How the White Trash Zombie Got Her Groove Back (38 page)

I shoved down the stammering, uncertain response the old Angel would have spouted. Fuck that noise. I was at peace with how that whole thing played out. Lifting my chin, I locked my gaze with hers. “I made a decision based on how bad his injury was,” I stated. “He was dying. I told him I could possibly save him and asked permission. He gave me permission.” I kept my hands down by my sides so she wouldn't see how they trembled from fatigue and stress. “I don't regret it.”

Her lip curled, and then she grinned widely. “Damn it, I was hoping to fuck with you.” She pulled me into a hug. “Serves him right, the big ol' zombie hater.”

I wilted in relief. “Oh, Jesus, you scared me.”

“Sorry, I probably shouldn't have ambushed you,” she said as she released me, only looking a teensy bit sorry.

I shrugged, grinned. “I'd have done the same to you.”

“He doesn't know I know,” she said. “He barely slowed down to wave between the shower and hiding in the bedroom, but I could feel it. You know how I am.”

“Yeah, you got that sixth sense thing going on with zombies.” I shook my head. “It's weird him being a zombie now.”

“What's going to happen?” she asked, worry puckering her forehead. “He can't go back.”

The thought that had been niggling away at the back of my head came out now. “Why not?” I met her eyes. “As long as he stays fed, how would anyone know?”

She blinked, obviously shocked and a little freaked that I hadn't replied with,
Of course he can't go back
.

“But if my mother finds out,” she said, “or the lab people—” She gave her head a quick little shake of denial. “He can't!”

“Andrew's not stupid. And he doesn't
want
to stay with us.” I took a deep breath. “Not to mention, with this whole Dallas lab thing going on, it sure would be cool for us to have someone on the inside.”

She stared at me as if I had gone completely nuts. “You think you'd have him as an
insider?
Are you on some of Dr. Nikas's happy juice?”

“I don't mean calling us with daily updates or anything.” I shrugged. “But in a perfect world that would fucking rock.”

“Yeah, it would.” She sighed. “But he's such a . . .” She trailed off, searching for the right word.

“Weenie? Prick? Jerk? Asshole?”

She let out a quick laugh. “All of the above, and throw in Corporate Cog. Though I guess with him being all zombified, it's more than we had before.” She blew out a breath. “God, he better not get caught.”

“It's up to him anyway,” I pointed out. “Who knows, maybe this whole experience will change his outlook. I mean, I don't think he's really as much of a fucking nasty prick as he seems.” I considered the various facets of Andrew I'd seen when he was most certainly under high stress conditions. “It's as if a bunch of his crap is simply because everyone expects him to be a big tough Saber.”

“Maybe so.” Her mouth twisted. “But when he's
on
, he can run with the worst of them.”

I snorted. “I've noticed.”

She echoed my snort, then peered into my face. “You need to get some rest. Dr. Nikas cooked up some new shit for Kyle, Marcus, and Philip. Also, Kyle wanted to see you, but I don't think it's urgent. He's in the front bedroom upstairs.”

“I still have a couple of functioning brain cells,” I told her. “I'll see him and then crash.” I pulled her into a hug. “Thanks, chick.”

She held me close, and a tremble went through her. “I know I joke and bitch, but thank you for watching out for Andrew. He drives me bugnuts, but he's still my brother.”

I squeezed her then let her go. “I totally get it. It's like the stuff with my dad.”

A flicker of hope lit her eyes. She knew how horrible my relationship with my dad had once been, and she also knew how much we'd repaired it. “Yeah. I guess it is.” I thought she was going to hug me again, but instead she hobbled off toward the kitchen on her crutches, humming under her breath.

Returning upstairs, I headed to the front bedroom. The door was open a crack, so I eased it open and peered in. Kyle was in the bed, eyes closed and a blanket drawn up to his chin. His face still didn't seem as if it had pulled together quite right yet, and I realized that Naomi's high spirits when she'd confronted me had been a big ol' smokescreen for her own worry and anger.

He opened his eyes as the light from the hall spilled into the room. “Angel.” His voice was wet, raspy, and thin.

I closed the door behind me, then needed a couple of seconds for my eyes to adjust in the gloom before I pulled a chair up by the bed and sat. A whisper of daylight snuck around heavy curtains, barely enough light for me to see, but I had a feeling any more would be uncomfortable for Kyle. “Hey,” I said. “Naomi told me you wanted to see me?”

“Yes. Thank you. For coming in and getting me out of there.”

My hands clenched. “No way was I gonna leave you there. I'd burn the whole building down before abandoning you to those fuckers.”

