Deadtown (35 page)

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I couldn’t believe it. Using Saint Michael’s sword for her Halloween costume. Sacrilege—that’s what it was. Not to mention the end of the entire city of Boston if I didn’t get the sword back before sunset.

I jumped up from the sofa. It was eight thirty. Tina would be tucked into her bed now, like all good little zombies. I was going to go over to her group home, and I was going to take back my sword. And while I was there, I’d confiscate
Russom’s
, too. If Tina couldn’t figure out the difference between the archangel’s sword and a toy, there was no way she’d ever become a demon fighter. No way.

 

 

“NO, DEAR. TINA’S NOT HERE. SHE NEVER CAME HOME AT all this morning. I’m quite worried.”

Tina’s house mother sat behind a reception desk, looking like the zombie version of Mrs. Butterworth: plump face, gray hair pulled back in a bun, little half-moon glasses that she peered over when she spoke. Her looks made a weird combination with her spongy, pitted zombie complexion and bloodred eyes. She fluttered with anxiety about her missing charge.

“She’s okay,” I said. “She called me just before eight this morning.” Tricky timing—she must’ve figured that Juliet would be asleep and I wouldn’t be back from my job yet. Her best chance for getting voice mail instead of speaking to someone.

“Oh, I’m so glad! Such a relief. Where is she?”

“She didn’t say.”

Mrs. Butterworth shook her head, smiling. “That Tina certainly is a pistol, isn’t she?”

“She’s something, all right.”

I thought of asking if I could search Tina’s room, but I doubted Mrs. Butterworth would let me. Besides, there was no point. Tina hadn’t been back here since she left yesterday afternoon. The sword would be wherever she was.

Maybe the house mother would have a clue about that. “Do you know where Tina likes to hang out?”

“Oh, I don’t know. The usual teen places, I suppose. I just supervise the house.”

Teen hangouts—in Deadtown? There was no such thing. Only a handful of teenagers and children had been caught in the plague zone. Like Tina and her friend. I had no idea where they went, besides school.

Maybe her friend could help. “Can I talk to Jenna?”

Mrs. Butterworth smiled. “That Jenna. She and Tina are like this.” She held up two twined fingers. “It’s so nice for the young ones when they have a friend. But Jenna’s not here, dear. She didn’t come home, either. Wherever one of those girls is, you’ll find the other as well.”

 

 

I TRUDGED AROUND DEADTOWN FOR A WHILE, TRYING TO think where Tina could be. I was alone on the empty streets. The werewolves were on retreat. Vampires couldn’t come out into the daylight, and most zombies didn’t dare. Stores were closed, everything was shuttered and silent. Deadtown was shut down for the day and, true to its name, wouldn’t come back to life until after sunset.

Craning my neck, I scanned the tall buildings that housed Boston’s paranormal population. Blackout shades blocked every window. Tina could be behind any one of them, but I’d never find her. Trying to locate a zombie here would be like groping, blindfolded, to find one particular grain of sand on a mile-long beach.

Hopeless, I wandered the streets until it was time to go meet Gwen.

 

 

QUINCY MARKET, NEAR BOSTON’S WATERFRONT, HAS BEEN a marketplace for nearly two hundred years. The Colonnade is the food hall, a central building made of granite, two stories tall and more than five hundred feet long. Visitors walk up a few steps and past massive granite columns to get inside, where they can stroll down the long central aisle and buy food ranging from sushi to cannoli to New England clam chowder, from kebabs to enchiladas to ice cream. On either side of the Colonnade are two other long, rectangular buildings, less grand, called North Market and South Market. These hold restaurants, clothing shops, jewelry and housewares stores, and carts where tourists can buy all kinds of souvenirs.

It was a beautiful, crisp, clear October day, and the market was packed. Tourists and locals jostled each other as they milled around, wandering through the pedestrian areas and in and out of buildings. I was glad I’d gotten there early; I’d had to wait more than half an hour to snag a table for five.

I was sitting in a pizzeria in North Market, with a good view of the open brick plaza in front of the Colonnade, a favorite spot for street performers. Right now, a one-man band played there, while “living statues”—Samuel Adams in bronze makeup, the Statue of Liberty in copper green—posed stiffly as passersby stopped to see if they’d blink. Occasionally, one or the other would move suddenly, making half the audience jump. I spotted Gwen and the kids when Zachary ran up and poked the Statue of Liberty. Gwen dragged him away, and thirty seconds later they stood in the doorway. I waved them over.

