Deader Still

28

When I came to, I was thrilled to see that I didn’t have a sudden craving for human brains. I did, however, find myself in the back of a cab parked outside my apartment in SoHo with the driver giving me a gentle shake into consciousness. The side of my head throbbed to a bossa nova beat and I felt dizzy when I tried to reach for my wallet, but the driver waved me away. Apparently, the ride had already been paid for. I guess it was the least Mina could do after giving me a potentially life-threatening concussion and making away with a multimillion-dollar painting. How she had managed to drag me out into the street while carrying the painting and fleeing the zombies, I had no idea. But at least we hadn’t been caught, and now I hoped I’d never see her again.

On my way up to my apartment, I almost passed out several times as my head swam. After I let myself in, I shuffled across my darkened living room, surprised to find my psychometric powers triggering off everything I touched. Apparently, they were back for good . . . or at least until I ran into the gypsies again. I felt oddly comforted by their return, less alone.

I lowered myself onto my couch, letting it swallow all my pains and kinks from the night. I sat there for a long while, enjoying the quiet. It was nice for a change not to get jumped or find someone lurking in the shadows. My head still ached, but I could live with it.

I made my way to the kitchen and fished some aspirin down from one of the cabinets. Then I noticed my answering machine blinking.

Seventeen new messages.

My stomach tightened. Given my less-than-savory dating history, over ten messages usually meant that I was being dumped. With some hesitance, I hit play and was relieved to discover that only three were from Jane, which meant the likelihood of us still being a couple was high. Those messages were fine, more concerned and checking up to make sure I hadn’t gone off the deep end after hanging up with her. It was messages four through seventeen, though, that had me freaked. All of them were Connor asking me to call him back, and he did not sound happy. Still a bit groggy from my evening, I pulled out my cell phone. Sure enough, there were even more messages from the both of them. The last one simply said to meet Connor at the office; he’d be working late.

Although it was past two now, I ditched my disguise and cleaned myself up in the bathroom before heading over to the Lovecraft Café. A few night owls were sitting in the coffee shop and movie theater, but I paid them only cursory attention as I headed out back to the office. It felt like a long, slow march to the gallows. We hadn’t talked since the gypsies had cursed me earlier in the day, but I had left the show floor all freaked-out.

Connor was at his desk, working his way through a stack of case folders.

“Hey.”

“Ah,” he said, looking up from the file he was writing in. “I was wondering when you were gonna check in with me, kid.”

“Sorry, busy night,” I said, averting my eyes to my own desk. I sat down. “Got a friend in from out of town. We were at dinner.”

“I see,” he said, then fell silent. He went back to work on the file. “So you didn’t catch the news yet.”

“What news?”

“Thought you might be interested in this story they’re running,” he said, “you being all into the art scene. Somebody, or should I say somebodies, broke into the Museum of Modern Art tonight.”

He looked up from his desk and met my eyes. I didn’t dare look away.

“Really?” I said, forcing as much surprise into my voice as I could muster. “Anything interesting stolen?”

He stopped writing, sat back in his chair, and folded his hands over his chest.

“The news isn’t saying what, exactly,” he said, “but here’s the interesting thing. They’ve got David Davidson handling all the press coverage of it.”

“Over a burglary?” I said. I was afraid I knew where this was going.

As far as I knew, Davidson only handled politicking things for the mayor that fell into supernatural jurisdiction.

“Well,” Connor continued matter-of-factly, “the news is already showing footage from the security tapes at the museum. Looks like a small gang of people broke in, at least that’s how Davidson is spinning it. Thing about the footage, though, is how herky jerky most of the gang members look . . . and with Davidson out there running a denial campaign to the local networks, I’m thinking we’ve got a little shuffler and shambler action going on there.”

“Zombie robbers?” I said, once again trying to sound more surprised than guilty.

“That’s the way it looks to me,” he said. “From the footage, it appears that only two living people were the ring leaders on this, a blond couple.”

“How clear are the security tapes?” I asked. “Can you make out their faces?”

“Barely,” he said, and I felt a small wave of relief cool my nerves a bit. “It’s a guy and a girl. From what I can tell, the girl’s kind of hot. I’d hit that.”

I’d hit that too, I thought, rubbing my pained jaw. I’d hit that with a bat if I ever saw her again.

Connor looked at my hands. “I see you’re wearing your gloves again.”

“Yeah,” I said, realizing I had put them back on after triggering off everything in my apartment. “Crazy thing . . . those Illinois gypsies must not be as powerful as we previously thought. Their curse just kinda wore off while I was out . . . with my friend . . . during our appetizers.”

Connor stared me down, but I refused to flinch.

“Anyway,” he said, drawing his words out slowly, almost painfully so. “Hope you enjoyed . . . dinner with your friend.”

He was making it so obvious that he had pieced it together himself that the hair on the back of my neck stood up.

“Fine,” I hissed across to him. “Her name’s Mina. She’s from my past, alright? What do you want me to say? You want a full confession?”

Connor shook his head with disappointment.

“You think that wig would fool me, that I wouldn’t recognize my own partner?” he asked. “I just wanna know why, kid.”

I paused. Mina was my business, and I was damned if I was going to bring everyone into it when it was my mess to clean up. “I . . . can’t tell you,” I said finally.

“There’s a world of difference between can’t and won’t, kid.”

There was such superiority in his voice, I snapped.

“Why don’t you tell me about your letter, then?” I asked.

Connor looked like he’d been slapped in the face.

“We’ve all got our dirty little secrets,” I continued. “So don’t get holier than thou on me, alright?”

“So you know about the letter, then, eh?” he said, standing up. He grabbed his coat from behind him. “Yeah, why don’t we both mind our own business?”

“You’re keeping things from me,” I said, feeling defensive about having been caught. Now I was lashing out.

Connor put on his coat, fished out his keys, and made sure to lock his desk.

“There’s a world of difference between keeping something private and breaking the law while lying to your partner about it,” he shouted. “You don’t want to trust me enough to help you? Fine, kid. But don’t expect me to keep this from the Enchancellors forever, especially since you seem to think you’re running the show around here now, giving the orders.”

“I am giving the orders,” I shouted back. Connor fell silent. “The Inspectre put me in charge of this whole vampire chupacabra mess under the jurisdiction of the Fraternal Order of Goodness. I didn’t tell you because . . . well, because I didn’t want to pull rank, and also because I knew you’d fly off the handle, just like you are now.”

Connor’s eyes widened and he opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t. Instead he just turned around and stormed off, heading for the doors.

I felt like the worst partner in the world. I couldn’t even bring myself to stand up to follow him. What good would it have done anyway?

Fucking things up with everyone around me was becoming my new pastime.