“I've been through a lot before,” he said, slowly and with focused effort. “Nothing . . .
nothing
like that.”

“Jesus fuck, I'd hope not!” I shivered. “That was a horror show.”

His gaze met mine. “You know how I am about leaving this world,” he said.

The air in the room seemed to thicken around me. “I do.”

He must have seen the sudden
Oh, god, please don't ask me to do what I think you're going to ask me to do, I'll do it because, yeah, but please don't!
in my eyes. “No,” he said quickly. “No, not that.”

I blew out a relieved breath. “Okay.”

“I want you to know that I don't want to
go
anywhere until every one of those
motherfuckers
is put out of commission.” He spoke with a frightening vehemence made even scarier by the quality of his voice. “Every one of them who can spend their day dreaming up a paste to innervate rot, every one of them who can smear it on and laugh. They fucked with the wrong zombie.”

I leaned close. “And I'm here to tell you, if you do happen to
go
before you're done, I'll finish the job for you.”

He gave the barest hint of a nod. “Then we understand each other.”

“We do.”

With that the dark tension seemed to leave both the room and him. “You should sleep if you can,” I said. “Do you need Dr. Nikas?”

“Yes. I refused to take the sedative until I saw you.”

“I'll go get him.” I stood and moved to the door then looked back at him. “Thanks for having that kind of faith in me.”

An uneven smile flickered. “Get the fuck out of here.”

With a low chuckle, I did so, then found Dr. Nikas and told him Kyle was ready for a sedative. With that mission accomplished, I found the couch and once again introduced my face to its welcoming cushiness.

After a few hours of sleep, two mugs of coffee, and another nice long shower, I once again found myself summoned to Pierce's room.

Brian was there as well, and I barely had time for a quick nod to him before Pierce asked, “How would you like to be the voice of the Tribe?” without any sort of intro like,
Hello, Angel, I hope you're doing well
or
Are you ready for me to lay some more weird shit on you?

I gave him a blank look. “Voice of the Tribe? What, like a radio show?”

Amusement flashed across his face, but to his credit he didn't laugh out loud. “No,” he said, allowing himself a slight smile. “As in speaking with authority, for us to Andrew.”

My mouth dropped open. “Me?” I spluttered. Dream. Had to be. Obviously I was still drooling on the couch. Best to play along, though, just in case. “Why not Brian?”

Pierce glanced over at the implacable head of security. “Despite all of his qualities above and beyond his official role, Saber will only see him as muscle, with no real authority. Same for Philip but with even less respect.”

“And how do you expect him to see
me
?” I retorted. “I'm a high school dropout, and a former felon and drug addict.”

“You have street savvy, Angel, and you're clever under pressure. It has nothing to do with what you
were,
it's about who you
are.
” Pierce lifted his chin toward Brian. “You already established yourself during the info gathering session, and we'll help with general effect. Brian will be at your shoulder just as he would be with me—if I was still who I was.” A faint grimace crossed his face. “Angel, I need you to do this.”

The voice of the Tribe. I sucked in a soft breath. All those years of being forced to watch
The Godfather
because, according to my dad, it was the Best Movie Ever, were about to pay off. “You want me to be your
consigliere!
”

Pierce looked down, and this time I
knew
he was holding back a laugh. After a moment, he cleared his throat and lifted his head again. “In a manner of speaking, yes. At least for this.”

“Okay, I'll do it.” I gave a cheeky grin. “Hell, I'm his zombie mama now, so that should hold some weight.”

Now he did laugh, but it was with and not at me. “Very well, let's review what needs to be said.”

Once again, thanks to Naomi, I looked nothing at all like me. Black tailored jacket with matching slim skirt, white silk blouse, shoes with red soles which were apparently some sort of Big Deal, makeup that made me look mature and professional instead of the “slutty” I'd've managed on my own, and hair pinned up in an impossibly sleek style. I looked totally badass in an entirely different way.

Brian stood back and raked an assessing gaze over me, then stepped forward to adjust the drape of the fine gold chain at my throat. “Nervous?” he asked with a smile as he brushed a speck of invisible lint off the shoulder of my jacket.

“Should I be?” I asked nervously.

He chuckled. “I'm going to be right behind you, looking like this.” He stood straight in his perfect dark suit, folded his arms over his chest, and put on his best Terminator face.

I burst out laughing. “Uh, yes,” I cleared my throat, “quite terrifying.”

He dropped his arms, lips twitching. “It is to everyone but
you.
”

“Oh, all right, I guess I can see it.”

Brian reached into his pocket and pulled out a tube of cherry ChapStick. “Do I need to use this?”

