Anita Blake 24 - Dead Ice (71 page)

“We understand duty all to hell and back,” Fortune said.

I realized that they’d all served the Mother of All Darkness as bodyguards, spies, and assassins for hundreds or even thousands of years. I guess that was about as much duty as anyone could ask of a person.

“I guess you do,” I said.

“Go,
ma petite
, we will discuss, but await your input for any decisions.” I kissed him good-bye, then kissed all my other men good-bye, including Richard.

“Don’t I get a good-bye kiss?” Asher asked.

“No,” I said.

“Ever again?” he asked, and looked sad, though I knew most of it was like pretend pouting.

“Don’t push me tonight, Asher; even you aren’t beautiful enough for the shit you pulled today.”

He started to protest, and I just held up a hand and said, “Enough.”

I wasn’t sure what to do with the three women, so I said, “Whether we do good-bye kisses or not, we’ll discuss.”

“Looking forward to it,” Fortune said.

“As am I,” Magda said.

Echo blew me a kiss.

And I left to watch a live online zombie sex show, and try to catch the evil bastard that was making it possible. It had been a full day, and the night was shaping up to be the same. Of course, except for the addition of extra women, how was this night any different from so many others?

T
HEY PUT US
in one of the conference rooms; I guess Dolph needed his office back. It also gave Brent room to put up what looked like a huge-ass flat-screen TV, but was actually a new monitor, so we didn’t have to crowd around the screen of his portable computer. Honestly, I’d have been okay with the smaller monitor. I really didn’t need to see the glint of terror in the zombie’s eyes quite that clearly, thanks. I think Manning and Gillingham agreed with me.

Unlike most of the films, these cam shows started with an image of the as-yet empty room. It didn’t fill the screen like I’d thought it would though, because there was a sidebar of chat. Brent’s undercover name was one of thirty screen names that were chatting with the computer tech, and with the other customers. They were giving requests for what they wanted the zombie to do, or to be done to the zombie, and then the monitor name typed, “We have enough requests—let’s bring on our star attraction.”

A man’s voice said, “Open the door and walk into the room.” The room’s only door opened. It was the blond zombie that had starred in the first film. She was still only as rotted as we’d seen her last, the once beautiful face made partially cadaverous, but they’d changed her funeral clothes to a red nightie and matching stiletto sandals. The zombie did exactly what she was told, taking the first step into the room and stopping. “Close the door behind you, and walk farther into the room.” She closed the door and took one extra step. The zombie had to obey him, but there was a mind in there with the soul, so she was making it as defiant as the magic would allow. I cheered the effort, even as it made her more real. It was going to be harder to pretend she was just a zombie, and not a person, and that was going to make watching this worse. Distance, emotional distance, or we were all going to have nightmares.

His next order was, “Walk to the bed,” so she had to go all the way in the room now. We couldn’t see her eyes, barely any of her face now, because her hair had spilled forward enough to obscure even her profile.

“Turn around and sit on the side of the bed,” the man said. He had to be back in the same corner as in the earlier films, but none of him was visible now. He was just a voice.

“Ready when you are, Anita,” Brent said.

I’d been briefed; all I had to do was use my necromancy on the zombie on the screen, and on her handler in the corner. I was sure he had a tie to the zombie from the older videos; we were here tonight to see if I could sense more from something happening in real time. It had sounded like a good idea, but suddenly seeing the zombie like this . . . It made her more real, and even more of a victim. Shit.

I’d lowered my shields to try to search the older videos, but this was supposed to be just my necromancy. I opened that part of myself like unclenching a fist, but instead of sending it into a grave, or a cemetery, I aimed it at the zombie I saw on the screen. I don’t know what I expected, but nothing happened. It was like my necromancy didn’t know where to go, or how to get there.

Gillingham shivered, rubbing her hands up and down her arms, as if she was cold. “Your power is amazing, but it’s like it’s just filling the room higher and higher, as if we’ll all drown in it when you finally fill the room.”

“Interesting, I’ve described really strong lycanthrope energy like that.”

“Really?” she said, and started to ask me questions.

