Anton Strout - Deader Still

“We can stay here doing damage control,” I said, “or we can get to the root of the problem and take care of it.”

“No more making with the squishy brains?” Jane said.

“Please don’t talk about that right now,” Godfrey said, his voice weaker than usual. “Trying not to throw up here.”

I looked behind me, and sure enough, Godfrey looked a little gray in the face. Not as gray as some of the leathery corpses shambling through the crowd, but close enough that I stopped talking about it.

“Fine,” I said, leading the two of them off toward the main branch of the New York Public Library. “Let’s go check out some books.”

Jane held her own, weaving through the crowd, but Godfrey was more or less stunned by the chaos erupting around us and Jane pulled him along behind. When we emerged from the tent, she let go.

“Go on, Godfrey, get out of here,” I said, and looked up at the architectural marvel that was the library.

“I can help,” he said, all meek, still looking rather shell-shocked.

“You can help by not dying,” I said. I turned to him and shook him until he looked directly at me. “Don’t be a fool. Those things are vicious and there’re way too many of them.”

“Yes,” Jane added, “and they’re icky.”

“That, too,” I said, nodding. “Go across the street and keep an eye out for the Inspectre until the police arrive.”

Godfrey nodded, adjusted his glasses, and headed off across the street through traffic. Several cars slammed on their brakes and honked, but by then Godfrey had made it across safely.

“Come on,” I said to Jane, and set off in search of a way into the library.

As long as I had lived in New York, I had never really taken stock of the library, but running around the foot of it while we searched for an entrance, I was impressed by its old-world grandeur and the sheer size of it. The library ran an entire two blocks from Fortieth to Forty-second streets, and was massive. We circled the building hand in hand and came around to the main entrance on Fifth Avenue, its many stairs and two stone lions gated off from the regular sidewalk.

“If those lions come to life or anything,” Jane said, “I may just pee on myself.”

“Sexy,” I said. I started climbing over one of the police barriers. I held my hand out to help her over. “It’s okay. I think I already did earlier.”

“And that’s why we make such a perfect couple,” she said.

Since Jane was still in her full-length evening gown, she sat sidesaddle on top of the barrier as I steadied her and threw her legs over it. Taking our time, we made our way up the steps, looking for any sign of movement, especially from those menacing-looking lions.

“You know, this would be terribly romantic if it weren’t for all the undead stuff,” she said.

Most of the doors to the library were revolving ones, but all the way toward the right side was a set of standard doors. I retracted my bat, reholstered it at my side, and fished around inside my tuxedo pocket for my lock picks.

I hesitated as I recalled pulling them out to use for Mina’s break-in. Then I looked Jane square in the eyes and pulled the leather case out. I unrolled it, exposing the pick sets.

I gulped. Though things had been much better between us lately, the stuff Jane had said about being more open in our relationship was something I really needed to work on. “Jane,” I said. “You’re not the only one with a dark past around here. I haven’t been honest about everything lately . . .”

She glanced down at the lock picks, eyebrows raised, then stopped me by putting her hand on my arm.

“There will be time for all that later,” she said, “but right now, I think we have a problem.”

“That’s the understatement of the evening,” I said, almost laughing and feeling relieved just for having opened up and owning a small part of my past.

Jane rolled her eyes, then pointed toward the door. “A more immediate one,” she said. “Are you sure those picks are going to work?”

I looked where she was pointing, only to realize that the door had an electronic lock. I slid the lock picks back into my pocket and started feeling around in my jacket.

“Crap,” I said.

“What’s wrong?”

“I can’t pick it, but I can use my power on it.” I thought about the last time I had done this. Mina had put a gun to my head that time at the Museum of Modern Art, but I figured I could read the lock the same way, and without that kind of pressure on me this time. “Thing is, I’m out of Life Savers, and if I use my power, I don’t want to pass out once we get in there.”

“You’re out?” she asked. “You always have them on you!”

“They’re in my regular jacket,” I said. “Sheesh, when you switch out purses, haven’t you ever left something in the old one by mistake?”

Jane turned away and looked toward the street. I thought she was pissed at me. We really didn’t have time for this.

“Will a pretzel do?”

“What?” I said. I turned and looked. One of New York’s thousands of street vendors was set up at the corner of Fifth and Forty-second.

I nodded and knelt down in front of the lock. “Umm, sure. The carbs in it should convert to sugar. I’ll get working on the lock if you go get me one.”

I handed her a five.

“Keep the change,” I said. “And thanks.”

“What change?” she said. “When’s the last time you bought street food?”

Jane hiked up her dress and ran down the steps toward the vendor cart. I turned back to the door and grabbed the electronic keypad in both hands. This time I felt an immediate connection with it, and my mind slipped into the psychometric past of the object.

It was nighttime in my vision, and I was in the head of a guard. He was at the door, punching his code in, and quick as that, I had what I needed. I pulled myself out of the vision to find that Jane had returned and was holding out a pretzel.

“You look kinda creepy when you do that whole thing, hon,” she said.

Feeling shaky, I stayed on my knees and took the pretzel from her.

“Your face kinda glazes over and your eyes go all dull.”

“Sorry,” I said. “I’ll work on that.”

Jane shrugged. “No big. Just thought you might want to know.”

I wolfed down the pretzel and waited several minutes until I started to feel better before pulling on my gloves and punching in the code for the door. Anything I could do to keep my power in check under the craziness that was tonight helped. The little light on the electronic lock turned green. I pushed the door open and stepped into the spooky darkness of the library.

I eased in, my eyes taking a moment to adjust to the darkness. Jane followed right behind me, clutching my hand.

“You sure this is where Cyrus is?” she whispered.

I spied something off to the left of the interior doors. It was the unconscious body of the guard I had just seen in my psychometric flash.

“Pretty sure,” I said.

We had to be brief, but we took the time to check him to see how badly he was injured. Aside from a lump on the back of his head, the guard looked like he was in good enough condition to leave there for now.

“Well, if we just follow the trail of bodies, we’ll be okay,” I said. I grabbed Jane by the hand and the two of us headed farther into the library.

The sound of the battle outside in Bryant Park was hard to miss as we entered the library’s main room. Books ringed the room behind rails that led down to a sunken research area filled with long wooden tables and hooded lamps. The ceiling rose several stories above us, marble walls and vaulted windows to either side. Four-tiered chandeliers hung from a faux blue sky with fluffy white clouds on it. It was a calming scene, given the circumstances. I thought maybe I should start using my library card after all this was over.