Laughing, I held up my hands in surrender. Many months ago I'd made a silly challenge that had ended up with Brian planting a ChapStick-laden smooch on me. “Anything but that! Fine, let's get this over with.”

With a dramatic sigh of regret, Brian replaced the lip balm in his pocket. “Do you want to ambush him in his room or call him in somewhere?” he asked. “There are merits to both.”

“Call him to us,” I replied without hesitation. “We'll be set and ready, and that gives us the power position. It'll be like calling him onto the carpet.” I paused. “Not that I know what that feels like.”

“Of course not,” he agreed with a totally straight face. “The parlor will work.”

“There's a parlor?”

“That would be the room with the sofa you drooled on,” he explained. “I'll get you settled, then go get him.”

Awake and coherent, I saw it really was a parlor. Or a living room. Either way, it was perfect for what we had in mind. Simply furnished: Sofa, coffee table, wingback chair.

First order of business was a bit of rearranging for best effect and to make sure there'd be no available seat for Andrew. The sofa was already against the back wall, so we moved the wingback chair directly in front of it, and the table to my right. With the sofa effectively blocked, I plopped into the chair then had to experiment with how best to sit. Legs crossed or uncrossed? If crossed, at the ankle or the knee? Hands on the chair or folded in my lap? What looked the toughest? And why the hell wasn't there a mirror handy so I could practice my Power Zombie
Consigliere
expressions?

Fidgeting, I adjusted my jacket and finally settled on legs crossed at the knee, hands on the armrests. While waiting, I mentally ran over the main points I needed to touch on and reminded myself that if I fucked up Brian was there to bail me out.

How 'bout we not fuck up, 'kay?

At the sound of footsteps in the hall I quickly composed my face into what I hoped was a serene expression and prayed that I didn't simply look half-asleep.

Andrew stepped into the room, mild scowl on his face. He'd cleaned up and been given new clothing, but his t-shirt and sweats didn't carry anywhere near the
oomph
of my kickass suit.
I love you, Naomi!
I silently crowed.

Brian entered right behind him and closed the door, then took up the promised position behind me and to my left. Andrew clearly wasn't happy about the demand for his presence, and the ever-so-faint whiff of rot coming from him told me he was probably a bit hungry as well. He took in the sight of me all dressed up like a real person, and a whisper of a sneer began to form. I saw the moment it registered that the furniture arrangement left him nowhere to sit, and I hid my amusement as his expression settled into a solid glare.

“Andrew, it's so nice to see you again.” I gave him a very pleasant smile. “Brian, do we have any brain chips left? I think those might help put Andrew in a slightly better mood.” Damn, but this shit was fun.

“Yes, ma'am,” Brian said without hesitation, once again forcing me to control my expression. “I'll get them.”

Andrew looked even more off-balance after the “ma'am” thing, which of course was part of the reason for it. Yet even if he thought it was all a show, I knew he still had to be wondering
why.

“Thank you for coming,” I said as Brian strode to the door. “We need to hash out a few details before you go your own way.”

Andrew watched Brian leave then returned his attention to me. This time the look he gave me was careful and assessing, no doubt trying to figure out what the hell my role was. “What sort of details?”

“It's hard when you're first turned,” I said, sort of ignoring his question. “The hunger, I mean. You'll find that you burn through the brains more quickly if you exert yourself a lot, but otherwise you'll likely need somewhere around one brain every week and a half.” Hot damn, I got through that without stumbling!

Denial and disgust swept over his face. “I don't
want
to eat a brain every week and a half. This is—” He stopped, and I had an overpowering feeling he'd almost finished with
not happening
. “This is not my life.”

“I know this is a really hard adjustment,” I said, keeping my voice deliberately gentle. “But you're not alone, and you're not without resources.” I made a vague gesture to take in the house and its occupants. Brian returned as I did, carrying a bowl of chips and a plate with what looked and smelled like marinated and grilled brain slices. He placed them on the table beside me, then resumed his position at my back.

“Thank you, Brian,” I said with a smile, then returned my attention to Andrew. “Please, help yourself. The grilled ones are really awesome.”

Andrew locked his gaze on the plate like a dog staring at a bone behind a window. He licked his lips then came back to himself with a start as he realized what he was doing. Quickly swallowing, he shook his head firmly. “No, thank you.”

I picked up one of the grilled pieces and took a small bite. “Pro tip: If you run too low on brains it's harder to think straight.” I licked my fingers and tried to be dainty about it. “Probably smart to have a snack before any sort of negotiation.” I waved toward the plate again in a help-yourself move, then finished off the piece in my hand.

