The Shambling Guide to New York City (35 page)

Arthur had been more of a problem. Chet and the EMT had wanted him to go to the ER, but he’d refused. So the EMT had finally just removed the shrapnel, packed his wound with heavy gauze, and taped it. Zoë had tried again not to look at his bare chest as he was ministered to.
The man is injured and receiving medical treatment
, she told herself firmly.
This is not the time.

Both Zoë and Arthur had been forced to take something for their pain, because the EMT and Chet would not let them go after Lucy otherwise. “Now, that Vicodin is going to make you a little tired, and possibly a little loopy,” the EMT said.

“We’re chasing after a giant walking airplane. We don’t need drugs to be loopy,” Zoë said, still grateful to have a cast and something to make the throbbing pain recede.

“I have to admit,” said the EMT, a willowy man by the name of Michael Oh, who sported an eye patch (“There’s a demon out there I have a date with” was his only explanation), “I don’t approve of you continuing to fight with this. Lacerations and a broken arm? And you look like you could sleep for a week.”

The mere mention of sleep made Zoë stagger a little. “I suppose the Vicodin will not help that drowsy feeling, will it?”

Michael laughed. “I doubt you’ll be awake in thirty minutes. I will just say to find a safe place to sleep when you can’t stay
awake anymore. I have a feeling things are going to get worse before they get better.”

“Is that experience talking?” she asked.

Michael winced. “No. Ever since this”—he indicated his scarred cheek under the eye patch—“I’ve had a twitchy feeling when there’s a lot of demon activity. And tonight it’s been going crazy.”

Zoë looked at Phil, who watched impassively. “You know, I didn’t think another sign pointing to the obvious would make me worry, but for some reason it is.”

“Any idea where she’s headed?” Michael asked.

“I have a couple of guesses,” Phil said. “The power plant in south Queens is always attractive to zoëtists. There are the sporting arenas for space. And then there’s Central Park for the relative obscuring of whatever she plans. We can’t check them all.”

Arthur closed his cell phone and said, “Public Works is nearly shut down. They’re dealing with another zombie attack. They have increased patrols in the sewers and on the streets, and they’ve got the power plants locked down. So if she goes there, we’ve got her.” He grimaced. “If we can stop a plane.”

They both looked at Zoë. She threw up her hands. “I told her it would be big. She said she believed that I believed it would be big. But she thought I was more scared of Lucy on a personal level.”

“That is not incorrect. But the threat is bigger than we could have imagined,” Phil said.

Arthur looked at Phil. “I’m here to help, for what it’s worth.”

Phil paused. “This alliance is not one I expected.”

Arthur shrugged, then winced. “We’re trying to catch the same person. I don’t think it matters how she’s stopped. Just that she’s stopped.”

“So we have, what? Two humans who are injured and about
to be pretty damn high on painkillers, one water sprite, and one vampire?” Zoë asked. “How can we take her on?”

Benjamin looked up from where he had been sitting with his head between his knees. “I’m with you. I can’t live with myself that she beat me. She matched me with a golem that she made on a whim, while she was making something much bigger.”

Shame was apparent on his face. As were a swelling lump and a bandage where he’d hit the wall.

“Sir, you have a slight concussion,” Michael said. “I can’t let you go.”

The zoëtist laughed bitterly. “But you’re letting them go? No. They need all the help they can get.”

Chet pulled out his radio. “Alpha One to Gold Leader. Permission to provide backup to Black Phoenix.”

“Bullets won’t work against the golem,” Phil said.

“But they’ll sure blow Lucy to bits, won’t they?” asked Zoë.

“Fair enough,” Phil said, raising his hands in surrender.

“We’re all going to die, aren’t we?” Zoë asked.

Phil shrugged. “It’s not really a big deal, dying.”

Zoë flexed her right arm, her shoulder still throbbing from the laceration. She might still be able to hold a weapon—if the Vidocin didn’t put her out of her misery. “Sure, easy for you to say. I’m sure that’s what the
Titanic
victims in the water said to those still on the deck.”

