Deadtown
Page 43
Juliet had put the phone down and was sitting up again.
“Who was it?” I asked.
“The garage. Your car’s ready. You can pick it up tomorrow, but they close at noon.”
The phone rang again. “Ah, this must be for me,” Juliet said, reaching over to answer it. But she spoke only for a moment, saying nothing more than hello and okay before she hung up.
“That was Clyde,” she said. “You’ve got a visitor on the way up.”
Before I could ask who it was, there was a knock at the door. I lay my sword on the coffee table and went over to answer. I’d barely turned the knob when the door flew open and a furious Tina flounced into the room.
“Where were you?” she demanded.
“Huh?”
She pushed past me and went over to a chair, where she dropped the armload of extra clothing she’d been wearing to protect her skin from the late afternoon sun: baseball hat, hooded sweatshirt, scarf, gloves, sunglasses, even an umbrella. That left her with a pink T-shirt emblazoned with the word
FLIRTATIOUS in sparkly letters and a baby-blue pair of low-slung jeans, along with sneakers that looked like astronaut shoes.
She put her hands on her hips and glared at me. “Where were you yesterday? When we were supposed to go over my lesson?”
“Lesson?” asked Juliet.
Tina answered Juliet but kept looking at me. “Yeah, Vicky promised I could be her apprentice. She promised to teach me about demon slaying. But obviously, she lied.”
Oh, no. I’d forgotten all about quizzing Tina on the first twenty-five pages of Russom’s.
“I’m sorry, Tina.”
“So what were you doing?”
“Well, let’s see—fighting off a kidnapping attempt and shapeshifting into a panther, for starters. I didn’t even come out of the shift until after ten. And then I was late for a job, so I had to rush over to the North End.”
Tina’s bloodred eyes went wide for a moment. Then she rolled them. “Oh, please. You expect me to believe a lame story like that?”
“You’re as bad as my client. How come nobody ever believes me? Ask Juliet.”
Tina turned to Juliet, who smiled and held out her hands, palms up. “That’s what she told me. Unless she was lying to me, too.”
“Thanks a lot.” I put my hand on Tina’s shoulder, but she shrugged it off. “Did you even read the first chapter?” I asked. “When I saw you the night before, you didn’t sound too interested.”
“I read fifty pages. Go ahead; quiz me. Ask me anything.”
“Okay. What kind of demons was I fighting in Mr. Funderburk’s dream?”
Another eye roll. “That’s so easy. Inimicus somniorum, popularly known as Drudes, or dream-demons. Here’s their classification: kingdom, spiritus; phylum, malus; class, demonia; order, terrificus; family, conjuratus; genus, Inimicus; species, somniorum.” She ticked off the categories on her fingers. “Drudes feed off fear, taking the form of whatever scares the victim most, causing nightmares. They’re usually generated by the victim’s own psyche, although they can be conjured. Occasionally, other kinds of demons can enter the victim’s dreamscape by taking the form of a Drude.”
“Wow,” Juliet said.
I was impressed, too.
“What do you want to hear about next: Eidolons or Harpies?”
“No, no, that’s okay, Tina. I believe you studied. And I’m sorry I didn’t show up for the lesson.”
“So let’s do it now.”
“I can’t. I’ve got a lot going on at the moment.”
“I knew you didn’t mean it.” Her eyes were accusing. “I knew you wouldn’t really teach me.”
“I will. Especially now that I know you’ll study. But I can’t start today.”
“Why not?” She looked around the room as though she’d just noticed it. “And how come all your furniture is pushed over there?”
“Vicky’s practicing fighting left-handed,” Juliet said.
“Cool!” Suddenly Tina was all smiles. “Can I watch?”
I was going to say no. I probably should have said no, and sent Tina on her way. She needed to study demons for a full year before we moved on to fighting techniques—I’d studied books and books and more books for all those summers before Mab let me even look at a sword. But I felt bad about letting Tina down. Or maybe I’m just a pushover for teenage zombies with accusing eyes.
“Okay. But stay out of the way.”
I picked up the sword and hefted it. My left arm was less sore and, I thought, getting stronger. Because of our flexible forms, shapeshifters’ muscles are more responsive than those of humans. Results that would take a human six months of hitting the gym, I could get in a week. With each thrust and parry, I was getting a little stronger. And I was starting to feel it.