Act like everything’s normal,
I reminded myself as the older kids ran over, followed by a frazzled-looking Gwen, who carried Justin on her hip. In just a few hours, they’d be safely back in Needham. I smiled, hoping it didn’t look like a grimace, and gave Maria a hug and a kiss on the top of her head. Zack shook my hand, all grown up at five.

I’d already asked for a high chair for Justin, and as Gwen got him settled, Maria and Zack argued about what kind of pizza to get. Maria didn’t like anything spicy; Zack didn’t like anything that remotely resembled a vegetable. We settled on a large plain cheese pizza for the kids and a small one with artichoke hearts and black olives for Gwen and me. Sodas all around—no caffeine for the kids, though. “They’ve had enough stimulation for one day,” Gwen said.

She produced three small boxes of crayons, and the kids got busy drawing pictures on the backs of their paper place-mats. She watched them for a moment, then smiled at me. “I should’ve been a Boy Scout,” she said. “With kids, my motto has become ‘Be prepared.’ ”

She sat back in her chair, blew out her cheeks, and smiled at me. “Hey, I like your necklace.” She motioned at the amulet. “You never wear jewelry.”

“Thanks. It was a gift from a friend.”

We chatted about normal stuff, Gwen doing most of the talking: how the kids were doing in school, Maria’s soccer games—this was her first year in the Youth Soccer League—neighborhood gossip, Nick’s hopes for a promotion at work. When the pizzas came, she chose a skinny slice from the plain and cut it into small pieces for Justin, who immediately started smearing tomato sauce all over his face. Zack wouldn’t let his mom cut up his pizza for him; after one slice, his face wasn’t much cleaner than his baby brother’s.

“So what have you guys been doing all morning?” I asked. “You left awfully early—I tried to call around eight, but you were already gone.”

Gwen’s eyes slid away from mine. “Oh, we—”

“We went to the hospital an’ saw a doctor!” Zack shouted. “We got stuck with needles this big”—he held his hands about ten inches apart—“an’ it hurt!”

“Zachary.” Gwen’s voice held a warning tone.

Maria whacked her brother under the table. “Shut up, dummy! Mom said we’re not supposed to tell,” she said in a stage whisper loud enough to be heard two tables over.

Gwen smiled in a tight-lipped way that said she didn’t want to talk about it. Fine with me. I was more than happy to avoid the details of the kids’ medical charts.

Then it dawned on me. Oh, no. “Gwen, you didn’t.”

“I don’t want to discuss this now, Vicky. Not in front of the kids.”

“Sheila Gravett is not interested in helping you. I don’t care what lies she told you.” My voice was rising, but I couldn’t help it. “The woman has no ethics. You know how those werewolf experiments turned out. What’s next—a Cerddorion clone?”

“What does that mean?” asked Maria, eyes wide.

I took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Okay, Gwen was right. I shouldn’t be scaring the kids with tales of medical abuse. But talking about it was one thing—actually taking them to Gravett, letting her poke and prod them, was another. I glared at Gwen.

“It doesn’t mean anything, honey,” I said, smoothing a strand of Maria’s blonde hair behind her ear. “I just got carried away. I don’t like doctors.” I wrinkled my nose to show my distaste.

“Me either!” proclaimed Zack. “ ’Specially not the kind with needles.”

“She just drew some blood samples, Vicky. That’s all she needed. I doubt we’ll ever hear from her again.”

I wasn’t so sure. Gravett was greedy and ambitious. She didn’t care if her research caused harm. And she’d lied to a mother about her intentions regarding her kids. If Gravett would stoop that low, she was capable of anything. Gwen had cooperated this far, and I’d bet she’d have trouble getting rid of Gravett in the future. We’d have to talk about it, but not now.

Searching for a topic that would get the kids’ minds on something else, I asked about their Halloween plans.

“Mom won’t let us watch the parade!” Zack’s brow furrowed with the injustice of it all.

“Don’t you want to go home so you can go trick-or-treating? You’ll get better loot that way.”

“Trick-or-treat was last night. Tonight’s some stupid Halloween party at church. It’ll prob’ly be like Sunday school with costumes.”

“Don’t say ‘stupid,’ ” Gwen admonished.

“They’ll have a haunted house,” Maria said.

“So what? Bobby told me the Boston parade is gonna have
real
zombies.”