Zoë winced as the flock of sparrows descended through the hole in the roof. “Actually, they didn’t,” Gwen’s voice said as she appeared in a flurry of feathers. “They mostly screamed.”

“You were there at the
Titanic
?” Zoë asked.

“Of course, many death gods were. Areas where many die are popular spots.”

Zoë paused. “Does that mean that they will be in New York tonight?”

Gwen paused. “They’re on their way, I think. With the airport massacre and the hostages in the plane, it’ll be a busy time.”

“ ‘Busy.’ Sure. That describes it,” Zoë said. “Will they be on our side?”

Gwen shrugged. “Depends on who shows. Some feed off of death, like me. Some are there to escort the souls to their final destination. Most will be indifferent. Spectators.”

“So we can expect no help, but no trouble, either?” Zoë mused. “Back where we started. That’s OK.”

“I didn’t say that,” the death goddess said. “I am helping you, after all. I just said most will be indifferent. Death gods don’t really interfere—everyone eventually dies, after all. We’re a patient lot.”

Zoë looked at her friend. “Then why are you helping us?”

Gwen shrugged. “Things got more interesting when you got here. When I got the job in the publishing house. I feed off of death energy, but I can enjoy other things too. And I find that living and working among humans allows for more interesting absorption of energy.”

Zoë paused, then said, “Gwen? Am I—” She stopped and shook her head. “Never mind. I don’t want to know.”

Gwen smiled, then looked around for Phil. “She’s hidden in the trees of Central Park. I lost sight of her, but my sparrows are tracking her still. She’s stopped. I don’t know what she’s up to, but we should catch up while we can.”

Phil nodded, then glanced around at their motley crew. “The goal is to stop her, people. We kill the zoëtist and we stop the threat.”

“Wait,” Zoë said. “Kill her? But she’s a human. Shouldn’t we arrest her or something?”

To Zoë’s surprise, Arthur answered instead of Phil. “Not this time. When humans become coterie, they’re governed by Public Works. I’m with Phil here. Kill her.”

Coterie humans, including zoëtists and vampire thralls, can obviously find existence in the city a little easier than most. This is beneficial to other coterie, who can usually find someone to do errands for them that they would not be able to do themselves. But these humans have needs within the city as well.

The thralls will find Lohan Memorial Hospital and Red Hook American Red Cross the most open to dealing in blood. What the humans assume are “expired” bags of blood are actually still quite sustaining to most vampires and other beings who feed on humans, and some establishments will sell the blood instead of destroying it. The going rate for blood fluctuates depending on demand, so try to stock up when you can. If you try to visit after a major accident or natural disaster, they’ll turn you away—with Public Works backing them up.

**These establishments are on neutral ground, by the way, and the person dealing with the coterie will always have connections with Public Works.**

Zoëtists have found sympathetic humans—or, closer to the truth, humans who will accept hell notes—in Duke Power Station, and even have a separate room they can rent for their creations. Few cities cater to zoëtists, which makes New York a popular destination for a creator in need of some strong, reliable energy. This means, unfortunately, that the room is often booked months in advance. So if you’re on your way to New York City to bring a new construct or two to life, remember to plan ahead!

The only resident practicing zoëtist in the city who is known to this publication is Karen Shea, who works within Duke Power Station. She is not a dominant figure and does not begrudge the presence of other zoëtists.

Z
oë wasn’t sure how they fit everyone into the cab, but it was a coterie cab, after all, and she didn’t question it too much. She was more concerned with the pain of Arthur’s weight as he was forced to lean on her broken arm when the cab took a sharp turn on its way into the Rat’s Nest.

The cabbie swore at the traffic, an oath in a strange language that made the hairs on the backs of Zoë’s hands stand up and glow a faint red. She rubbed them absently.