I went through the routine again, slowly, explaining each move to Tina. Juliet offered some pointers, too, tips that “Jock”—the great Giacomo di Grassi (I still couldn’t get over that)—had told her more than four hundred years ago. Talking it through helped. My movements began to make more sense to me, and soon they were flowing almost naturally.
“That’s a cool sword,” Tina said.
“It’s called the sword of Saint Michael,” I explained. “My aunt gave it to me when I completed my training. Sort of a graduation present. It’s got a bronze blade—”
“Because bronze is lethal to most demons.” Tina smiled, proud of herself. “I read that in the book you gave me.”
“That’s right. And a golden hilt to represent purity of purpose. Before a battle, I prepare the blade with sacramental wine and bless it. When a demon appears, the sword bursts into flame.”
“Awesome. Make it do that.”
I shook my head. “Not here. It’d set off the sprinkler system. Anyway, it’s not dark outside yet. No demons around to light it up.”
Tina seemed disappointed, then she brightened. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you pretend to fight me? I mean, you’re doing really great and all, but in real life, demons don’t just stand around and watch your moves, right? They, like, come right at you.”
“Tina, it’s too early to—”
“She has a point,” said Juliet. “Jock said more or less the same thing: Even the most elegant swordsman must be able to stand against an opponent, or he’s nothing.”
I considered. It actually wasn’t a bad idea. When Difethwr’s master let it loose, that Hellion was going to put everything it had into destroying me. It wasn’t about to give me a handicap because I had to fight left-handed. I glanced at Tina, who was watching me hopefully. She couldn’t shoot fire out of her eyes (thank the gods), but maybe she could help me see and react to unpredictable attacks, blows coming at me from any direction. But Tina had zero fencing experience. And it really was too early to start her on swordplay.
I turned to Juliet. “I don’t suppose you’d . . .”
She shook her head. “Not me,” she said. “I might break a nail.”
Yeah, let’s focus on the important stuff. I sighed. “Okay, Tina. We’ll give it a try.”
The young zombie bounced up and down with excitement as I opened the weapons cabinet. “Wow,” she breathed as she examined the array of swords, knives, crossbows, and guns. “Where did you get all this stuff?”
“Some of it’s been passed down through my family. Some of it I had custom-made in Wales. A few pieces”—I picked up an automatic pistol—“I got locally. The modern stuff, mostly. There’s a shop in Allston where you can buy all kinds of occult weapons. It’s mostly for witches, but the owner also keeps an eye out for gear I can use. He sold me the dream portal and the InDetect I use to find Drudes.”
“You mean that clicking thing you point around?”
“That’s the one.”
Tina’s face lost its eager expression as I got out two wooden swords. I smiled, remembering I’d reacted the same way when Mab first taught me swordplay. “These are for practice,” I said. “They can’t do much more damage than a splinter.”
“But I wanted to use that one.” Tina pointed at a huge claymore taller than she was.
“Uh-uh. I don’t want either of us to get hurt.”
“I can’t get hurt. I’m already dead.”
“Yes, but if I slice your arm off, will you grow a new one?”
“No.” She sulked for a minute, then brightened. “Okay, we can use the kiddie swords, I guess. It’ll still be fun.”
And it was. Tina was a little stiff, as zombies tend to be, but she was a fast learner and put her heart into it. After half an hour, I was panting for breath.
“Nice work,” I said. “You have a talent for fencing.”
She beamed. “You sit down. Rest. I’ll put the swords away.”
I gave her mine and flopped onto the sofa. The phone rang. “Ah, that must be dinner,” said Juliet. “I’ll get it in the kitchen.”
Tina looked hopeful. “Did she order takeout?” I shook my head. “What, then?”
“Don’t ask,” I said.
Not only did Tina put away the practice swords, neatly closing the cabinet doors, she single-handedly moved all the furniture back into place—including the sofa, with me on it. Zombie strength could come in handy sometimes.
Juliet came back in the living room. “Dinner at eight,” she said cheerfully. When she saw that the furniture was back where it belonged, she turned on the TV. I got up, and she settled back into her regular spot on the sofa to watch the local news.
“I’ve got to go to work,” I said. “And you”—I pointed at Tina—“need to get ready for school.”
