Angel Crawford #2: Even White Trash Zombies Get the Blues (9 page)

We sat with them for a short while, making light conversation. I expected to remain a nervous wreck but his folks were so damn nice and genuine that it was impossible not to relax and simply enjoy myself for a few minutes.

Marcus glanced at his watch. “I hate to ditch you,” he told his parents, “but I think it’s time for me to hunt down Uncle Pietro.”

His mother gave Marcus a light kiss on the cheek. “We’re going to be heading back to Lafayette soon. You’re still coming this weekend?”

He smiled and gave her a hug. “Absolutely.”

“It was lovely meeting you, Angel,” his mom said to me with such warmth that I was pretty sure she actually meant it and wasn’t just saying it to be polite.

“You too,” I said, meaning it as well.

Marcus gave my hand a gentle tug, and we headed toward the house. “Your parents seem real nice,” I said.

He smiled. “They rock. I’m damn lucky.”

We entered the back door of the house and passed into a kitchen so large that I wondered if whoever cooked for Pietro ever got tired simply walking from one end of the room to the other. I was used to fancy houses so I managed not to gawk too much. After all, rich people died just as often as poor people. But Pietro clearly had
a lot
of money. Everything was oak and marble.
Everything. I couldn’t even figure out where the fridge was.

Marcus turned to me. “Would you mind waiting here for just a minute while I hunt down my uncle?”

I minded a lot since the last thing I wanted in the world was to be abandoned in the middle of someone else’s house where I knew pretty much no one, but I wasn’t about to admit that. “Nah, that’s fine. I’m a big girl.” I even flashed him a wide smile so that he’d believe it.

And apparently he did, damn it. With a parting kiss he was off, leaving me to fidget and pray that I wouldn’t have to talk to anyone before he came back.

So of course, that wasn’t going to happen. Marcus hadn’t been gone more than five seconds before a slim auburn-haired woman came into the kitchen. She gave me a tight, polite smile before heading straight to one of the oak walls—which she then opened to retrieve a bottle of wine.
Okay, fridge successfully located.
I’d have never found that thing on my own.

The woman turned with her bottle, walking with enough care that I suspected it wasn’t her first. But she paused as she neared and raked an unsteady gaze over me. “We could be twins,” she announced.

I blinked in confusion until I realized she was wearing jeans, black sweater and boots—same as me. Except on her it looked like the perfect definition of “elegant casual.” Then again,
her
clothing probably hadn’t come from the outlet mall.

“Though I don’t think I could pull off that hair color,” she added with a twitch of her lips.

I fought the urge to reach a hand up and smooth down my perpetually frizzy, overbleached hair. Leaning
back against the counter, I did my best to give off an
I don’t give a shit
attitude. “Yeah, it’s a personal statement thing,” I replied, copying her smirk.
Personal statement?
I sighed inwardly as soon as the words were out of my mouth. That was the best comeback I could come up with?

She let out a snort, then held up the wine. “You drinking?”

“Nah, not right now,” I said. Or ever. Drinking alcohol would only make me rot faster while my zombie-ness cleaned up the damage it did. “But don’t let me stop you. Knock yourself out.”

She gave me another once-over, then apparently decided I was boring her. She rolled her eyes, turned without another word, and tottered off to the backyard.

I barely had time to breathe a sigh of relief before a tall blond woman in a black dress and burgundy jacket entered the kitchen.

“Did a redhead in a black sweater come through here?” she asked me, her forehead puckering into a worried frown.

“Yeah,” I said. “She grabbed a bottle of wine from the fridge and headed out back.”

She heaved a sigh and leaned against the counter. “Good. Maybe she’ll get drunk enough that she’ll forget to chew me out tomorrow.” I must have looked baffled because she straightened and shrugged. “Sorry. That’s my boss, Dr. Charish. She’s been on my ass wanting me to explain my requisitions in painful detail, which slows down my actual work, which means she then gets on my ass about not getting my project reports in on time.”

I recognized her now. This was the chick that Marcus
had been talking to at the lab. And the redhead was the uptight-looking woman who’d looked so pissed off when we were picking up the body.

“That sucks,” I said, since I had no idea what else to say.

