One Foot in the Grave: An Almost Zombie Tale (7 page)

“Is she always so stubborn?” Lydia asks my mom.

“I raised her to be an independent thinker,” my mom replies. “You can go with her, Isis. It’s all right. She’s told me all about the church and your…date.”

“Oh my gosh, Mom, it’s
not
a date.” I protest. “Daniel just said he’d help me, that’s all. I didn’t tell you because it’s not that big of a deal.”

“It
could
be a date, Isis, and you need to get out. You look positively unhealthy.”

“Really, Mom? ‘Unhealthy’?”

Even Lydia stifles a snicker.

My mom glares at both of us. “I’m doing the best I can under the circumstances. My child, my
daughter
, is undead…this isn’t exactly something that was ever in the parenting manual!”

Her voice starts to fray and I see tears forming in her eyes. The last time I saw her cry, I’d accidentally dropped a gallon of apple juice on her big toe right after she lost the nail. She just…wept. I was only five, but I still remember swearing I’d never make her cry again. It’s a promise I’ve kept until today.

“Mom, I’m sorry, I wish I could…” What do I wish? I can’t go back to being completely human without killing Andrew…can I? It’s not a question I want to ask in front of my mom, so I just trail off.

She smiles at me, but now I see the cracks in her façade. She’s really having a harder time dealing with this than I am. Lydia seems to understand that, too, because she gets up from the table.

“I really appreciate you letting me come over, Marilinn, but you look a bit frazzled. We really shouldn’t take up any more of your time. I’ll keep Isis overnight to give you a chance to rest.”

Wait…I’m spending the night at the witch’s house? When was
that
decided? “Spend the night? Mom!”

Before I can move, my mom grabs me by the elbow. “Excuse us, Lydia. Isis and I need to have a chat.” She hustles me into her bedroom and shuts the door.

I normally love my mom’s room. It’s bright and bold and filled with greenery. She’s got plants all over the place except on the bed itself. It’s like a greenhouse, but without the humidity and windows. We can’t exactly paint the walls, so she enlisted me and we hung curtain rods everywhere, then draped long silk scarves along every surface. It’s eye bending, to say the least.

“What happened to your manners, Isis? I
know
I raised you better than that!”

“Mom, she’s a witch,” I start, but she’s having none of what I’m saying.

“And you’re a half-zombie. And Andrew is a vampire. What’s your point, Isis?”

I try again. “You don’t even
know
her. How do you know she’s not a serial killer in disguise or something?”

She laughs. “
You
know her and she works at a church. I think you’re safe.”

And just like that, I know I’m going to be shipped off to the witch’s house.

Eleven:

It’s a Witchy-Witch.

Lydia lives in a cottage. It’s a true, hand to God cottage complete with rosebushes and an immaculate lawn. As a matter-of-fact, it looks sort of like some of the houses straight out of Lord of the Rings – the hobbit holes, or whatever they’re called; but without the round doorways or being covered in dirt.

“Go on in.” She opens the door wide and gestures me inside first. I step over the threshold. I’m not sure what I expect, candy furniture and gingerbread walls, maybe? Whatever it is, it’s not anything close to what I see. The interior is cozy; a fire even crackles in the fireplace. I frown. Wait a second, it’s summer-time, and she’s got a
fire
going? It’s weird. Not to mention, how many people keep a fire burning when they’re not home?

“I made some tea,” the red-haired woman says. “Do you take yours with cream and sugar, or plain?”

Tea with cream and sugar sounds interesting…too bad I can’t have any. “I can’t drink anything except water.” This whole half-zombie thing is sucking.

“I’m sorry, I forgot. Have a seat,” Lydia waves at the couch; a big, comfy monstrosity taking up a full three quarters of her living room. “I have the perfect dress for your date. Just hang on one second…” She trots down the hallway, leaving me totally alone in her living room. Maybe she’s got some specialized security or something. Either that or she’s super trusting. But if she’s as old as I think she is, she wouldn’t have survived the Trials by trusting…my thoughts are just squirreling around everywhere. I slide my shoes off, sit cross-legged on the couch and glance around the room. Sandstone colored walls hold pictures of cacti and pottery shards. In fact, the whole theme is really Southwestern.

“Try this on, it should fit you.” Lydia holds out what looks like yards and yards of red velvet. I’m no seamstress, I can’t even sew buttons on, but it looks well made.

