C.E. Murphy - Walking Dead

It also signaled everybody around me to suddenly get very busy, and the noise level suddenly shot back up where it belonged. Only Billy and Suzy were left looking at me worriedly, and neither of them seemed in the slightest bit convinced when I said, “It’s nothing. Forget it. Billy, you think Chan’s ghost might still be around?”

“Not if he’s lucky. Why?”

I could see him not asking what’d brought on my crying jag. I was more grateful than I could say. “Because he’s our only witness as to what happened to the cauldron and Redding, and I want to see if there’s anything else he can remember. I don’t know where else to start. Can you call Sonata and have her meet you at the museum to try a séance?” I pinched the bridge of my nose, which was still swollen with tears. “I mean, can mediums actually call spirits who’ve crossed over back again to talk? I know you can’t, but—”

“Sonny’s stronger than I am,” Billy said without rancor. “She might be able to. I’ll call and find out, but what do you mean, meet me? Where are you going?”

“I’m going to go get Gary and my drum. If Sonny can call Jason back as far as the Dead Zone, I ought to be able to talk to him there.”

“What about me?” Suzanne’s voice said she knew exactly what the answer was, but I gave her props for asking.

“You’re staying here. It’s not that I don’t think you’d be helpful, Suzy, because you probably would be. But you’re fourteen, and this is a kidnapping and murder case, and there are zombies out there.”

“I’m old enou—”

“Yes. You are. You’re old enough to take care of yourself. But you’re also my responsibility right now, okay? You put yourself in my hands by coming up here. Let me try to keep you safe, Suzy. Please. I don’t know what happens if I’m trying to watch out for you, as well as myself.” I wondered if that argument would have gone over well with Thor. It didn’t go over all that well with Suzanne, but her shoulders slumped in agreement anyway. I said, “Thank you,” and meant it. “Call me if you get any more future flashes, okay?” I wrote down both Billy’s and my cell numbers, and Suzy folded the paper into her hand.

“Be careful, Detective Walker.”

“I will be.” I gave her another quick hug and grabbed my belongings as I headed for the door. Billy fell into step behind me, catching my elbow at the door and pulling a bulletproof vest off the wall. “Zombies don’t use guns, Billy. They chew you to death. Have you heard from Patrick? Did the holy-water brigade do any good?”

“Put it on anyway.” Billy sealed a vest in place across his own broad chest. I struggled into mine on the way down the stairs while he dialed Patrick, though the sigh he let out at the end of the conversation didn’t fill me with confidence. “It worked in a lot of places, but not everywhere. Sonata’s out with a lot of the other talent in the city, trying to keep things calm. I’ll call her from the car.”

“Talent.” I scraped a little snort of laughter. “Is that what we call ourselves? All the witches and mediums and shamans?”

“Oh my,” Billy said a bit compulsively. “And, yeah, it is. Joanie.” He touched my shoulder as we hit the parking lot, and I turned back to him with a frown. “What happened with Morrison?”

For a few seconds the question just didn’t make sense. Then understanding flooded me, and color burned my face. “Nothing. Nothing. Morrison and I are fine. It’s Thor. I—we—we just broke up.”

Dismay made Billy’s face long. “Oh. Oh, crap. I’m sorry, Joanne. I thought things were going pretty well for you two. What happened?”

I looked down at myself. I was wearing a bulletproof vest and a gun, and a still-glowing sword at my hip. I could see hints of light from my necklace and bracelet, and if I thought about it I could feel the weight of my esoteric shield on my left arm. The Sight washed on, making all of those things much clearer, and I lifted my gaze again to meet Billy’s, knowing full well my eyes had gone gold and spooky. “What do you think happened?”

“Yeah,” he said after a long minute. “Yeah, I guess I can see that. Sorry.”

“Yeah.” I pulled the rapier from my hip and tossed it into Petite’s backseat. “So am I.”

My apartment was only a five-minute drive from the precinct building. I ran up the stairs, noticing that the vest’s extra weight didn’t slow me down. It would have, not that long ago. I’d become studly sometime in the last year. I grabbed my drum and thudded back down five stories while phoning Gary. “You said you didn’t want to miss out on any more fun stuff. Does fighting off hordes of undead sound like fun?”

“Lady, you got a weird idea of fun.” Gary sounded thrilled. “Where’re we meeting?”

“That depends on where you are.”

“Home, but I can get into the city fast.” Gary lived in a three-bedroom ranch-style house on the edge of Bellevue. It’d been paid off thirty years ago and recently renovated. I figured if he sold the place he’d be a millionaire.

“I’m in Petite. It’ll be faster for me to come get you.” That wasn’t precisely true, but I no longer had Doherty on my tail and I had a serious urge to bury my sorrows in speed. The one danger in driving like a bat out of hell—aside from the inherent danger of driving like a bat out of hell, that is—was that Petite was a very recognizable car. There weren’t that many liquid purple classic Mustangs out there, and only one of them had a license plate reading PETITE. Still, I’d yet to meet the cop car I couldn’t outrun, and I might even get away with claiming police business if I did get caught. “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. If you’ve got a shotgun, bring it along.”

“Fifteen? Since when do you have a transporter bea—”

I hung up and made it to Gary’s house in eleven and a half minutes. He was waiting outside the front door, a sawed-off shotgun over one shoulder and an expression of disapproving delight marring his features. I didn’t bother killing the engine, letting Petite grumble as Gary slid the gun into the backseat with my sword, then crawled in the passenger side to say, “What kept you?”

“The bridge slowed me down.” At least there hadn’t been any zombies on it, just ordinary traffic. I filled him in on the day as I sped back into Seattle proper, ending with, “So I want you to drum me under for the séance. If we can get anything from Chan, then we go monster hunting.”

“What if we don’t?” It was possible I was driving too fast. Classic Mustangs didn’t have oh-shit handles, but Gary kept reaching for one. “And you think I drive by using the Force?”

“At least I look where I’m going.” We spun out coming into the museum parking lot, though if it hadn’t been empty I wouldn’t have indulged. Look, driving fast cars was the next best thing to sex, and I’d just written off any hope of a sex life for the foreseeable future. I wanted my thrills where I could take them.

Gary let go a bellow that sounded one part terrified and two parts excited, then fell back in his seat, clutching his heart. “I had a heart attack four months ago, you crazy dame!”

I called up a handful of healing magic and thumped my hand over his, against his chest. It fluttered and sank in, and I smiled. “Yeah, and the doctor said you’ve now got the heart of a twenty-five-year-old. You can handle a joyride or two, Muldoon.”

“You’re dangerous, lady.”

“You have no idea.” I got out of the car not knowing why I’d said that, but it made me feel strong and confident, which, right then, I was glad of. Gary collected his gun and my drum. I put the rapier back on and looked up to find him frowning at me.