“Yeah, yeah. So when do I get another lesson?”
“Who was it?” I asked.
“The garage. Your car’s ready. You can pick it up tomorrow, but they close at noon.”
The phone rang again. “Ah, this must be for me,” Juliet said, reaching over to answer it. But she spoke only for a moment, saying nothing more than hello and okay before she hung up.
“That was Clyde,” she said. “You’ve got a visitor on the way up.”
Before I could ask who it was, there was a knock at the door. I lay my sword on the coffee table and went over to answer. I’d barely turned the knob when the door flew open and a furious Tina flounced into the room.
“Where were you?” she demanded.
“Huh?”
She pushed past me and went over to a chair, where she dropped the armload of extra clothing she’d been wearing to protect her skin from the late afternoon sun: baseball hat, hooded sweatshirt, scarf, gloves, sunglasses, even an umbrella. That left her with a pink T-shirt emblazoned with the word
FLIRTATIOUS in sparkly letters and a baby-blue pair of low-slung jeans, along with sneakers that looked like astronaut shoes.
She put her hands on her hips and glared at me. “Where were you yesterday? When we were supposed to go over my lesson?”
“Lesson?” asked Juliet.
Tina answered Juliet but kept looking at me. “Yeah, Vicky promised I could be her apprentice. She promised to teach me about demon slaying. But obviously, she lied.”
Oh, no. I’d forgotten all about quizzing Tina on the first twenty-five pages of Russom’s.
“I’m sorry, Tina.”
“So what were you doing?”
“Well, let’s see—fighting off a kidnapping attempt and shapeshifting into a panther, for starters. I didn’t even come out of the shift until after ten. And then I was late for a job, so I had to rush over to the North End.”
Tina’s bloodred eyes went wide for a moment. Then she rolled them. “Oh, please. You expect me to believe a lame story like that?”
“You’re as bad as my client. How come nobody ever believes me? Ask Juliet.”
Tina turned to Juliet, who smiled and held out her hands, palms up. “That’s what she told me. Unless she was lying to me, too.”
“Thanks a lot.” I put my hand on Tina’s shoulder, but she shrugged it off. “Did you even read the first chapter?” I asked. “When I saw you the night before, you didn’t sound too interested.”
“I read fifty pages. Go ahead; quiz me. Ask me anything.”
“Okay. What kind of demons was I fighting in Mr. Funderburk’s dream?”
Another eye roll. “That’s so easy. Inimicus somniorum, popularly known as Drudes, or dream-demons. Here’s their classification: kingdom, spiritus; phylum, malus; class, demonia; order, terrificus; family, conjuratus; genus, Inimicus; species, somniorum.” She ticked off the categories on her fingers. “Drudes feed off fear, taking the form of whatever scares the victim most, causing nightmares. They’re usually generated by the victim’s own psyche, although they can be conjured. Occasionally, other kinds of demons can enter the victim’s dreamscape by taking the form of a Drude.”
“Wow,” Juliet said.
I was impressed, too.
“What do you want to hear about next: Eidolons or Harpies?”
“No, no, that’s okay, Tina. I believe you studied. And I’m sorry I didn’t show up for the lesson.”
“So let’s do it now.”
“I can’t. I’ve got a lot going on at the moment.”
“I knew you didn’t mean it.” Her eyes were accusing. “I knew you wouldn’t really teach me.”
“I will. Especially now that I know you’ll study. But I can’t start today.”
“Why not?” She looked around the room as though she’d just noticed it. “And how come all your furniture is pushed over there?”
“Vicky’s practicing fighting left-handed,” Juliet said.
“Cool!” Suddenly Tina was all smiles. “Can I watch?”
I was going to say no. I probably should have said no, and sent Tina on her way. She needed to study demons for a full year before we moved on to fighting techniques—I’d studied books and books and more books for all those summers before Mab let me even look at a sword. But I felt bad about letting Tina down. Or maybe I’m just a pushover for teenage zombies with accusing eyes.
“Okay. But stay out of the way.”
I picked up the sword and hefted it. My left arm was less sore and, I thought, getting stronger. Because of our flexible forms, shapeshifters’ muscles are more responsive than those of humans. Results that would take a human six months of hitting the gym, I could get in a week. With each thrust and parry, I was getting a little stronger. And I was starting to feel it.