“Why are you giving me this?”

“I’m familiar with the club Daniel is taking you to,” she says. “You need to be dressed appropriately. This should cover it.”

“Are you sure a dress is necessary?” I take the gown from her.

“You’ll be gorgeous.” She physically turns me around. “The bathroom’s through there.”

“Thanks.” I hold the dress close.

“Well, hurry up and try it on!” Lydia admonishes me. “I can’t wait to see you in it!”

I open the bathroom door and step inside, closing it behind me. I start to pull the dress over my head, then realize the stupid thing isn’t unzipped. Ugh. Wriggling back out of it, I reach for the zipper, but it’s not where normal zippers are. I search and finally find it, starting under the armpit and continuing almost to the waist. Whoever made this thing needs to die. I mean, why would anyone make a dress like this on purpose? I finally get it undone and slip the gown over my head, fastening it shut and tightening the corset. Opening the door, I step out into the empty hall.

“Uhhh…Lydia? I’m…” I don’t know what I am. Dressed? Definitely. Ready? Maybe.

“I’m in the bedroom. Come on back! I have a full length mirror in here.” Her cheerful voice guides me to the furthest room in the house. I walk back, holding the gown up with one hand so it doesn’t drag across the wood flooring.

The witch is insane. It’s the only explanation I can come up with as I stare at myself in the mirror. The gown itself is stunning. It’s floor length blood red velvet and has this super cool hood thing on the back which covers my neck. There are also extra-long sleeves and a square neckline. Oh, and did I mention the corset?? Yeah, the thing has a corset! It’s crazy, but she’s adamant.

“It’s incredible on you,” she bubbles. “Your white skin in that gown is sheer perfection!”

I run my hands down the beautiful red fabric. It really is a gorgeous gown. “Ummm…is there an age limit at this club?”

She laughs. “No. There’s only one entry requirement and you definitely have it.”

Before I can ask her what she means, she changes the subject. “Daniel will be here to pick you up about six thirty. That gives us four hours. Is there anything specific you’d like to do?”

I bite my bottom lip, then blurt out the one thing I wish I could do well. “Garden.”

She arches one red eyebrow high. “Excuse me?”

“I’d like to garden,” I repeat. “My mom is excellent at it; nothing she grows ever dies. Like, ever. I always wanted to learn how to grow like that, but I never really could. There’s something in the dirt that makes me all red and spotty, so gardening and I never mixed well. But maybe being part zombie, I can do it now.”

“All right,” she says. “I have a small plot of land out back, and some herbs I’ve been meaning to plant…you can help me with that. But first, we need to take care of your wrist. Going into the club with a bandage just highlights the fact that you’ve been injured. I have some tiny screws in the junk drawer. I’ll get them while you get changed, then we’ll fix your wrist and continue with our day. Also, I have some gloves in the shed. We’ll set you up with those, since some people have an adverse reaction to our lovely Georgia red clay. You might be one of them.”

I can’t wait.

***

Daniel picks me up at six thirty. Not six thirty one, but six thirty on the dot. He’s quite...punctual.

“You look fantastic, Isis.” Lydia leans in to hug me. I hug her back. The gardening was awesome and I feel more relaxed now than I have in weeks.

“Thanks for the loan,” I say. “I’ll bring the gown back to church tomorrow.”

She waves a hand. “Oh, no, don’t bother. My daughter doesn’t wear it anymore. You can keep it.”

I can…what? “Ummm…thanks.” I have no idea where I’ll ever wear it, but I’ll try to find a place.

“I hate to break this up,” Daniel says, “but the taxi’s waiting.”

I wave goodbye to the witch, who watches us from the porch until I get into the cab.

“Don’t you drive?” I ask.

The taxi surges forward into traffic, our driver honking wildly at an unsuspecting car in front of him.

“Of course I do,” Daniel leans back on the vinyl seat, and lowers his voice to a whisper. “But blood makes me drunk.”

“Huh?” I’m lost.

“Drinking blood is like drinking alcohol to me. I can’t drink and drive.”

Huh. That’s interesting. “What club are we going to?”

“The Blood Bank.”

I snicker. “Seriously? You’re taking me to a club called
The Blood Bank
?”

He flushes. I thought vampires could only do that once they’d fed…ewww…I decide not to pursue that line of thought.

“What’s the address?” The cab driver asks.