“Not this year, Zack,” I said. “Zombies aren’t allowed in the parade. They have to stay in their own part of town. Anyway, zombies aren’t all that scary—they’re a lot like regular people.”

“Yeah, except their skin is rotting and their noses are falling off and they got blood in their eyeballs!”

Not much I could say to that. It was a pretty accurate description.

Maria pointed outside at the plaza. “Look!” she said.

Zack turned so fast he must’ve given himself whiplash. “What? You mean that guy selling Halloween balloons?”

“No, I saw—”

“Look, look!” Zack shouted. “Somebody’s doin’ juggling! Can we go watch, Mom? Pleeeeeease?”

“Shh. Indoor voice, Zack.” She turned to look outside. “If he’s still there after we’ve finished eating, we can go.”

“No, now. I want to go
now
.”

Justin, bouncing up and down in his seat, echoed, “Now! Now!”

No indoor voices from either kid. They’d been good all through the meal. Let them have some fun. “We’re pretty much done anyway, Gwen. You take the kids over there. I’ll get the bill and come join you.”

“Thanks,” she said, standing. “Bathroom first, kids. We’ve got sticky faces to wash.” With all three of them in tow, she disappeared in the back of the restaurant.

 

 

THE STREET PERFORMER WAS GOOD. BY THE TIME I GOT there, he was balancing on stilts, juggling half a dozen balls, and keeping up a patter that made the audience laugh. I didn’t see Gwen and the kids at first, so I wandered around until I spotted my sister, who held Justin up on her shoulders. Zack had pushed his way to the front of the crowd. When the juggler asked for a volunteer, he ran out into the performance area, and the juggler laughed and told him he needed someone a little bigger. Zack puffed out his chest and yelled in his loudest voice, “I’m big!” The juggler pointed to a burly six-foot man, who stepped forward. Zack smacked himself in the forehead and yelled, “But not that big!” He was getting more laughs than the juggler. So the juggler told him to wait and he’d have a job for him. After the trick—which involved climbing up on the big guy’s shoulders, juggling some dangerous-looking flaming torches, then doing a backflip to the ground—he gave Zack a hat and told him to make sure everyone put something green in it. Zack swaggered around the edges of the crowd yelling, “Put something green in. That means money! No frogs and no spinach. I want dollar bills—lots of dollar bills!”

I edged over to Gwen. “That young man has a future in sales.”

She smiled, keeping an eye on him while she swung Justin down from her shoulders and perched him on her hip.

“Where’s Maria?” I asked.

“She’s right over there.” She tilted her head to the right, then yelled, “Zachary Evan Santini, you give the man his money!”

I looked to the right but didn’t see Maria. Zack came running over, a dollar grasped in his fist. “Look what the man gave me for helpin’ him! He said I collected more money than he got all day!” His eyes shone. “Mom, where can I learn how to juggle?”

“We’ll talk about it when we get home. Where’s your sister?”

“How am I supposed to know? I was in the act!” He turned to me, waving his dollar and beaming. “Aunt Vicky, did you see me?”

“Maria!” Gwen called. There was no answer. She twisted one way, then the other, looking for her daughter. The crowd had dispersed, and there was no sign of a thin, blonde, ten-year-old girl.

“Oh, God, where is she?” Gwen grabbed Zack’s hand and dragged him as she ran toward the performer, who was packing up. “Did you see my daughter?” she asked. “She’s blonde, about this tall . . .”

“Sorry, ma’am. There are a lot of kids around.”

“Maria!” Justin piped up, pointing.

I followed the chubby finger. A hundred feet away, a tall blonde woman was leading a girl toward Commercial Street. The girl was about Maria’s height, but with so many people between us it was hard to tell from the back whether it was her. The woman leaned down and said something to the girl, then tugged her arm so hard it nearly made her fall. The girl looked back at us and waved, her mouth moving, but the woman grabbed other her arm and lifted the child off her feet. When I saw her face, even from a hundred feet away, there was no doubt. It was Maria, and she looked terrified.

I was after them like a shot.

“Maria!” Gwen screamed, and started running. She still held Justin and had Zack’s hand. Zack couldn’t keep up with her, and he fell, shrieking. Gwen stopped, but I ran harder. They were at Commercial Street now. Good. Traffic was against them. I’d catch them before they could cross. I put all my strength into it, pumping my arms, yelling at people to get out of my way.