Unable to resist the smell any longer, he moved forward and took a slice, then one more before stepping back. His hands shook slightly as he stuffed a piece into his mouth, relief and despair shining in his eyes.

Taking a napkin and wiping my fingers, I waited for him to finish the two slices before I spoke again. “I usually budget a brain a week for basic maintenance and to keep from smelling like a corpse.” I laughed softly. “I'm thinking you don't want bits falling off in the board room.”

He looked appropriately horrified. “A brain . . . a week.” He dipped his head in a reluctant nod.

“You'll want to have a stash of more on hand, though,” I continued, “in the event of injury or unexpected exertion. Or sex.” I grinned. “Trust me, you
definitely
want to have a bit of a snack before sex.”

Andrew made a gasp-choke sound in the back of his throat and turned sixteen shades of red.

“Allrighty then, we're looking at a brain a week,” I plunged on, mostly because I was afraid if I didn't keep talking I'd bust out laughing at the shock on his face. “And probably, hmm, three or four brains up front as well for a stash. Does that sound right to you?”

His mouth worked soundlessly.

“That's a good start, ma'am,” Brian put in helpfully.

I turned my head to give him a bright smile. “Thank you, Brian.” He really did look intimidating as all hell standing there behind me. I could get used to this. Returning my attention to Andrew, I put on a slight wince. “I'm sorry, I'm sitting here blathering on and assuming that you want to get your brains from us. You got someplace else you can get 'em?”

He was trapped and he knew it. No way could he get brains from whatever source the lab used since there was too much chance he could be found out. Perhaps he could locate an alternate supplier at some point, but for now—and probably the next few months—he was well and truly stuck.

He cleared his throat, resignation settling on him like a lead blanket. “No, I don't.”

Though I did a mental fist pump and happy dance, I kept my face as serene as possible. “Very well.” I paused and kept my eyes on him for several seconds while I let the silence hang in the air. “What do you offer in exchange?”

Even though he had to have known it would come down to this, he was still off-balance enough from everything else that he couldn't hold back the small shoulder slump of defeat.

“What do you want?” he asked, voice hollow.

“Information. Influence. You'll be in a very good position to provide both upon your, ah, triumphant and heroic return to Saberton.”

Now Andrew found his footing. He lifted his chin and set his jaw in determination. “No. I refuse to do anything that will be detrimental to my company.”

Crap. Wrong tack. Let's try that again.
“I didn't ask you to,” I said as smoothly as possible. Setting both feet on the floor, I leaned forward. “Andrew, I'm not asking you to betray your family or your,” I mentally scrambled for the word, “your legacy.”
Don't blow it, Angel. You're in the home stretch!
“But you're in a pretty unique position now, and I kind of hope it'll give you a better idea of what it's like to live as a zombie and the challenges we face.” I rested my elbows on my knees and clasped my hands lightly together. “Hell, I dunno. Maybe you could suggest policy and—” Shit, what was another word for influence? That was a hot-button word for him. “—guide decisions in a way that can help us out. Or at least not
harm
us.”

He frowned, but at the moment it seemed more like a thoughtful frown than an
I will fuck these assholes over first chance
frown.

“And if you're not able to do any of that,” I continued, “a simple heads up that shit's coming down would sure be pretty damn cool and likely make you some friends on this end.” I shrugged. “Personally, I'm betting that you can rebuild Saberton to where it doesn't
need
to rely on atrocities to compete.”

Andrew's gaze returned to the plate of brains. “That is not unreasonable.”

“I think we'd make better allies than enemies,” I said.

He gave a noncommittal chin lift that told me he didn't particularly agree with me. Then again, I knew before we started that he wasn't going to fall into our arms and be our Best Friend and Awesome Ally overnight, if ever. Baby steps, and all that.

I took a dehydrated brain chip and used it to gesture to the plate and bowl. “Have some more,” I said. “No charge, no strings. I promise. You'll feel better, trust me.” I watched as he moved forward to scoop up two more grillers and a handful of chips. “Do you have any questions? I know how confusing it was for me when I was a new zombie.”

He shook his head as he gulped down another slice. “No. I have access to . . . information,” he said, though he had the grace to look slightly uncomfortable.

“Right. That zombie research y'all have been doing.” I gave a knowing nod. “You'll probably find out it's not all accurate. I mean, lab conditions aren't anything like the real world, y'know.” My voice hardened. “You get your shit together and dump the Dallas lab bastards and Kristi Charish, and maybe we can look at that longevity research as a joint project.” I paused as he nearly choked on a chip. “Yeah. We know about that.”