I went through the routine again, slowly, explaining each move to Tina. Juliet offered some pointers, too, tips that “Jock”—the great Giacomo di Grassi (I still couldn’t get over that)—had told her more than four hundred years ago. Talking it through helped. My movements began to make more sense to me, and soon they were flowing almost naturally.
“That’s a cool sword,” Tina said.
“It’s called the sword of Saint Michael,” I explained. “My aunt gave it to me when I completed my training. Sort of a graduation present. It’s got a bronze blade—”
“Because bronze is lethal to most demons.” Tina smiled, proud of herself. “I read that in the book you gave me.”
“That’s right. And a golden hilt to represent purity of purpose. Before a battle, I prepare the blade with sacramental wine and bless it. When a demon appears, the sword bursts into flame.”
“Awesome. Make it do that.”
I shook my head. “Not here. It’d set off the sprinkler system. Anyway, it’s not dark outside yet. No demons around to light it up.”
Tina seemed disappointed, then she brightened. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you pretend to fight me? I mean, you’re doing really great and all, but in real life, demons don’t just stand around and watch your moves, right? They, like, come right at you.”
“Tina, it’s too early to—”
“She has a point,” said Juliet. “Jock said more or less the same thing: Even the most elegant swordsman must be able to stand against an opponent, or he’s nothing.”
I considered. It actually wasn’t a bad idea. When Difethwr’s master let it loose, that Hellion was going to put everything it had into destroying me. It wasn’t about to give me a handicap because I had to fight left-handed. I glanced at Tina, who was watching me hopefully. She couldn’t shoot fire out of her eyes (thank the gods), but maybe she could help me see and react to unpredictable attacks, blows coming at me from any direction. But Tina had zero fencing experience. And it really was too early to start her on swordplay.
I turned to Juliet. “I don’t suppose you’d . . .”
She shook her head. “Not me,” she said. “I might break a nail.”
Yeah, let’s focus on the important stuff. I sighed. “Okay, Tina. We’ll give it a try.”
The young zombie bounced up and down with excitement as I opened the weapons cabinet. “Wow,” she breathed as she examined the array of swords, knives, crossbows, and guns. “Where did you get all this stuff?”
“Some of it’s been passed down through my family. Some of it I had custom-made in Wales. A few pieces”—I picked up an automatic pistol—“I got locally. The modern stuff, mostly. There’s a shop in Allston where you can buy all kinds of occult weapons. It’s mostly for witches, but the owner also keeps an eye out for gear I can use. He sold me the dream portal and the InDetect I use to find Drudes.”
“You mean that clicking thing you point around?”
“That’s the one.”
Tina’s face lost its eager expression as I got out two wooden swords. I smiled, remembering I’d reacted the same way when Mab first taught me swordplay. “These are for practice,” I said. “They can’t do much more damage than a splinter.”
“But I wanted to use that one.” Tina pointed at a huge claymore taller than she was.
“Uh-uh. I don’t want either of us to get hurt.”
“I can’t get hurt. I’m already dead.”
“Yes, but if I slice your arm off, will you grow a new one?”
“No.” She sulked for a minute, then brightened. “Okay, we can use the kiddie swords, I guess. It’ll still be fun.”
And it was. Tina was a little stiff, as zombies tend to be, but she was a fast learner and put her heart into it. After half an hour, I was panting for breath.
“Nice work,” I said. “You have a talent for fencing.”
She beamed. “You sit down. Rest. I’ll put the swords away.”
I gave her mine and flopped onto the sofa. The phone rang. “Ah, that must be dinner,” said Juliet. “I’ll get it in the kitchen.”
Tina looked hopeful. “Did she order takeout?” I shook my head. “What, then?”
“Don’t ask,” I said.
Not only did Tina put away the practice swords, neatly closing the cabinet doors, she single-handedly moved all the furniture back into place—including the sofa, with me on it. Zombie strength could come in handy sometimes.
Juliet came back in the living room. “Dinner at eight,” she said cheerfully. When she saw that the furniture was back where it belonged, she turned on the TV. I got up, and she settled back into her regular spot on the sofa to watch the local news.
“I’ve got to go to work,” I said. “And you”—I pointed at Tina—“need to get ready for school.”
“Yeah, yeah. So when do I get another lesson?”