“Focus, ladies, you can compare psychic notes later,” Manning said.

Gillingham looked embarrassed, but I was at a loss.

“I don’t know how to direct my power at the zombie there,” I said, pointing.

“Well, she’s not really there,” Brent said. “She’s miles away. Maybe hundreds of miles away.”

“So how do I tell my necromancy where to go?” I asked.

“Try touching the screen,” Brent said. “That helps some people.”

It was worth a try, so I stepped up and touched the screen, over the zombie. I closed my eyes and sent my necromancy through my fingers into the zombie on the screen the same way I’d send my power into the ground to explore a grave, or search a cemetery, or sense for vampires. All the dead belonged to me, all of them, all of them, all of them, even the zombie on the screen, even hundreds of miles away. It was just another zombie. I opened my eyes and found myself staring into the zombie’s face from inches away. One eye was still blue, while the other was gray and shriveled along with that side of her face, but it wasn’t the rot that made her eyes mesmerizing. It was the terror in them, the helpless fucking terror in them.

I touched those eyes and wanted to help her. I wanted to find her and help her. What he’d done was wrong, it was just wrong, and I wanted to fix it, to fix her, to save her. I prayed, “God help me find her. Help me save her from this.”

Her eyes went wide, and I felt the shock of connection. I had her. I could feel it like a thread of power from me to her, because it was her, and to think anything else was lying to myself.

“What did you do just now, Anita?” Brent asked.

“I can feel the zombie, I have her.”

“I can feel you through the keyboard and all over my stuff now. Shit. The technician just typed, ‘Who are you?’ I think he means you.”

The man in the corner who was just a voice said, “Lie down on the bed.”

“He’s typing, ‘Who are you?’ over and over between taking customer chat,” Brent said.

The man who was going to be the zombie’s co-star walked into frame. He was young and in great shape, down to washboard abs, which takes a hell of a lot of gym time and nutrition work to get and maintain. If the face matched the body, he could have been a movie star, but he was wearing one of those black leather hoods that covers the whole face except for the mouth. Even the eye-holes had mesh over them so the color and shape of his eyes were lost.

“Shit,” I said.

“What is it?” Manning said.

“She’s afraid.”

“It shows in her eyes,” Manning agreed.

I shook my head.

“Can you feel her fear?” Gillingham asked.

I nodded, but it was more than that. I could . . . hear her. “She’s praying. She’s praying for help. She’s praying to be saved.”

“You’re not a telepath,” Gillingham said. “How do you know that?”

“I’m not hearing what she’s thinking, I think I’m hearing her prayer, literally hearing her prayer.”

“Interesting,” Gillingham said.

“We’re losing people in the chat and we haven’t even started the sex yet. They don’t drop out this early, not in numbers like this,” Brent said.

“What’s happening then?” Manning asked.

“We started at thirty, and now we’re down to twenty . . . nineteen.”

Gillingham said, “The guy who was monitoring all of it on their end keeps typing
Who are you? Who the hell are you? Why are you here?
”

“I think he’s typing for the guy in the corner.”

“
Who the hell are you?
he’s typing now,” Gillingham said.

I could have moved my gaze by inches and read the screen, but I didn’t want to look away from her eyes. I could feel her. I didn’t want to lose that.

“Uh-oh,” Brent said.

“What’s uh-oh mean in this context?” Manning asked.

“I just got a private message from the monitor. They’re telling me to drop out, they’ll refund my money and give me a credit for another session, just drop out now.”

“Then just drop out,” Manning said.

“If we drop out, Anita’s energy stops and my cover is blown, but if we don’t drop out, then eventually everyone else will. . . .”

“And my energy will still be coming through so your cover is blown anyway,” I said.

“Yes.”

“Damned if we do, damned if we don’t,” Manning said.

“Unfortunately,” Brent said, hesitating over the keyboard.

“Then answer his question,” Gillingham said.

“What question?” Brent asked.

“Tell him who is here.”

“The FBI?” Brent asked.

“Anita Blake, that’s the energy he’s picking up that’s making him frantic.”

“You okay with being outed to this nut job?” Brent asked.

