant as he was stunning.

  “You’re welcome. You did bring your necklace, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah, it’s in my pocket, but if we’re going together, I don’t really need it, right?”

  “We’re going in together. Whether we come out together remains to be seen. I may have slightly exaggerated Cerberus’ willingness to relinquish Buddy without a fight.” He avoided my gaze, suddenly very interested in the crackling flames of the fire. “I’m sure things will be fine, but you might want to put it on.”

  “So you lied?”

  “I prefer to think of it as strategically redirecting the truth.”

  “Yeah well, I prefer to think of myself as statuesque, but it doesn’t make me any taller.”

  “Look, Cerberus thrives on mayhem. What better way to achieve it than to have someone with Buddy’s abilities under his thumb? So yeah, he won’t give him up willingly, but I intend to get him back, just the same.”

  “But if Buddy signed on with the dark side of his own free will, what makes you think he’ll be open to being saved?”

  Even as I asked, I knew he was open to it. In fact, thinking back to the last time I’d seen him, I was pretty sure he wasn’t just willing to be rescued, he was desperate.

  “From the moment he was born and it was clear who and what he was, the supernatural community has been trying to find an alternate role for him, one that would make him happy while reducing the risk of his acting on his abilities. Problem is, he just doesn’t seem to be good at anything.”

  “Did anyone ever ask him?”

  “Huh?”

  “Did anyone ever bother to ask Buddy what he wanted to do? Or did you all just assume you knew what was best for him? Maybe he’s never been good at anything because you’ve all been try to fit a square peg in a round hole.”

  “How could he know what was best? He’s just a kid.” Kane straightened in his chair and glared at me across the table.

  “May I refresh your memory?” I raised a brow in inquiry and held up a finger. I took Kane’s annoyed expression as an affirmative. “Please recall the mind-numbing, eyeball-gouging educational session on psychology with my sister to which you subjected me earlier today. Buddy is a teenager. If you really buy into the whole theory I was forced to endure for the better part of an hour this morning, he’s at the stage where he’s taking his first tentative steps toward independence, seeking a sense of self. Identity versus confusion. If everyone around him is boxing him into the identity they think he should assume, how is he ever supposed to have a sense of self or a feeling of independence and control? The way I see it, you’ve all been setting him up for failure bound to result in insecurity and confusion on his part. Did it ever occur to you that maybe he signed up with your bigger, uglier cousin because it’s the first decision he’s been allowed to make for himself? A bad decision, I’ll grant you, but at least it was all his own.”

  “Well…shit!” Kane slumped in his chair and tossed back the remainder of his coffee.

  Have I mentioned it was really, really good coffee?

  Frankly, I suspected he was now too distracted to fully appreciate its awesomeness, and I momentarily regretted sharing my temporary flash of brilliance before he’d had a chance to savor the last drop.

  “Okay, well in my defense, I haven’t had a helluva lot of experience with kids.”

  “Well, this isn’t all on you, right? I mean, the kid’s got family. They have to assume some accountability in this mess.”

  “You’ve met Marvin and Melvin. You honestly think they have a clue what to do with someone like Buddy? They’re a couple of disorganized lower level bureaucrats who, though they mean well, aren’t exactly
role model material.”

  “Parents?” I asked hopefully.

  “Dead.” Ah, hell. Of course they were. Why would there be any hope I could just bring the kid out and dump him on someone’s doorstep. Kane rose to his impressive height and snatched my empty cup from under my nose, carrying it to the sink along with his own. Then he turned back to face me, cocked a hip against the counter, and crossed his arms over his chest. His broad, muscular chest.

  Not that I noticed.

  “What do you think, Logan? You up for it?”

  Was I up for playing surrogate mom to a confused teenage Zombie King with an attitude? Doubtful. Don’t get me wrong, I love kids. It’s just that before I discovered I couldn’t have them, I always figured I’d get to screw them up myself, not be saddled with trying to straighten out someone else’s sloppy seconds.

  “Probably not, but I guess I can’t do any worse with him than everyone else already has, right?”