“1532 Peachtree Street.” Daniel rattles off the address as though he’s been there a lot. Maybe he has.

The cabbie turns his head and glances at me. “Well, at least you’re dressed for it.”

“You look awesome,” Daniel agrees. “Did Lydia loan you that?”

“She kind of insisted.” I shift around on the seat. “So how does this club work, anyway?”

“What’d you mean? It’s a club.”

I lean close to him. I definitely do
not
want the cabbie to hear my next words. “Lydia mentioned something about an entry requirement.”

He shakes his head. “I’m not sure what she was talking about. There’s a cover charge, but that’s so the band gets paid.”

The cabbie turns his signal on and spins the wheel at the same time. As a result, I find myself practically sitting in Daniel’s lap. His face flushes beet red even as I lever myself off.

“Sorry ‘bout that,” the cabbie mutters. He doesn’t need to apologize. I’m not leaving him a tip for planting me in a guy’s lap. I’m pretty sure I can do that all by myself, if I want to.

“1532 Peachtree,” the cabbie says, putting the car in park.

I glance at the meter. $45.03. Holy crap, getting here is expensive! I reach into a hidden pocket in the voluminous sleeves of the Gown de Goth Lydia encased me in, but Daniel shakes his head.

“I got this, don’t worry about it.”

All right, I won’t. It’s his party. Sort of. I eye the front of the club. What I’m seeing is very different from what I think I should be seeing. The lights proclaiming ‘The Blood Bank’ are neon yellow and bright blue, not black and blood red. I thought the club would be a lot more ‘in your face’ than it is. A bouncer stands at the door, arms folded across his chest. He eyes me up and down when I climb somewhat ungracefully out of the cab.

“You lost?” He asks with a glimmer of a smile.

I don’t expect that and it kind of throws me. “Ummm... I don’t think so. I’m looking for a club…” I trail off. Daniel is still in the cab and I wonder what he’s doing that’s taking so long.

His smile widens into a full blown grin and his arms unfold. “The Blood Bank
you’re
looking for is downstairs.”

Daniel strolls up to me and the bouncer grins at him. “Long time no see, man.”

The half-vampire shrugs. “I’ve been kind of busy.”

“It’s cool,” the man says. “You ‘n your date can go on in.”

Daniel nods. “Thanks. Tucker still manning the front?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Wait here while I pay for us,” Daniel tells me.

It’s easy enough to do. There’s a lot to look at. From the outside, I’d thought there would be those weird glitter balls hanging everywhere, but it’s not like that at all. Instead, there are round wooden tables every four feet or so, with two and three chairs at each and a stage on one side. But instead of a beautiful woman crooning 1940’s music from the elevated stage there’s a ginormous drum set. It’s a bit out of place, but who am I to judge?

“Are you ready?” Daniel’s approach startles me and I swing around to face him.

I paste a smile across my face. “Let’s do this.” I drag a bit of my hair forward and feel some piece of flesh come off in my hand. Crap. I close my hand around it and pray it’s not my ear. I don’t want to have to glue on more body parts. I sigh and follow Daniel across the floor and behind the stage to a plain wooden wall.

“What’s up with the wall? I thought we were going downstairs.”

Daniel passes his hand across the wall and a panel slides open. A wrought iron spiral staircase, its railing a dragon’s tail spiraling down into a black that’s blacker than black, greets me.

I halt at the top, apprehensive. I’m not entirely sure I want to go down there.

Daniel stops, his foot already on the first step. “What’s the matter, Isis?”

My chest feels tight. “I’m—why’re there two clubs?”

“The upstairs one is for full humans. The other one’s for people like us.” Daniel lowers his voice. “It’s a club for supernaturals.”

Twelve:

What Fresh Hell is This?

“A club for supernaturals,” I repeat. “Why’d you lie to me?”

He blinks at me with innocent hazel eyes. “I never lied. I said I’d take you to a night club. This is a night club.”

I sigh and follow him down the staircase. It really irritates me that he’s right. “What kind of creatures are going to be down there?”

“Oh, the usual crowd: vampires, ghosts, a few weres, maybe even a revenant or two.”

“Don’t ghosts just haunt people?” I ask. I’m not even sure what a revenant is, but it doesn’t sound pleasant, either.

Daniel shrugs. “I’ve heard that.”

“Then what’re they doing down there?”

“They don’t
just
haunt people, Isis. Ghosts have lives too, y’know.”