Zombies already milled around, staking out their spots. Some crowded the area directly in front of the stage. Others set up chairs along Bromfield Street. Lines formed in front of the vendor carts selling hot dogs, popcorn, falafel, burritos, deep-fried clam cakes—anything zombies could stuff into their faces in huge quantities.
The late afternoon was chilly, the temperature hovering a few degrees above freezing, practically a heat wave for Boston in early February. I pushed through the crowd, looking for the dressing rooms. It was almost five. The sun was low enough that zombies were taking off their sun-protection gear, relying on the long shadows of tall buildings to protect their skin and eyes. I wanted to be right there, watching over Tina, before the actual moment of sunset when the Morfran could come out.
Several news vans clustered near the Tremont Street barrier. One of them belonged to Channel 10 On-the- Scene News. Lynne Hong sat in the front passenger seat, her face in profile. Funny. She usually covered hard news and didn’t bother with fluff pieces like rock concerts.
A pudgy teenage zombie, wearing an oversized Monster Paul T-shirt and ripped jeans, talked to another reporter. As I got closer, I heard Jenna say, “Nope, sorry. Tina can’t give you an exclusive. What can I say? MTV called first.” She popped her gum with finality. She must’ve got the job as Tina’s manager.
When I asked Jenna where the dressing rooms were, she told me to go behind the stage and through the gate into the cemetery. Then she went back to booking Tina’s nonexclusive interview. I walked in the direction she’d pointed and saw a couple of trailers inside the cemetery, right up against the fence. At the main gate, a massive concrete structure that looked vaguely Egyptian, two hulking zombies stood sentry, watching the crowd through narrowed eyes. Muscular and broad-chested, they both reminded me of Sykes. I hoped Tina had given them my name—if she hadn’t, it was going to be tough ducking past these two.
But there was no need to worry. The taller zombie consulted a clipboard and put out his hand for ID. I showed him my driver’s license, and he waved me through. “Next-to-last dressing room,” he said. “Name’s on the door.”
I hadn’t gone more than two steps when a hand grabbed my arm in a bone-crushing grip and yanked me backward to face a scowling zombie. “What the hell is that?” he asked, gesturing at the Sword of Saint Michael.
“A toothpick. What does it look like?”
“You can’t take a sword in there.”
“Why not?”
“Gee, I wonder.” With a flick of his wrist he flung me back to the wrong side of the gate. He moved in front of me and folded his arms, daring me to try to get past him.
The light was almost gone. If the sun hadn’t dropped below the horizon yet, it would within minutes. I needed to get to Tina. It’d cost me one of my knives, but I had to knock this bozo and his buddy out of my way. I hung my head, pretending to give up. One guard wore running shoes; the other had on steel-toed work boots. I could throw one knife to nail a running-shoed foot and stab the other guard in his overdeveloped bicep, then run like crazy—
“It’s okay,” said a voice behind me. “The freak’s with me.”
I looked back to see Norden, my old Goon Squad pal. He wore a dark blue parka and his usual sneer.
The zombie glowered at Norden, then me. “Why didn’t you say so?” He stepped aside.
Never in three million lifetimes would I ever imagine I’d be happy to be “with” Elmer Norden, but as we trotted past the guards, that was exactly how I felt. I started to thank him, but he cut me off.
“You’re late. And you were supposed to report to the command center on Bromfield Street, not waltz back here.”
“I have no clue what you’re talking about.”
“I’m in charge of security for this event. You’re on my staff list. Some nutcase phoned in a demon threat, and somebody seems to think you’re pretty good at fighting demons.” He shook his head. “In the old days, we got bomb threats,” he muttered, sounding nostalgic.
Oh. I guess that nutcase would be me. So that sleepy-voiced cop had woken up and reported a possible demon attack. That explained why Lynne Hong was here. Someone must have tipped her off about the “threat,” and she’d come in hopes of getting some zombie carnage on video. Not if I could help it.
“I didn’t ask to be hired. I’m here to protect Tina. If you’ve got a problem with that, let’s just say I quit.”
“I don’t care what the hell you do as long as you keep outta my way.” He stopped and gestured toward the dressing rooms. “You said Tina? That’s her dressing room there.”
“Great, thank—”
“You two should get along great. She’s almost as big a pain in the ass as you.” A sneer contorted his face.
I turned away, ignoring him. Then I thought about how this norm had lost his partner only a week ago—it was the first time I’d seen him since Sykes’s death. With one foot on the wooden stairs to Tina’s trailer, I stopped and looked back. Norden gazed across the darkening cemetery. “Hey, Norden,” I said, “I’m sorry about Sykes.”
He eyeballed me like he thought maybe I’d insulted him but wasn’t sure how. Then he shrugged. “At least I’m off the goddamn Goon Squad. Hampson tried to give me shit, so I quit to go private. Just my luck my first job is providing security for a bunch of freaks and monsters.” He grimaced and walked away.
So much for sharing a moment of tenderness with Norden.
I went up the stairs. Tacked to the door was a piece of paper with TINA TERROR printed in bold black letters. Tina’s last name was Zawadzki, so I could see why she’d want a stage name. But “Tina Terror”? That was as bad as Monster Paul. Below the name was a lopsided star, hand-drawn in yellow highlighter. It looked like something a preschooler’s mom would hang on the fridge; suddenly, Tina seemed very young and very vulnerable. I raised my hand to knock.
“Hey,” said Norden behind me. “Do you see someone over there?”
It was hard to see through the gloom. “Where?”
“By the obelisk. Damn useless guards can’t even keep the tourists out. Hey!” he yelled, starting forward. “Cemetery’s closed.”
I squinted in the direction he was going. A silhouetted figure stood beside the obelisk. All around him, perched on the gravestones and monuments, hunched a dozen large birds, black shapes against the shadows. A crow cawed.
Pryce was here. And he’d brought the Morfran with him.
I jumped down the stairs and sprinted toward my “cousin,” drawing my sword as I ran.
Norden, threading his way through the graves, yelled at Pryce again. Pryce extended an arm, and I dropped. Norden ducked behind a tree. But Pryce wasn’t concerned with us. His gesture was a signal. The crows rose into the air, cawing and shrieking.
Pryce disappeared.
I scrambled to my feet and resheathed my sword. I yanked up the leg of my jeans and tugged at the snap that held Hellforged in place. When it popped open, I allowed myself one deep breath to get centered. Then I grasped the athame with my left hand and pulled it out.
Crows shot over my head like fat black arrows and disappeared through the wall of Tina’s trailer.
The dressing room door burst open, and Tina ran out screaming, wearing a pink bathrobe and waving her arms wildly as the cloud of crows dived at her. She tripped on the stairs and tumbled to the ground.
Norden ran toward her, gun drawn.
“Norden, don’t!” I yelled. “They’re a spirit—you can’t shoot them.”
He skidded to a stop. “Then how in hell—?”
“Here.” I was already starting to make big, slow circles with my left hand. I reached into my inner jacket pocket and pulled out the slate. “Lean this against the trunk of that tree.”
Norden gaped like a fish getting ready to swallow a fly, as he watched me make superslow circles with my invisible lasso and took in the flowers and HOME SWEET HOME inscription on the slate.
Tina’s screams shattered the night.
“
I prayed that was true.
He grabbed the slate and ran toward the tree.
I closed my eyes and put everything I had into the ritual, drawing in the Morfran energy. I didn’t just circle, I
