The zombie guard at the second checkpoint presented no such problem. He didn’t seem to care who or what entered Deadtown.
Tina lived in a group home with several other young zombies. It was in the opposite direction from my building, but the detour would take us only a few blocks out of our way. I was as anxious as Mab to know that Tina was safe in her bed. It would let me sleep better in mine.
Day or night, there was always a house mother on duty at the group home’s reception desk. This morning’s attendant looked up as we entered. She was plump, with wire-rimmed glasses and her hair pulled back into a bun. Before the plague, her cheeks must have been rosy, her blue eyes full of twinkles. I always thought of her as a kind of zombie Mrs. Butterworth.
“Good morning, dear,” she said, repeating the greeting when I introduced Mab. “I’m afraid we don’t allow visitors after sunrise. Except in case of emergency, of course.” Her pleasant smile didn’t falter. “Is it an emergency?”
“I hope not. We’re checking to make sure Tina got home okay.”
“She didn’t come in while I was on the desk, but I’ve only been here for half an hour. I’ll check the book.” She opened a red ring-binder that lay at her elbow. Twirling a stray tendril of hair around one index finger, she ran the other down the page. She shook her head and turned back a page. “Here’s where she signed out last night. But she never signed in again.” She flipped back to where she’d started. “No . . . no, there’s no sign-in time.” She closed the book and smiled at us. “Of course, this is Tina we’re talking about. She’s something of a free spirit.”
I’d have laughed at the understatement if I weren’t so worried. “She doesn’t always sign in?”
“I’d say we’re lucky if she remembers . . . oh, half the time. Of course, often the house mother on duty will sign in for her. We’re not supposed to do that, but really, the point is knowing where the children are, not getting them to practice their signature.”
Except Tina would bristle at being called a “child”—and we had no idea where she was.
“Is it possible to check her room?” Mab asked.
The house mother consulted the watch that squeezed her plump wrist. “It’s a little late,” she said dubiously. “Lights-out was ten minutes ago.”
“That’s not so very long. She probably isn’t asleep yet. Even if she is, now would be a good time to remind her of the importance of signing in.”
The house mother’s pleasant smile turned crafty. “It would, wouldn’t it? If Tina wants her beauty sleep, she can make an effort to follow the rules.” She picked up a telephone and pressed a button. “In-house intercom,” she commented as we waited. She tapped a finger on the desk, then shook her head. “No answer. Either she’s fast asleep or she’s not in her room. Sometimes she doesn’t return all day.” She put down the phone, then spread her hands. “With Tina, what can you do?”
WHAT COULD WE DO, I WONDERED, AS MAB AND I WALKED through the empty streets toward my building. Debris from the previous night’s rally littered the ground. I stepped over a bent sign with a broken stick; it read WHAT PART OF HUMAN DON’T YOU UNDERSTAND?
“Wait,” I said, stopping in my tracks. “I’ve got the cell phone Daniel gave me. We can call her.”
“But the house mother tried that, child.”
“That was an intercom. She didn’t call Tina’s cell phone. Tina never goes anywhere without that thing. She probably sleeps with it on her pillow.”
Mab watched as I pressed random buttons on the phone, trying to remember how to bring up the contact list. Mab didn’t even have an old-fashioned, rotary-dial landline in her house. She didn’t see the need, although there had been plenty of times when I’d tried to convince her it would be useful to call her—not use the dream phone, not leave a message at the village pub. To Mab, the contraption in my hand must’ve looked like something out of a science fiction movie.
To be honest, it felt a little like that to me, too. Cell phones had changed, a lot, since I gave up trying to carry one. Now, the contact list eluded me. I gave up looking for it and entered Tina’s number directly, a little surprised the phone let me do that.
Pick up, I thought. Answer the phone so I can stop worrying about you. I won’t even yell at you. Too much.
But my call went to voice mail. I left a brief message asking Tina to call me back. I followed up with a text message, my thumbs as awkward as tree trunks on the tiny keypad. The message looked like some kind of code: R u ok? She’d understand that, right? Abbreviations like that were part of the secret language kids use for texting.
I pictured Tina squinting at it and scratching her head—“Ruok? What’s that supposed to mean?”—then trashing the message without bothering to reply. After all, she didn’t know I had a cell phone and wouldn’t recognize the number.
I sent another text. Thisis vikcy. I realized my tongue was poking out the side of my mouth as I concentrated; I pulled it back in. Aree yuo okay Looking at the tiny letters on the screen, I was dismayed by the number of typos, but it was too hard to go back and fix them. Tina would understand. I hoped. At any rate, when we got home I’d call her from the number she’d recognize.
