2 Death Rejoices

by A. J. Aalto

  “You don't mind,” I repeated again, emphasizing each word, “that an ogre licks your naked flesh, as long as he does it when you're dead?”

  “Dearheart.” Harry frowned at my apparent silliness. “ ’Tis a small price to pay for such a superior sentinel. Do not be such an irredeemable prude.”

  Batten cleared his throat. “I'd be happy to lick Marnie, if you need a ‘sentinel’ for her.”

  Harry's lips pursed. “This in no way astonishes me.”

  “I'm pretty sure you shouldn't lick zombie scuzz. I need a shower and some fresh clothes and about a week of sleep.” I started crawling away, got dizzy, and paused on the stones.

  “Marnie, where are you going?” Batten sighed.

  “I'm going to crawl into the shower, crawl into some pajamas, and then crawl into bed and fantasize that you're all dead, whether you get licked or not.”

  “What of those who already are, ducky?” Harry asked.

  “Alien invasion. Everyone on Earth except me and a handful of horny hot dudes eats it. Maybe that kid Hood hired to replace ol’ zombie-butt Dunnachie survives.” I smiled up at them wistfully from my place in the driveway. “We're on a beach in what used to be Hawaii. Fortunately, all their clothes were destroyed.”

  “Vivid imagination,” Batten said.

  “Lots of practice.” I dragged myself on hands and knees toward the ogre on the porch, feeling like I should have gone to bed hours before. The back of my glove was coated in some sort of goo. I gave the glove a curious sniff, and the Blue Sense rocked my whole face. I had to press my eyelids closed and I tried not to pitch over.

  “Pet?” Harry pressed close to me instantly.

  “Weird. This smells like citrus. And fish.”

  “Fishy lemons?” Batten said. “There's a combination perfume houses have overlooked.”

  “Said the man who wears watered-down Brut.” Harry aimed a haughty sniff at him.

  “Watered-down with holy water,” Batten fired at him. “Want a taste?”

  From behind them, Declan's Buick's headlights cut through the pre-dawn darkness and hit me in the face, blinding me. From my knees, I put one hand up to shield my squinting eyes. The silhouette of my assistant spilled out of the car at a half-run. “What happened? Don't touch anything! Don't move!”

  “Calm down, Sally, don't get your panties in a twist,” I called. “It's over, we're fine. Also, you drive like somebody's grandmother. Batten beat you here on foot.”

  “The team's right behind me, we heard an explosion.” Declan jogged to us, doing a walking-spin survey of the carnage. “You're not fine, you're bleeding. It looks like something blew up. Is that Viktor Domitrovich on your porch? Dr. B., do you know anything about this?”

  “It's inexplicable!” I reached for Hood's shotgun and used it as a crutch to lever myself up. I think my sarcasm was lost in his bafflement.

  Declan beat Batten to helping me stand, and hovered to make sure I wasn't going back down. “Was that a zombie?”

  “Yes, it was Neil Dunn—” I broke off, looking up at Batten, and said sadly, “Oh, Rob.”

  He said tightly, “I'm Mark.”

  “No, what am I going to tell Hood?”

  “That you blew up his partner's reanimated corpse,” Batten said matter-of-factly, though the bitter emotion spilling into his deep-water blue eyes was hardly as flat as his voice. “Guess I'll tell him, since you're at a loss for words.” Without anything further, he stalked off toward the truck to grab the radio.

  “Jerkface,” I hissed, distracted by Harry stooping to collect something from the ground. “Harry, don't touch the zombie bits.”

  “Pinecones,” he corrected, “make a lovely centerpiece for the dining table.”

  “That's what you're thinking about now, Harry? Dining room décor?”

  Harry's one-shouldered shrug was meant for Declan, but the careful-now glance he shot at me was full of secret meaning. I couldn't imagine what he meant, but I knew he didn't want to discuss it in front of our current company. I dipped my chin in a single, silent nod.

  Declan said, “Chapel's ordered the incineration of the fish camp buildings.”

  “What's the status of Roger Kelly's corpse?”

  “When I left, he was still…dead. They'll remove him before they torch the shed.”

  “Dear God, I need a drink.”