“Don’t mind me,” she said with a small smile. “I’m just venting. I’ve learned ways around Dr. Charish’s craziness.” Then she tilted her head. “You must be Angel!” she said. “Nathan and Morena said that you’d come inside. I’m Sofia.” She gave me a warm smile and shook my hand. Her grip was cool and firm—one of those perfect handshakes that made me think she had to do a lot of meet and greet type bullshit at her job.

“Yeah…that’s right. Yes, I’m Angel. Nice to meet you.” I decided to play dumb about knowing who she was. “Are you one of his cousins?”

Amusement lit her eyes, though she didn’t laugh. “No, I’m just a family friend. I’ve known Marcus since high school. Have you two been dating long?”

“Not really,” I replied. “Only a couple of weeks.”

“Well that explains why we haven’t heard much about you,” she said with a light chuckle. “Though he does tend to stay pretty private.” Her lips twitched. “It says quite a bit that he brought you around to meet us so soon.”

I gave a weak laugh in response. “Well, we’ve actually kinda known each other for a while. I mean, we just weren’t dating is all.” Crap, what had he told them about how long we’d known each other?

Sofia tilted her head slightly. “Ah. That makes more sense. So, tell me about yourself, Angel. Where did you go to school?”

It took everything I had to not pretend I heard Marcus
calling for me or my phone ringing. I fought to keep the smile on my face, but I was pretty damn sure it looked sickly. “I, uh, went to East St. Edwards high school.”

Sofia waited a beat as if expecting me to say more, then seemed to realize that I was finished. “Of course. Any plans for college?”

A sick tightness began to form in my stomach.
You don’t belong here
was the clear message. “Um, not right now. Just working, y’know.” The last thing I wanted to tell her was that I hadn’t even graduated high school. But hey, I was studying for my GED at least. Or rather, I was about to start studying for it. Any day now.

She took a sip of her drink. “Of course. There are some great online courses that are pretty affordable and don’t eat up too much time. That’s how Marcus is working toward his masters.”

I blinked. “Masters? Oh, I, um, didn’t know he’d gone to college.” Here I was thinking he was just a cop. He had a degree? Why hadn’t he ever told me? Trying to protect my feelings again?

What the hell did he see in me?

“He has a bachelors in sociology. But he figures that with a masters he has a better chance of going federal.”

“Federal?” I asked weakly.

She smiled at me over her glass. “Federal agent. FBI or DEA. That sort of thing.”

“Oh,” I managed. “He…never told me that.”

Marcus came back then, and I nearly seized him in relief. “I see you’ve met Sofia,” he said, then surprised me by giving her a kiss on the cheek. “You’re looking as sharp as ever,” he told her.

“And you as well. I was just getting to know your new girlfriend.”

“Well, I hate to interrupt, but I need to steal Angel away from you to introduce her to Uncle Pietro.”

Sofia’s eyes crinkled in what looked like amusement, then she gave me a polite smile and turned away. Marcus tugged me toward the stairs. He glanced over at me as we climbed. “You all right?”

I plastered on a smile. “Sure thing.” I wasn’t about to tell him that I was suffering from a crisis of inferiority because I was an uneducated doof, and that I was feeling more and more like I didn’t deserve to be with him. “I’m peachy keen,” I added for good measure.

He didn’t look convinced, but luckily for me there wasn’t time for him to pry more details out of me. At the top of the stairs we proceeded to the room at the end of the hallway. I wasn’t sure what I was expecting. A sitting room or maybe an office. Something that looked a bit like the room Marlon Brando sat in during the beginning of
The Godfather
. It was my dad’s favorite movie. I
knew
that room.

This wasn’t that room. Not even close. Oh, there was a big ol’ oak desk and leather chairs and that sort of thing. But one wall was taken up by an enormous TV, along with consoles for several different video game systems. Opposite that was a smaller desk with a computer and flat screen monitor. Every bit of wall space that wasn’t taken up with TV, windows, or door, was filled with bookcases all chock full of books. All kinds—hardback, paperback, non-fiction, fiction, mystery, sci-fi—all precisely shelved and, as far as I could tell, alphabetized.