As I put my phone away, Mab commented that it certainly required a lot of time and effort for a device that was supposed to make life easier. I didn’t disagree.
AS I UNLOCKED THE DOOR TO MY APARTMENT, BY FORCE of habit I pressed my ear to the door, listening for Juliet’s TV. Silence. I hoped she hadn’t already retired to her coffin for the day. I really wanted an update on her search for the Old Ones. Wherever the Old Ones were, Pryce wouldn’t be far away.
But maybe I didn’t need an update. The door swung open to reveal Pryce himself sitting in my living room.
“Hello, cousin. Hello, auntie. Do come in.”
Pryce raised both hands, palms out, to show he wasn’t holding a weapon. That didn’t mean there wasn’t one concealed somewhere in his double-breasted black suit.
I gauged the distance to my weapons cabinet. Pryce was in the way. I’d never get past him, unlock the cabinet, and grab something deadly.
“Don’t stand there all day. I’m here to talk, not fight. And I believe what I have to say will be of interest to you both.”
Mab and I exchanged a look, but neither of us made a move to enter the apartment.
Pryce heaved a dramatic sigh and stood up. I tensed. If he attacked, I wouldn’t have time to extricate Hellforged from its sheath. But Mab was adept at magical fighting. If I distracted Pryce, she’d have enough time to summon a deadly ball of energy—
Pryce didn’t move toward us. He disappeared.
Into the demon plane.
Before Mab or I could say a word, he was back. Tina struggled in his grasp.
“Let go of me, douche bag!” she shouted. Twisting, she stomped on his instep. Pryce swore and punched her, hard, in the head. Tina cried out in pain. Her eyes found me. “Vicky, help!”
The two of them winked out.
Pryce was back in a moment, once again sitting in the chair. He looked perfectly at ease, legs crossed, hands folded on his stomach. “Now are you ready to talk?”
I stepped inside. Mab followed me and closed the door behind us. Pryce motioned toward the sofa, but we stood where we were.
“Let her go,” I said.
“Honestly, Pryce, this is low, even for you.” Mab stood rigid beside me. “A mere child.”
“Oh, dear. Such hypocrisy. As I recall, auntie, you attempted to kill me when I was ‘a mere child.’ And quite a bit younger than that creature.”
“It’s my greatest regret that I didn’t succeed.”
Pryce put his hands behind his head, elbows sticking out as he regarded us. “Neither of you has the slightest idea how to negotiate. I see this will take longer than I’d hoped.”
“There’s nothing to negotiate,” I said. “Let Tina go, or I’ll kill you.”
Pryce laughed. “See what I mean? That’s hardly impressive as an opening gambit. You’ve already tried to kill me nearly as many times as I’ve tried to kill you, and I’m stronger now than I’ve ever been. Sorry, cousin, but I can’t say I fancy your chances.”
“What do you want, Pryce?” Mab’s voice was tight, dangerous.
Pryce didn’t notice Mab’s tone—or maybe he didn’t care. “Ah, that’s better. You see, cousin, Auntie Mab realizes that I’m in a position of advantage, so she looks to me to start negotiations. That’s how the game works.” He leaned forward and held up his index finger. “First, stop destroying the Morfran. If you don’t, I’ll kill that horrid zombie you both seem so fond of.” He looked at Mab, then back at me. He laughed. “You think I can’t do it? I’ve already released a significant amount of the Morfran from that cemetery and transferred it elsewhere. It’s hungry. Unless you do as I say, I shall feed that Tina creature to it.”
The image of Tina, screaming and shaking and clutching her head as the Morfran prepared to blow her apart, invaded my mind. We had to get her back.
“Second”—Pryce raised another finger—“you will give me Hellforged.” He held out his hand, palm up, like he expected me to walk over and drop the dagger in it.
“No.”
Anger lit Pryce’s eyes. “The dagger is mine by right. The Cerddorion stole it from Uffern, many years ago. It is past time for its return.”
“I won’t.” If something happened to the white falcon—as it nearly had tonight—Hellforged was our only line of defense against the Morfran. Giving it to Pryce would be like handing him written permission to set the Morfran loose on the world.
Pryce’s eyes seemed to burn holes into mine as he stared at me. Then he laughed, showing his animal-like teeth, and sat back again. “All right,” he said, “I’ll allow you your illusion of power—for now. You’ll give me Hellforged, and gladly, soon enough.”
