belongings.”
“You’re right. But I don’t need a photo. Mine’s already on file.”
Mab did smile at that.
I called Roxana again and gave Mab the phone. I put on my jacket, removed the storage card from my camera, and stuck it in my pocket. Kane sat up, ears swiveled forward, as I headed toward the front door.
“I’ll be back in an hour,” I said. “I’m going to 24-Hour Copy.” I opened the door, then turned back to the room, my hand on the knob. “Kane, this wolfsbane thing. I want you back so much. But we’re not going to try it unless it’s one hundred percent safe. I’m not going to lose you.”
The expression in his intelligent gray eyes stayed with me long after I’d closed the door.
A ROUND-THE-CLOCK COPY CENTER BEFORE THE PLAGUE, 24-Hour Copy hadn’t changed much since. It was still always open, and it still had copy machines, high-quality printers, and rent-by-the-hour computers. But zombies and other Deadtown residents didn’t need many photocopies. So the big change, the change that had allowed the business to thrive, was its trade in fake paperwork and IDs.
At the front counter, a bored-looking zombie attendant was reading a magazine and eating three chocolate bars at a time. She’d unwrap them, stack them, and they’d disappear into her mouth. She polished off six in the time it took me to walk from the door to the counter.
“Help you?” she asked around the chocolate that filled her mouth.
“Is Carlos here?”
She jerked her head to indicate he was in the back, where I’d expected him to be. As I thanked her and walked past the counter, she was already unwrapping more chocolate.
A locked door guarded the back room. I rapped three times, paused, rapped two more. The door swung open to reveal a zombie seated at a cluttered desk in the small room. Behind him, two large printers whirred. The desk held three widescreen computer monitors, stacks of paper, crumpled lunch bags, and a coffee mug. The zombie who sat there turned toward the door, his hands still on the keyboard.
“Hi, Carlos.”
Carlos had been a computer programmer before the plague. It was only after he’d been reanimated that he found his true calling. The man was an artist. Not only could he make perfect reproductions of ID cards and other documents, he had the skills to make sure that the city’s database matched whatever his products said. He wasn’t cheap, but he was the best.
Now, he smiled as I came in. Carlos was the only zombie I knew who had a genuinely pleasant smile—as opposed to one that made you want to run away screaming.
“Hey, Vicky. Don’t tell me you’ve got more business for me already.”
“I’m afraid so. I need two IDs.”
“Two? You keep this up, and I’ll be buying myself a yacht to cruise around Boston Harbor.”
I laughed, but the joke wasn’t all that funny. Zombies didn’t get to cruise around the harbor, and I did hand over a good portion of my income to Carlos.
“So what do you need?” he asked.
“The usual for me. I also need an ID card for my aunt. She’s a demi-human like me, but she’s visiting from the UK and she doesn’t have any papers.” I handed him the memory card that held Mab’s photos.
Carlos didn’t ask how she’d arrived with no papers. Nosy wasn’t his style. “You want her to be a visitor or a resident?”
“Which would be easier?”
“Depends on what you mean by ‘easy.’ Visitor’s papers would be cheaper. But she’ll run into fewer hassles going in and out of Deadtown if she’s identified as a resident. Of course, that’s where things get more complicated, getting her into the system. It’ll take some hacking to establish her identity.”
“She’s only in town for a few days, but we can’t afford getting tied up in red tape while she’s here. I guess we’d better make her a resident.”
Carlos grinned. “It’s your money.”
“Not for long.” His grin broadened at my words. He really did have a nice smile—too bad it was at my expense.
“This will take longer than a while-you-wait job. The city’s got their system locked down pretty tight now.”
“Will that be a problem?”
“Not for me.” Another grin. This was a zombie who loved his job. “How about you come back around ten tonight? I should have everything ready by then.”
I paid half up front in cash, as usual. Maybe if I stopped by the bank I could get a loan for the rest before ten.
WHEN I GOT BACK TO THE APARTMENT, I WAS SURPRISED TO see Roxana there. She sat in a living-room chair, completely at ease, talking with Mab. Kane lay in what was becoming his customary place on the sofa, head on paws, ears pricked toward their conversation.
Roxana stood as I came into the room, smiling and offering her hand. She looked her usual gorgeous self: glossy dark hair, perfect makeup, a blue dress that showed off her curves. I felt like a scarecrow next to her.
I took her hand, and we gave each other a quick peck on the cheek. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon,” I said.
“Your aunt was a tremendous help. We agreed on the best recipe for the ointment, and I made it up and came right over. No point in wasting time.”
“But . . .” Suddenly I didn’t want to go through with the ritual. “Shouldn’t you do more research? Don’t we need to wait for a propitious time—the right moon phase or something?”
Mab came over and patted my shoulder with three quick pats:
“As for timing,” Roxana added, “that doesn’t matter. It’s like taking a dose of medicine when you’re sick—the sooner the better.”
Kane sat up and barked his agreement.
I sat beside him and leaned my forehead against his. I put my arms around him, felt his warmth. “Are you sure you want to try this?”
He didn’t even have to nod. His eyes showed how much he did.
We pushed back furniture to clear a space in the middle of the living room. Roxana summoned Kane to lie down in the middle of the open space. She gently pressed on his shoulder, so he lay on his side. When he was situated, she placed four small tea candles, each about a yard away from him, at the points of the compass: north, east, south, west. She stepped inside the circle they formed. Facing north, she bowed and closed her eyes in meditation. Her lips moved, but I couldn’t make out what she was saying. She bent and lit the candle. After a moment she moved on to the east candle and repeated the process. Within a few minutes, she’d lit all four candles.
She stood beside Kane and pointed at the north candle. Going clockwise, three times she traced the perimeter of the circle with her pointing finger. When she’d finished, she closed her eyes and lifted her face skyward. Then she drew a jar from her pocket and held it upward, like an offering, to each of the four quarters, always turning clockwise. When she was finished, she knelt beside Kane.
Roxana removed a pair of gloves from her pocket and put them on. Gloves—to protect her own skin from the wolfsbane. I was half out of my chair, ready to stop the ritual, before I made myself sit back down. Kane wanted to do this, and Mab approved. Still, if Roxana needed gloves to apply the ointment, I wasn’t so sure I wanted her putting that stuff on Kane’s unprotected paws. But I bit my tongue. I didn’t want to mess up the protection spell by breaking Roxana’s concentration.
Mab noticed my worry and nodded reassuringly.
Inside the circle, Roxana chanted as she rubbed the ointment into Kane’s paws. Her voice sounded far away