I pulled my attention away from the intimidating
number of books. In a chair by the window was a man who I could only assume was Uncle Pietro. To my relief, he looked
exactly
how I’d pictured him. Stocky and swarthy, dark brown hair with a scattering of grey, and dark eyes that seemed to crackle with intelligence. I found myself discreetly peering to see if I could detect any evidence of hair dye or makeup but quickly gave up. Whoever did his work was damn good. As far as I could tell the man really was in his sixties.

He stood when we entered and came over to give Marcus a warm hug. “Good to see you, my boy. Very glad you could make it.” He then turned to me. “And you must be Angel. I’ve heard a bit about you.” But before I could respond he glanced to Marcus. “Close the door, please. Then we can talk.”

That wasn’t encouraging. Looked like I was in for another third degree on whether Marcus could do better than me.

Pietro turned back to me and gestured toward a chair. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

I didn’t want to sit in the chair, mostly because I wanted to sit next to Marcus. Not to be all publicly affectionate with him, but because I was really fucking needing some reassurance at this point, and a simple hand-holding would have suited me just fine. But I went ahead and sat in the indicated chair, then realized that Pietro probably knew exactly what he was doing and had wanted me separated from Marcus so that he could get a better idea of what kind of person I was.
A nervous wreck
, I thought with a silent sigh.

Marcus closed the door and took the chair next to mine. Still too far apart for me to reach out and take his
hand or anything, at least not without me looking like a complete spaz. Which I probably already looked like. Yes, my self-esteem was currently hovering somewhere below rock bottom.

I expected Pietro to sit on the edge of the desk, thereby allowing him to loom over us, or at the very least take the seat behind the desk so that he could be more boss-like. But to my surprise he pulled a third chair over so that we formed a circle. Or a triangle. A circular triangle.

He glanced at the door as if to verify that it was shut, then picked a remote up from a side table and turned on some sort of vaguely familiar classical music. “The speakers are pointed so that it’s louder by the door,” he explained to me. “Makes it pretty much impossible to eavesdrop on us from there.” He set the remote down and then leaned back in the chair. I tried to hide how freaked out I was at the sudden display of security. “So, tell me, Angel,” he said. “How are you adjusting to being a zombie?”

“It’s fucking weird,” I said, then flushed at my complete lack of couth. “Sorry, sir, I mean, it’s pretty odd, but I think I’m getting a handle on it.”

The smile he gave me was almost friendly. Almost. “I don’t mind an f-bomb, Angel. Especially considering that you saved Marcus from the hunter.”

At first I thought he meant a deer hunter, and it took me a couple of seconds of mental floundering to figure out what the hell he was talking about. Hell, I was a redneck. Of course I’d think of deer hunting first. “You mean Ed?” I asked, just in case.

“Yes. The zombie hunter.” He shifted, crossed one leg
over the other. “I confess I was less than thrilled when Marcus told me he’d created a zombie. There are sustainability issues, you understand.”

I knew I looked perplexed. “You make it sound like he put me together in his garage,” I said. “And no, I don’t understand. What are, um, sustainability issues?” Hell, they already knew I was uneducated. What, I was going to lower their opinion of me?

“I’m referring to how to keep our population fed without resorting to means that would draw attention to us.”

“Oh, you mean how to get enough brains,” I said. Why the hell couldn’t he have
said
that?

Pietro tipped his head in a nod. “Precisely. You are a new zombie, which means that your need is somewhat higher. You probably consume, what, a full brain a week? Perhaps a bit more?”

“Yeah, sounds about right,” I said. Hey, look at that, something resembling some answers. “You saying I won’t always stay this hungry? How long does that last?”

“About a year. It will gradually taper off a bit to where, with normal exertion, you’ll be able to make a brain last about a week and a half. But, this still means that the average zombie needs about forty brains a year.” He gave me a sardonic smile. “I’m sure you can see why our population needs to be strictly controlled.” He met my eyes, and I had zero doubt that he would have preferred that my population had been controlled, perhaps even before I’d been made a zombie.

Well, fuck him and fuck this whole thing. I leaned back and crossed my arms over my chest. “Yeah, well, you’re stuck with me now,” I said with a tight smile. “And I guess you’re all right with Ed taking a bunch of y’all out?”

He frowned. “We don’t kill our own. There are plenty of others willing to do that for us—and Ed is a perfect example.”

Marcus cleared his throat softly. “Angel, Ed’s not the only zombie hunter out there.”