  “My dove, even were you not so obviously concussed from your encounter with the cab of Sheriff Hood's truck,” Harry stopped picking pinecones out of the lawn and stiffened, “since when is it acceptable to solve a problem with the consumption of alcohol?” His ash grey eyes flashed under his thrice-pierced brow.

  “Since when is it okay to hire an ogre to watch over your…oh, wait, I did that, bad example,” I said.

  “I've got cookies in my trunk,” Declan offered, and I saw in the wry set of his lips that he remembered what I'd said about promising Aradia I'd never touch another cookie if the goddess saved Batten's life. “They're Fig Newtons. Those aren't really cookies.”

  I smiled tiredly up at him. “Have I mentioned how much I'm enjoying having an assistant? Even if he's a sarcastic ass who doesn't have any idea how to responsibly store baked goods?”

  “The health department has barriers set up at the motorway.” He flapped his hand at the road that ran around Shaw's Fist, which ended at my driveway. “They left that cow road of yours open to the few residents who are refusing to leave until the lockdown is mandatory. The media has set up at the barrier, but the sheriff's department is keeping them out. The CDC is mobilizing, and should be here soon.” He watched me scoop up a zombie chunk in my gloved palm and sniff it. “What are you doing, Dr. B?”

  “Nope.” I threw the meat down with a plop. “That doesn't smell like fishy citrus. That smells like old cheese and feet.”

  Harry was inspecting the pinecones in his hand. “Dearheart, would you grace me with the pleasure of your freshly-showered and clean-clothed company for ten minutes or so before I go to rest?”

  I gave Declan a meaningful look as the team descended on my driveway and the smoking remains of Zombie Dunnachie and the propane tank. “Duty calls. I'm putting you in charge of the UnBio team until I'm recovered. Review our notes later?”

  Declan scrutinized the mess in the yard, nodding. “I'll make sure the health department rakes this shit up and burns it properly,” he offered.

  “Brilliant. See that you do, lad.” Harry offered me his right arm. “Come, sugar cakes.”

  Viktor the ogre gave me an unhappy sniff as I passed, grimaced, then followed us inside.

  CHAPTER 33

  I GOT MY SHOWER and a change of clothes, but was denied the sanctuary of my bed, and got dragged down to the basement before I could brew more than a single cup of espresso, so I was sipping what I had rather than knocking it back. It wasn't doing much to keep me upright, but the shower had helped to clear my head (after Harry had made sure I didn't have any extra lumps on it, but I had a doozy of a bruise coming in on my shoulder where the shotgun had kicked me) and I was blissfully free of Dunnachie crud.

  Harry had moved Wesley's casket closer to his bed, the way a mother will do with a newborn's bassinet. While I stood there listening to the basement stairs complain under Viktor's weight, I wondered how the healing was going. Both halves of the lid were closed, and an IV stand had been set up nearby, with a couple spare bags of O-neg hanging, ready to be hooked up. Well, at least he'll be off the cheeseburgers for a while.

  I stopped dead near the foot of Harry's bed. He'd prepared for rest by cranking his electric blanket on high, and the little control box on the nightstand glowed orange. Harry brushed my ponytail away from the side of my throat, his cool fingertips tickling the nape of my neck.

  “What is it, my pet?”

  “I learned something about myself tonight when I was running for my life. When I'm not in danger, I'm about as deadly as a bag of marshmallows. But you put a monster on my ass,” I jacked my thumbs at my chest, “th
is kid's all right.”

  “Do you think this monster would hurt you, after the night you've had?” He turned my shoulders square with his, and dipped his mouth closer to my face. “Or ever?”

  “Yo,” Wes warned from within his coffin, “I may be injured, but I'm not deaf. No fooling around out there, you two. Nobody needs to hear that. Especially not the psychic guy whose sister you're banging.”

  It cheered me to hear Wesley's voice, playful as ever, with a modicum of strength; he may be wounded, but with Harry's coddling and Viktor's licking, he seemed to be making strides toward recovery. At least his mood was on the mend.

  “After your little Loyalty Game in the lake,” I told Harry, “I have to wonder.”

  He chuckled, flashing the first hint of fang. “I have apologized for that, my love, but will repeatedly do so, if I must. You dounderst and, I had to be sure that Agent Chapel is still thinking clearly. He seems unwell of late, and I have reason to be concerned.”