  “Okay, let’s go with that.” It struck me he hadn’t actually agreed with me, but I didn’t have time to think up a witty comeback as he strode across the kitchen and yanked me out of my chair. Dragging me behind him, he headed for the gothic monstrosity that passed as his office where he kept the large oval mirror which would serve as our portal to the Between.

  The room hadn’t changed since my last visit. The shiny scythe still glinted from its spot in the corner. Dark heavy drapes still hung at the windows, obscuring the world outside, and the furniture was just as dark and heavy. I glanced at the row of small, potted dogwood trees growing along one wall and couldn’t understand how they managed to survive in the sunless gloom. Of course, the one at my place still hadn’t died and that might be an even bigger miracle.

  As soon as we crossed the threshold, Kane released my hand and headed for the corner, dragging the mirror from its place. He positioned the mirror in the middle of the room and straightened, motioning me closer with a smile. Even with the distracting scars, his smile was enough to jump-start the libido of any normal woman. And now that he’d healed…well, fortunately, as we’ve already determined, I am not a normal woman.

  I, of course, was immune.

  “Put your necklace on, Logan.” He stepped back from the mirror and dusted his hands down the sides of his jeans. Rolling my eyes, I fished the fugly thing from my pocket and dropped it over my head. It bounced against my underwire assisted breasts as heavy and ostentatious as ever—the necklace, not my breasts, which we have already established trend toward the modest end of the hoo-ha scale—but the action succeeded in drawing Kane’s gaze to my chest where it lingered a fraction of second longer than warranted. How do I know he wasn’t simple admiring my taste in golden baubles? Because his eyes didn’t budge even after I yanked out the neckline of my T-shirt and dropped the offending item inside and out of sight. And then his tongue snaked out to lick his lips. Score!

  “You ready?” His voice sounded oddly hoarse.

  “Hell, no,” I snapped back, stepping closer to where he waited near the mirror. “But that’s never stopped me before.”

  “As I said earlier, biggest balls of any woman I know. Yours just happen to be on your chest,” he laughed, laying one hand on the surface of the mirror and reaching for mine with the other. The cool, silver sheen of the mirror slowly changed and morphed into a thick, swirling vortex of opaque gray fog, just as it had on the previous occasion when I’d touched my fugly necklace to it. I was a little jealous the Grim Reaper didn’t need to rely on questionable fashion accessories to come and go as he pleased.

  Glancing down at my girls with a frown before grabbing his outstretched hand, I said, “Yeah well, if you’re referring to these, perhaps you should rethink your descriptor. Big isn’t exactly the first word that comes to mind.”

  “You know what they say, Logan.” He laughed, picking up a boot clad foot and thrusting one leg through the mirror and into the fog. “More than a mouthful is simply a waste.”

  I was glad he’d already disappeared into the afterlife and wasn’t there to witness my jaw hitting the floor. Gaping is such an unattractive look. I would have loved to stand there pondering his remark for a few minutes.

  Can you blame me?

  My fantasy, however, was rudely interrupted by the impatient tug on my hand reminding me we had work to do. Yeah, the Grim Reaper and I were about to get busy, and not in a good way. With a sigh, I squared my shoulders, took a deep breath, and stepped into the great beyond.

  Unlike the last time I’d stepped through the mirror and into the shifting curtain of murky vapor, no creepy little tendrils unwound from the soupy mist to crawl over my skin like living things. As we stepped clear of the mist into the central square of gray, the Lost also failed to congregate around me for a quick grope. Last time I’d been here, they rushed to crowd me in a desperate, sightless throng plucking at my clothes and giving me a major case of the heebs. The Timekeeper had told me that craving life, they were attracted to my mortal energy. Apparently, Kane’s swirling aura of death trumped my bright, shiny glow of life, because this time, they gave us a wide berth, and in a few cases they even crossed the street to avoid us. This, of course, gave us an unobstructed path to the Timekeeper’s front porch. Bonus!

  I squinted through the grayness and there she was, exactly where she’d been on my last foray into the sweet hereafter. The old woman sat on the porch of a tiny cottage set back from the street swaying to and fro in a creaky, wooden rocking chair, two long knitting needles clacking in her gnarled and twisted fingers. Her tiny, twinkling eyes observed us from a face as wrinkled and desiccated as a dried apple topped by a mop of wispy, white candy-floss hair. She was the Timekeeper, or as I had come to think of her, Granny-Apple-Head.

