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He
“I do.”
“And?” He
Now he was playing games. This was his power trip. I wasn’t going to tell him anything he didn’t know.
He
He laid the sheets on the table beside me and put heavy bolts on the opposite edges to keep them from curling together.
He
“You’ve seen these, yes?”
“I have, but all I know is they were used to build those things over there.”
“Things?” He
“Detecting psychic energy?”
“You don’t sound impressed.”
“I’m not. Look at all the trouble they’ve gotten me into.”
“Why are you in Morada, Mr. Vampire?”
“To find the source of the psychic energy.” And zombies.
“Which is why I’m here as well. This device is a keyhole into the astral plane. The trouble is, I can see into the astral plane, but I can’t get into it.”
He pressed his hand against my forehead and pushed my head to the table. He brought his nose close to mine. I could read every pore and wrinkle in his face.
“If you’re here looking for the source, then you vampires also want to enter the astral plane. So it’s a race.”
He
The room filled with his mad scientist cackle and the ghaw, ghaw of the zombies.
He
“You that lonely out here?”
“I have plenty of contact. I subscribe to e-newsletters and Yahoo Groups. I blog. There’s no dearth of communication.”
“I meant real conversation.”
“Yeah, that’s a challenge. Reginald”-He
Reginald put his back to us. He
He
Reginald’s eyes had the dull shine of the look from a loyal yet very dead dog.
“I preserved Barrett Chambers’s brain enough for him to drive, but you may have noticed that I neglected to keep his body looking April fresh.”
“Nothing a little Right Guard couldn’t help,” I said. “What about talking zombies?”
“Only one. And one too many for now, unfortunately.” He
The zombies in the room fidgeted. What would make them uncomfortable?
He
Quick footfalls approached up the stairs, clicking and slapping, the sound of high heels moving in a woman’s cadence.
He
A platinum blonde rose onto the landing, hair in a Mary Tyler Moore cut and with puffy pink skin the color of cooked salmon. She wore a white nightgown with a fluffy hem and sleeves and strutted on clear stiletto mule pumps. Her lean bare legs looked impossibly long, like they’d been extruded from a die. Red stitch marks circled her neck, biceps, and the middle of her thighs.
Sonia’s gray eyes were shiny as glass and just as inert but the set of her brow and the drag of her lower face expressed seething contempt. “Vhat you vant?”
“Sonia’s my mail-order Russian bride.” He
Her nose wrinkled as if I was the one who reeked of Dumpster cadaver. “Hello, guest.”
“Show a little class, will you?” He grasped her wrist and yanked. Sonia stumbled on her heels. Her breasts remained fixed inside the nightgown like a pair of plastic globes.
He
“I wrap her in an electric blanket, set it on high, and you couldn’t tell the difference between her and any horny nurse.”
Sonia twisted her hand free. She pulled over a battered wooden chair and sat. “Yes, I have dick privileges, aren’t I the lucky one.”
He
Sonia reached into the top of her nightgown and pulled out a cigarette. She sorted through tools on the workbench, found a butane torch, and lit it. The nozzle shot a yellow tongue of fire. Her thumb worked the regulator knob and the torch flame shrank to a blue point.
He
She turned and gave him the shoulder. “Vhat, that it’s bad for my health? I’m a zombie, you moron.”
“I meant a fire hazard.”
Sonia lit the cigarette and took a long defiant puff. “Yes, of course. Heaven forbid that anything happens to this palace.” She set her shoe against a metal box and tipped it over. Nuts and bolts, plastic vials, and human hands in Ziploc bags dumped to the floor.
“Don’t push me, Sonia. Remember the last time?” He
Smoke curled from the stitches along Sonia’s throat, from inside the cleavage of her nightgown, and from her hair. She crossed her legs and let an expression of boredom sink across her zombie face. “And you turned it back around after you discovered that my blow jobs weren’t worth a shit. Big genius you are.”
“Women, even undead they’re a ball and chain.” He
I said, “Necrophilia is a hard sell.”
He
“But, Doc,” I said, “the stitches. The scars. You have to consider the aesthetics.”
“You’re right, of course,” He
Sonia ground the cigarette in the palm of her hand. She flicked the dead butt against cowboy zombie.
“Why do they follow your orders?” I asked.
“Because I’m their creator. I take care of them, give them shelter; where else would they go?” He
Sonia got to her feet.
He
The other zombies stared at him, to the outside door, then back to him. They picked at their scabs and gave tiny grimaces of confusion.
“I thought so,” He
“You’re creating an army of zombies.”
“More than that. I’ve tapped into something more profound.” He