  “I liked that apology.” I thought of the brownies, and the forest chase, and the hot sex. “But maybe you should apologize again. And again.”

  Wes thumped the lid of his coffin and made a disgusted, throaty noise. I admit, making him suffer was kind of cruel of us, but I felt like he deserved it for eating all my cookies and making me worry.

  Harry gave Wes a break. “Mister Spicer did not mention where he was staying?”

  “You know he didn't, you overheard the whole thing,” I said knowingly.

  “Most of it, as did our large new friend. Stay, Viktor.” He pointed and Viktor stopped like he'd been flash-frozen.

  I let my eyes wander the great expanse of the ogre's body again, and wondered if people living near active volcanoes did the same every morning, in awe of its size, wondering when it was going to blow. Spicer claimed to want the abomination, saying that it put everyone in danger. I doubted his definition of “everyone” was the same as mine.

  “If Spicer wants Viktor, he'll come here. There's already been too much…” I drifted off, avoiding Wesley's casket as I moved to sit on Harry's bed, blankets pre-warmed under my tush. “Viktor can't stay, I'm sorry, Harry. To protect you and Wes, I have to uninvite him.”

  “To protect us, Viktor should be made to stay. Pray excuse me, darling, but who else shall watch us whilst you are busy?”

  I sighed. “I'll get un-busy.”

  “A more ludicrous proposal you have never made, my angel. You are sorely needed. Agent Chapel needs you.” He faked an idea-forming look, pale forefinger touching his cleft chin. “Of course, you realize there is another choice, someone who has, in fact, protected me in your stead once before.”

  “You snake,” I gasped. “You invited Viktor back here so I'd say no, and you could suggest someone else instead. I'd have said no to Chapel without the comparison. Unless you want Batten to put his feet up on your casket and play video games all day again. Remember those rings from his beer bottle when he didn't use the coasters?”

  Harry scowled theatrically, then lit a cigarette, the flickering glow nearly disguised the brief luminous spark in his eyes. “Would I be so transparently devious?”

  “Of course you would. You're always dying to get Chapel alone.” I rolled my eyes and knocked on Wesley's casket. “Besides, Chapel is even busier than I am, so that's a no. Did you talk to Wes about going away? He'd be safer, and could heal up nicely at that fat camp for revenants.”

  “It's not a fat camp.” Wesley's voice was a muffled protest from within the casket. “And I'm not going!”

  “Didn't you point out that he was getting a bad case of manboobs?” I asked.

  “Jingle-brains vetoed the clinic, and I find myself mulcible to his wounded pleas.” Harry's one-shouldered shrug was a soft surrender.

  “What's that place called, anyway? Attack of the Corpulent Corpse? Revenant Fluffernutters Anonymous?”

  Harry interrupted, “Your brother and I have discussed an alternative.”

  “Wait! I've got one more.” I grinned up at my Cold Company. “Law and Order: Special Pork Rind Unit.”

  “Ugh,” Wes piped up, “pork rinds are nasty.”

  “Glad you still have some semblance of taste, Wes,” I said, “but shut up in there.”

  Harry leveled his battleship gaze at me for a long beat. “Are you quite finished?”

  I looked at my now-empty cup of espresso. “I doubt it.”

  “Wesley must at least hide; it is unsafe for our lad to be here since the discovery of Deputy Dunnachie's body.”

  “It's all good,” I brushed-off, “I blew him up.”

  “And for that, I suppose Wesley would express his gratitude. Wouldn't you, Wesley?” The casket mumbled something that might, just barely, have been a petulant five-year-old's reluctant, desultory, pouty-lipped, “Thank you.” You'd think I'd given him an ugly sweater, not blown up shambling evidence of a stake-and-bake murder. My brother, the formerly-beautiful ingrate.

  “We're still working on his manners,” Harry excused.

  “Ask Viktor if he's got a special tongue move for that. On second thought, ew.” I grimaced, and Harry pulled something out of his coat pocket. “Is that what you didn't want Declan to catch outside?”