  I realized Morgan Kane still gripped my hand within his own larger, warmer one when I managed to navigate the stairs without prostrating myself at the Timekeeper’s feet as I’d done on my prior visit.

  Hey, anyone can fall down stairs, falling up stairs takes skill.

  Granny-Apple-Head smiled as we approached, twitching aside the endless pile of worsted wool spilling along the porch deck and over the railing, to reveal two additional chairs. She released the knitting needles and lumbered to her feet, and just like the last time I was here, the damn things kept right on clacking away with no assistance from her. Knit one, purl two…time marches on. She’d explained it all to me before, but seeing it up close and personal still made the hair on the back of my neck spring to attention.

  “Mabel.” Kane released my hand, and then he leaned forward to kiss Granny-Apple-Head’s papery cheek. “Always nice to see you.”

  “Well, of course it is,” she cackled, patting his arm affectionately before fixing her gleaming raisin-like peepers on me. “Hello, Maxine. You’re looking well.”

  “Hi, uh thanks. You’re looking…”

  Have I mentioned she resembled a wrinkled and desiccated piece of fruit topped by a mop of wispy, white candy-floss hair?

  “You, uh, haven’t changed a bit.”

  See? Every now and then, my if-you-can’t-say-something-nice gene kicks in. Stepmother Gail would be so proud.

  “One of the perks of the job.” She winked, lowering herself back to the rocker and taking up her knitting. “I presume you’re here to retrieve the boy?”

  “Always one step ahead of me.” Kane grinned. “You know where I can find him?”

  “Of course I know where you can find him, but you don’t need me to tell you that. You know as well as I do.” She glanced up from beneath wrinkled eyelids with a sly expression. “Have to say I’m a little surprised you’d consider taking Maxine along.”

  “Actually, I was going to ask if you’d mind if she hung out here with you while I go in. I’ll send Buddy back here so she can get him out.”

  Her meaty shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. “Okay by me. Had a hunch I might be getting company. Baked cookies.”

  While there’s nothing I love more than being talked about as though I’m
not there, followed closely by having my decisions made for me, I felt compelled to say something.

  Don’t tell me this surprises you.

  “Um, yeah. While I’ve never been a girl to turn my nose up at empty calories, I’ll have to pass on the baked goods.” I tugged on Kane’s sleeve until he looked down into my eyes. Reluctantly, I thought. “This was not the plan. Therefore, I’ll be sticking with you, Big Guy. Like stink on garbage.”

  Chapter 13

  “Logan,” the Grim Reaper began in a patronizing tone that strongly reminded me of an adult trying to reason with a small child. “If you’ll think back, we never discussed any specific plan.”

  “I see. Another strategic redirection of the truth?” I snapped. What was it with these people? Could they never simply lay their cards on the table? “So let me get this straight. After a year of ignoring my existence, you show up at my father’s, eat my doughnuts, subject me to a long winded dissertation on Erikson’s theory of psychosocial development, and coerce me into hoofing it into the Between to save Buddy. Which, by the way, Denise then construes as a date necessitating a shopping trip resulting in a maxed out credit card and my ass in a pair of leather pants. Now you expect me to just sit here twiddling my thumbs, nibbling monochromatic cookies washed down with indigestion-inducing lemonade while you head off into danger all by yourself to save the day?”

  Yes, I said that all in one breath. Impressed?

  “Well, sure it sounds bad when you say it like that.” Kane’s green eyes twinkled, though he had enough sense of self-preservation not to crack a smile. “And I wasn’t ignoring your existence, I was respecting your grief and giving you time to move on.”

  “I’m sorry, dear, I’m all out of lemonade. Afraid it will have to begin this time,” Granny-Apple-Head interjected with a smirk.

  “Tempting as that sounds, I’m going with the Hellhound here,” I insisted, locking eyes with Kane, planting my hands on my hips, and barely resisting the urge to stomp my foot. Wait a minute…he wasn’t ignoring me?