He jumped from his stool and ran out the front door.
Normally, you don’t try to push your way through a crowd of zombies. But they moved aside to let Norden through. Everyone stared after him, silent. Then the chant of “Bring us beer!” started up again.
It was then I noticed that Norden’s second drink was untouched. So was his bottle of beer. So what was the guy’s problem? I knew he hated zombies—hell, he seemed to hate everyone—but I’d never seen him freak out like that before.
Axel cleared away Norden’s drinks as a zombie took his spot at the bar. I carried pitcher after pitcher of beer to the euphoric protesters. Something told me their party wasn’t going to last long. Sure enough, within an hour the Goons arrived to break it up and close down the bar. There was no trouble. The zombies went peacefully back to Deadtown—they’d made their point and downed a few beers besides. It was a good night for them.
We couldn’t risk seeing Juliet again, not with Creature Comforts full of Goons. Axel promised he’d check on her before he went home for the night. Mab and I left with the protesters.
Outside, Goons lined the street, and the zombies walked between them as they filed back into Deadtown. I noticed Pam McFarren, Norden’s zombie partner, among the Goons policing the crowd. But there was no sign of Norden.
Despite all the aquavit she’d consumed, my aunt was completely sober. Her walk was straight, her gaze steady, although I did catch occasional snatches of hummed Norwegian folk tunes as we made our way home.
19
WHEN MAB AND I GOT BACK TO MY APARTMENT, IT WAS two in the morning and Kane was watching live coverage of the zombie protest. There wasn’t much left to cover, now that the march had ended and the zombies had all gone home. No violence, no arrests, no bloodshed. The media must have been disappointed. The last time hundreds of zombies had gathered—at the Paranormal Appreciation Day concert in February—a Morfran attack that was invisible to news cameras had caused mass panic, a stampede, and nearly a dozen deaths. The entire norm world thought the zombies had gone crazy. In comparison, tonight’s event was a big snooze.
Still, after-the-fact commentators analyzed the march to death; talking heads who hadn’t been there spouted off on the protest’s significance, twisting events to fit their own political agendas. For some, the march ushered in a new era of freedom and autonomy for Deadtown’s residents. For others, it was a clear signal that the government needed to crack down on the monsters. One crazy-eyed preacher from an obscure cult claimed it was the final sign that the world would end two weeks from tomorrow.
Sweet. Maybe I wouldn’t have to pay my electric bill.
I picked up the remote. “Are you still watching this?”
Kane shook his head, and I clicked off the TV. He lay down with a sigh and put his head on his paws, staring at nothing.
It had to be hard for him, sitting on the sidelines. I’d called his office to let them know he’d be “away” for a few weeks, but I knew he hated missing out on this kind of action. Normally, he’d be in one of those television studios right now, setting the norms straight and advocating for PA rights. He’d point out that the march had been nonviolent, and that the zombies (he’d say previously deceased humans, or PDHs) weren’t looking for trouble; they only wanted to stretch their boundaries a bit. And even though the zombies had pushed their way out of Deadtown, there’d been no Reaper murder tonight. Hampson’s restrictions were meaningless.
But he couldn’t say any of that. He could only sit in my living room and watch it on TV.
I sat on the sofa beside him and scratched behind his ears. It didn’t solve anything, I knew, but I’ve always found that a well-placed scalp massage makes everything seem better.
Mab had gone to bed; I’d insisted she stay in my room. This should be snuggling time for Kane and me, but, well, things weren’t the same right now. We sat on the sofa, his head pressed against my thigh, my fingers moving through his warm fur. A girl and her wolf. No, not the same at all.
Kane got up and stretched. He flicked his tongue against my cheek, then jumped down to the floor. He went to the front door and sniffed along its edge. Then he circled once and lay down. Protective, making sure the bad guys didn’t cross the threshold. But I didn’t want a guard dog, I thought as I turned out the light. I wanted Kane.
If Myrddin stayed true to his pattern, the Reaper would strike again tomorrow night. To prevent another murder—and to force Myrddin to change Kane back—we had to find Pryce. If the Old Ones were hiding him, Juliet was our best chance for rooting him out. She’d been involved with the Old Ones for weeks; she must know where they were holed up. But Juliet was in some kind of vampire coma, and unless Daniel’s lab guy came through with an antidote, I had no idea how to wake her up.
These thoughts circled my brain like sharks circling a shipwreck survivor in a rudderless boat. I would have sworn I didn’t sleep at all, but when the phone rang, it jolted me awake. I blinked against the daylight streaming through the windows. I remembered I was on the sofa and fumbled around on the end table until I found the phone.
“Yeah?” I croaked.
“Vicky Vaughn, please,” said an unfamiliar male voice.
“Speaking.” I rubbed my eyes, wondering what time it was.
“Are you related to a child named Maria Santini?”
I sat straight up. My pulse surged as terrifying words like
“We’ve got her here at the Milk Street checkpoint, Boston side. She was trying to leave the city and enter Designated Area 1. To find you, she says.”
“Don’t let her through.” The idea of Maria wandering around Deadtown by herself terrified me.
“No, ma’am. That’s why I’m calling. She’s an unaccompanied minor without the proper paperwork.”
“What about her parents—shouldn’t you call them, let them know where she is?”
“She won’t give me her folks’ number, and I don’t have time to call all the Santinis in the phone book.”
“My sister’s number is unlisted, but I can—”
“Hang on.” His voice grew distant and muffled as he spoke away from the phone. “Well, this is highly irregular,” he said, coming back on the line, “but she wants to talk to you.”
I waited a moment as he passed her the phone. “Maria?”
“Aunt Vicky, please don’t call my mom. Please. I need to talk to you first.” Desperation pushed her voice to the edge of tears.
“Okay, I won’t. Not until we’ve talked. But you know she’s worried about you.”
Silence.
“Maria, stay right where you are until I get there. I’ll be there in a few minutes, okay?”
“Okay.” Her breath caught in a tiny sob. “Can you hurry?”
“I will, sweetie. I’ll be there as fast as I can. Put the man back on the phone.”
“Yes?” the guard said a moment later.
“I’m on my way. Please keep an eye on her until I get there.”
“Of course. Make sure you bring proper ID. You must prove you’re her aunt. I can’t release a child to just anyone.”
“You’d better not. I’ll be there in ten minutes. What time is it now?”
“Almost ten thirty.”
“Okay. Ten minutes.”
Kane sat in front of me, watching, his ears pricked up. I told him where I was going and scrawled a note for Mab. I didn’t want to disturb Mab in my bedroom, so I raided the bathroom hamper for clothes. I found a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt that weren’t too wrinkled and smelled okay—not that any of that mattered with Maria waiting, alone and frightened.
I grabbed my ID and my passport. In the living room, a bookshelf displayed a framed photograph of Maria and me from last summer. We’d spent the day at an amusement park near Springfield, and when we rode the roller coaster they snapped a photo at the steepest part. Maria and I sat together. She leaned forward, hair streaming back, her cheeks glowing pink, her eyes lit up with excitement. It was my favorite photo of her. I stuck it in my purse. It wouldn’t mean a thing to the border guard, but to me it showed Maria and I were family.
