Лорел Гамильтон - Dead Ice

“Don’t I get a good-bye kiss?” Asher asked.

“No,” I said.

“Ever again?” he asked, and looked sad, though I knew most of it was like pretend pouting.

“Don’t push me tonight, Asher; even you aren’t beautiful enough for the shit you pulled today.”

He started to protest, and I just held up a hand and said, “Enough.”

I wasn’t sure what to do with the three women, so I said, “Whether we do good-bye kisses or not, we’ll discuss.”

“Looking forward to it,” Fortune said.

“As am I,” Magda said.

Echo blew me a kiss.

And I left to watch a live online zombie sex show, and try to catch the evil bastard that was making it possible. It had been a full day, and the night was shaping up to be the same. Of course, except for the addition of extra women, how was this night any different from so many others?

THEY PUT US in one of the conference rooms; I guess Dolph needed his office back. It also gave Brent room to put up what looked like a huge-ass flat-screen TV, but was actually a new monitor, so we didn’t have to crowd around the screen of his portable computer. Honestly, I’d have been okay with the smaller monitor. I really didn’t need to see the glint of terror in the zombie’s eyes quite that clearly, thanks. I think Manning and Gillingham agreed with me.

Unlike most of the films, these cam shows started with an image of the as-yet empty room. It didn’t fill the screen like I’d thought it would though, because there was a sidebar of chat. Brent’s undercover name was one of thirty screen names that were chatting with the computer tech, and with the other customers. They were giving requests for what they wanted the zombie to do, or to be done to the zombie, and then the monitor name typed, “We have enough requests—let’s bring on our star attraction.”

A man’s voice said, “Open the door and walk into the room.” The room’s only door opened. It was the blond zombie that had starred in the first film. She was still only as rotted as we’d seen her last, the once beautiful face made partially cadaverous, but they’d changed her funeral clothes to a red nightie and matching stiletto sandals. The zombie did exactly what she was told, taking the first step into the room and stopping. “Close the door behind you, and walk farther into the room.” She closed the door and took one extra step. The zombie had to obey him, but there was a mind in there with the soul, so she was making it as defiant as the magic would allow. I cheered the effort, even as it made her more real. It was going to be harder to pretend she was just a zombie, and not a person, and that was going to make watching this worse. Distance, emotional distance, or we were all going to have nightmares.

His next order was, “Walk to the bed,” so she had to go all the way in the room now. We couldn’t see her eyes, barely any of her face now, because her hair had spilled forward enough to obscure even her profile.

“Turn around and sit on the side of the bed,” the man said. He had to be back in the same corner as in the earlier films, but none of him was visible now. He was just a voice.

“Ready when you are, Anita,” Brent said.

I’d been briefed; all I had to do was use my necromancy on the zombie on the screen, and on her handler in the corner. I was sure he had a tie to the zombie from the older videos; we were here tonight to see if I could sense more from something happening in real time. It had sounded like a good idea, but suddenly seeing the zombie like this . . . It made her more real, and even more of a victim. Shit.

I’d lowered my shields to try to search the older videos, but this was supposed to be just my necromancy. I opened that part of myself like unclenching a fist, but instead of sending it into a grave, or a cemetery, I aimed it at the zombie I saw on the screen. I don’t know what I expected, but nothing happened. It was like my necromancy didn’t know where to go, or how to get there.

Gillingham shivered, rubbing her hands up and down her arms, as if she was cold. “Your power is amazing, but it’s like it’s just filling the room higher and higher, as if we’ll all drown in it when you finally fill the room.”

“Interesting, I’ve described really strong lycanthrope energy like that.”

“Really?” she said, and started to ask me questions.

“Focus, ladies, you can compare psychic notes later,” Manning said.

Gillingham looked embarrassed, but I was at a loss.

“I don’t know how to direct my power at the zombie there,” I said, pointing.

“Well, she’s not really there,” Brent said. “She’s miles away. Maybe hundreds of miles away.”

“So how do I tell my necromancy where to go?” I asked.

“Try touching the screen,” Brent said. “That helps some people.”

It was worth a try, so I stepped up and touched the screen, over the zombie. I closed my eyes and sent my necromancy through my fingers into the zombie on the screen the same way I’d send my power into the ground to explore a grave, or search a cemetery, or sense for vampires. All the dead belonged to me, all of them, all of them, all of them, even the zombie on the screen, even hundreds of miles away. It was just another zombie. I opened my eyes and found myself staring into the zombie’s face from inches away. One eye was still blue, while the other was gray and shriveled along with that side of her face, but it wasn’t the rot that made her eyes mesmerizing. It was the terror in them, the helpless fucking terror in them.

I touched those eyes and wanted to help her. I wanted to find her and help her. What he’d done was wrong, it was just wrong, and I wanted to fix it, to fix her, to save her. I prayed, “God help me find her. Help me save her from this.”

Her eyes went wide, and I felt the shock of connection. I had her. I could feel it like a thread of power from me to her, because it was her, and to think anything else was lying to myself.

“What did you do just now, Anita?” Brent asked.

“I can feel the zombie, I have her.”

“I can feel you through the keyboard and all over my stuff now. Shit. The technician just typed, ‘Who are you?’ I think he means you.”

The man in the corner who was just a voice said, “Lie down on the bed.”

“He’s typing, ‘Who are you?’ over and over between taking customer chat,” Brent said.

The man who was going to be the zombie’s co-star walked into frame. He was young and in great shape, down to washboard abs, which takes a hell of a lot of gym time and nutrition work to get and maintain. If the face matched the body, he could have been a movie star, but he was wearing one of those black leather hoods that covers the whole face except for the mouth. Even the eye-holes had mesh over them so the color and shape of his eyes were lost.

“Shit,” I said.

“What is it?” Manning said.

“She’s afraid.”

“It shows in her eyes,” Manning agreed.

I shook my head.

“Can you feel her fear?” Gillingham asked.

I nodded, but it was more than that. I could . . . hear her. “She’s praying. She’s praying for help. She’s praying to be saved.”

“You’re not a telepath,” Gillingham said. “How do you know that?”

“I’m not hearing what she’s thinking, I think I’m hearing her prayer, literally hearing her prayer.”

“Interesting,” Gillingham said.

“We’re losing people in the chat and we haven’t even started the sex yet. They don’t drop out this early, not in numbers like this,” Brent said.

“What’s happening then?” Manning asked.

“We started at thirty, and now we’re down to twenty . . . nineteen.”

Gillingham said, “The guy who was monitoring all of it on their end keeps typing Who are you? Who the hell are you? Why are you here? ”