  Harry sorted through a handful of pinecones, then dropped a silver hunk of metal into my hands, little more than a tangle of wires with a bit of melted black plastic smeared across one side.

  “You revenants,” I gushed. “You always know just what to get a lady. First Malas gives me a human tooth, now you give me this, um, whatever the hell it is.” I turned the metal shard over in my gloved palm.

  “I can only speculate, but it appears to be the melted remains of a Bluetooth headset.”

  “What the—” I squinted at it. “It's got fleshy gunk stuck in its circuits.”

  “Indeed it has.”

  Blerg. “This was on, or in, Dunnachie?”

  “I would say it appears new, apart from the effects of the blast, as opposed to something that had been, shall we say, in his possession previously.”

  “Why would a zombie put on a Bluetooth headset?”

  “A zombie would not. A zombie does not have free will, and does not act autonomously, excluding actions prompted by hunger.”

  Despite the haze of exhaustion that was drawing down over my brain like an ugly pair of drapes, a flicker of understanding still kindled. “A bokor could control a zombie with directions from afar. If Dunnachie had been outfitted with a cell phone on auto-answer—hmm, it would have had to be in an Otter case to keep it clean and dry—and add waterproof Bluetooth…. Holy shit. Technozombie.” I went to bound off the bed, but it was more of a lean-and-lurch. “I've got to tell the team.”

  Harry stopped with me a soft tut-tut. “Not so fast, my fluttering pipistrelle.”

  “You want me to hide evidence that could be relevant to the case?”

  “I am only suggesting that you disclose that evidence, with discretion, to the one person who needs it.”

  I looked down at his pale hand cupping my elbow. “What are you not telling me, Harry?”

  His teeth flashed white in the dim room. “Oh, there are so many things. Where to begin?”

  “I mean, about this. But I'll remember you said that, head trauma or not.”

  “I am not an investigator, unless you mean to finally allow me to intervene—”

  “No!” I said, louder than I'd planned. “No, no, no. Stay out of it.”

  “Since you continue to deny me the occasion to step into your little adventures, I am not required to share my thoughts with the lawmen.”

  “But I'm not a lawman, you could share your thoughts with me.”

  “However, you, darling, are required to share your thoughts with them. I merely suggest that you do so judiciously.”

  “Harry, you re-hired a necrophiliac! Is that ‘judicious’?”

  “Don't be absurd, I am always judicious.”

  “You gave Batten your Bugatti!”

  At that
, he had the good grace to look pained.

  I narrowed my eyes. “Okay, Harry. Is there a particular team member you think I should be careful around?”

  “I would advise you to reconsider this disconcerting offer of getting bosky with your so-called assistant to the point where one may hear the liquor swilking in your belly.”

  “Swilking?” I made a face. “Bosky?”

  “Be careful with whom you allow yourself to become vulnerable, my pet. And perhaps you should not share with Dr. Edgar every brief light or shadow that flits through that cluttered belfry of yours.” He tempered this with a rare kiss on my forehead. My headache ratcheted down by half from that alone, and I wished he'd take me in his arms and make the rest of my day evaporate, Wes’ objections be damned. “I'm serving you dinner in bed tonight. Please do see that your little friends are off and away before eight o'clock, yes?”

  My little friends. My little adventures. I gave a tired chuckle. “What's for dinner?”

  “So, not only would you deny me my right to defend my Companion and lavish care upon her, but I am now to be denied the simple pleasure of serving surprising victuals? How terribly wearing you are,” he said, patting my head, ignoring the rolling of my eyes. “Off with you, poppet.”

  I went to the stairs and paused to crane up at Viktor. The giant didn't move, or blink, or breathe, but his gaze did slink down to mine. I avoided eye contact by checking out his leather duds. “Viktor, is John Spicer chasing you?”

  Harry said, “You may respond, Viktor.”

  I shot Harry a scowl, then Viktor said, “I do not know.” It didn't sound like he cared, either.

  “Are you the abomination? Are you going to get abominable? Don't abominate right now. If that's a thing, I don't think I could take it.”

  Those black eyes stared at my face then slipped a bit lower, to where my jugular pumped. His gaze made it pump a bit faster. And I felt myself wondering exactly what else a giant slab of muscle with an overactive tongue would do to my pulse.