Arthur shifted again, keeping an inch between Zoë and himself. “So what is our plan here?” he asked Phil. “You look to be leading this thing.”

“I am not used to working with a team,” Phil said.

“I am,” Arthur said. “We have one zoëtist, one vampire, one water sprite, one death goddess, one SWAT, one Public Works employee, and—” He paused and looked at Zoë.

“And one book editor,” she said, forcing a smile. “Who has a broken arm and no weapon. And who very likely got us into this whole thing.”

Arthur frowned. “What do you mean?”

Zoë took a deep breath. “I have… a history with Lucy. The zoëtist. Or rather, I have a history with her husband.” She blushed and looked down at her hand, the one that wasn’t strapped tightly to her chest. “I didn’t know he was married. So she doesn’t like me very much.”

“And you’re the reason she’s here?” Arthur asked incredulously.

“No.” Benjamin replied softly as if coming out of a haze. “She’s here for a much larger reason. She has planned this for years. Zoë returning to the city was just a convenience. She would have created a construct to poison the zombies anyway; with Zoë here, she could make that construct to disturb her as well. Two birds, one stone, if Gwen will pardon me the expression.”

“Why did she just attack the zombies?” Zoë asked. “Why not the demons or vampires?”

“Zombies are the easiest to tamper with,” Phil said. “Their humanity dies if they lose their higher brain functions. Mess with the food source and you have a shambling army. Since the zombies are still causing trouble, we can believe Wesley was not her only agent. He was just the one who was designed to tamper with Zoë. I’m sure she would be delighted if Zoë had died, but right now she’s here for something bigger.”

“So, plan?” Zoë prompted.

“Right,” Arthur said. “I think we should send Benjamin’s golems and Gwen’s sparrows in for distraction. Then send the fighters in while the long-range people hold back.”

“And me?” asked Zoë.

“You’re really not in fighting shape,” he said, not quite looking her in the eye.

“Neither are you.”

“Touché,” he said, and left it at that.

If only she felt like fighting. But her wounds still throbbed and the Vicodin was slowly making its way into her bloodstream, giving her exhausted body a full excuse to shut down.

Arthur was stiff beside her, body language making it clear he didn’t like what he’d heard about Godfrey. But Zoë was exhausted and the Vicodin was taking hold, and she would much rather lean on someone mad at her than lean on a vampire.
She put her head on his good shoulder and allowed her eyelids to finally crash down.

She awoke not to a gentle shaking of her knee or her name being called, but a noxious smell that burned her nose hairs. She gagged and turned her head, and Granny Good Mae pulled back the horrible vial, satisfied.

Zoë was lying in the back of the cab with both doors open. “What the hell is that?” Zoë asked. “Wait, what are you doing here?”

“Smelling salts. Mixed with a couple more herbs. And she told me to come here. Said tonight would be big.”

“Of course she did.” Zoë’s eyes focused on the little old lady in the woods, who stood shifting from foot to foot.

“She tells me what to do, and Granny Good Mae follows, and she does what is asked. Yes. She always finds an emergency exit.”

Confused at the switching of names and pronouns, Zoë wasn’t sure who was doing what was asked. “You seem less… coherent than usual. Are you OK?”

“They found the bad zoëtist,” Granny Good Mae said brightly, pulling Zoë out of the cab by her good arm. “Let’s go see!”

Zoë looked around in confusion. “How did a cab make it into the woods?”

The driver grinned, showing two bright fangs and nothing else. Ah. A snake demon. “You’d be surprised where this thing can go. The underground tunnel system doesn’t hurt either. Have fun!”

He roared off, dodging trees, and then, abruptly, his taillights disappeared.

Zoë took a deep breath. “So where are we?”

“Central Park. The goddess is trying to learn more about the woman.”

“Where is Gwen?”

Granny Good Mae pointed at a light through the trees. The screech of metal and ensuing thumps told her the golem was still active, and the screams of the people inside the plane were faint but obvious.