“Nut job? Really?” I asked.

“I’ll give you the standard vocabulary that’ll go in my report later, right now decide whether you want this man, these people to know who you are.”

Manning said, “Once they know who you are, then they can find you, Blake. You’re all over the news right now.”

“Let them find me, that means we have a better chance of catching them.”

“Are you sure?” Manning asked.

“We have to decide soon, he’s gone past me in the queue. If everyone else drops out first, then we’ve lost him.”

“A bold front is our only chance,” Gillingham said.

“Do it,” I said.

“Bold it is,” Brent said, and typed on the keyboard. In between the repeated “
Who is this?
” he answered, “
Anita Blake, who is this?
”

“Private message again:
What do you want?
”

“Is it too bold to say, your head on a pike?” I asked, still looking into the zombie’s eyes.

“That’s a little aggressive. The longer we keep him on, the better chance we have of our techs tracing this to its source.”

“You mean where they’re filming?” I asked.

“If we’re lucky, very lucky, yes.”

“He’s asking the question again, what do you want?”

“Type:
You know what I want
.”

“Really?” Brent said.

“Just type it,” Manning said.

I heard the keys click. “Sent,” Brent said.

“
No, I don’t,
he says.”

“Liar, tell him liar,” I said.

Brent typed it.

“
We’re not breaking any laws with the videos
, he says,” Brent read.

“Tell him, not with the videos, but where are you getting your zombies?”

“He says,
We have someone raise them for us.
”

I put my other hand on the corner of the film where he had to be sitting, and I flexed the connection to the zombie and there it was, a line of power flaring so bright. “Tell him, he’s lying, he raised the zombie.”

“
We’ll kill whoever told you
, he typed.”

“Anita, try and make the zombie do something that he’s not ordering,” Gillingham said.

“I can’t do that to someone else’s zombie, and I sure as hell can’t do it over a computer like this.”

“Stop saying
can’t
and try, damn it. Don’t you understand, if he thinks someone ratted them out, they’ll start killing people that they suspect.”

“Fine, type: Then kill yourself, because your power called to me. You told me you existed.”

“Repeat it slower,” Brent said.

I repeated it.

It was so long before he replied I thought we’d lost him, but he sent back, “
I thought I could hide
.”

“Tell him, a power as great as his shines out. It attracts the dead and those who work with the dead.”

“That’s bullshit, right?” Manning asked.

“Yeah, if I hadn’t seen the videos I wouldn’t have known he existed, but he doesn’t know that.”

“
I’ve felt your power, too, Anita
, he says.”

“More bullshit,” Manning said.

“Maybe not,” Gillingham said. “Anita shines bright even to me, but to someone who raises the dead she might come up on their radar.”

“It doesn’t matter if it’s true or not, I just want him to stay on the line so they can trace him,” I said.

“
You’re trying to keep us on the line so you can trace us
, he says,” Brent read.

“Make the zombie do something, Anita,” Gillingham said.

“That may make him hang up,” I said.

“He’s going to hang up soon anyway.”

“
I don’t believe you felt my energy, Anita. Who told you?
”

“Make the zombie move, Anita.”

I said it out loud as I thought it at her, “Walk toward the door.”

She swayed.

I repeated it. “Please God, let her hear me.”

She took a step toward the door. The man’s voice said, “Stop moving.”

“Walk,” I said, and willed her to do it.

She took another step.

“Stop!” He yelled it, and she obeyed.

To Brent I said, “Type, ‘Your power called to me. Did you really think you could do this and I wouldn’t know?’”

He typed and read the response, “
How are you doing that? How are you giving it orders?
”

I thought, and prayed, “Talk to me, I’ll hear you.”

The zombie said, “Ruthie, my name is Ruthie Sylvester.”

“Shut up!” he screamed.

“Help me! Oh, God, help me!” she yelled.

“Come on, tell us where you are,” Brent whispered.

“Give us a clue,” I said.

“Illinois, he took me in Chicago.”

He screamed, “Shut up!” To the actor who was standing there waiting for direction, someone offscreen said, “Hit her.”