The Shambling Guide to New York City (17 page)

“Yeah. I can’t understand it,” John said, putting his hand on Zoë’s shoulder. He pressed slightly, sending a message of more than simple concern for her. “They don’t usually get this hungry.”

Rodrigo, the short office assistant whom Zoë hadn’t talked to much, turned and focused on them. “The brains are missing. Paul brought in new brains this morning. We should have had enough for the week. Are you sure you didn’t take any?”

Zoë’s heart hammered when she realized all three zombies were looking at her pointedly, but she rolled her eyes. “Yeah. I’m going to accidentally eat brains. And keep eating them once I realize my mistake.”

Rodrigo looked at the trash can. “You could have thrown them away.”

“Why in the world would I want to throw away your food, when I know that I’m the only other food source you have in the office?” Zoë asked. “I know you’re hungry, dude, but use some common sense and give me a tiny bit of credit.”

John started pulling on her. “Come on, Zoë, don’t taunt the people who are thinking about that gorgeous pink brain of yours,” he whispered, his low voice tickling her ear. She shivered.

“All right. Listen, the brains were there at lunch, I saw some when I got a soda. I didn’t touch them. I didn’t see who took them.” John pulled on her again. “Good luck finding brains, guys!”

The zombies didn’t register her leaving. That was probably a good thing.

Once the three were outside, John pulled his coat around him. “We’d better follow them, just to make sure they get what they need and don’t start hunting.”

“Shouldn’t Phil do that or something?” Zoë asked.

John rolled his eyes. “Phil’s on the phone doing a business deal. You don’t interrupt Phil when he’s doing business.”

Morgen looked at Zoë. “Are you up for this?”

Zoë was quite hungry, but realized she would get a chance to see how coterie food worked within the city twice, if they followed the zombies. “Sure. I’m game.”

As they waited for the zombies to exit the theater, Zoë studied her talisman so she wouldn’t have to look at John’s silhouette against the streetlight.

“A choker? Seriously?” Zoë asked Morgen.

“What’s wrong with a choker?” Morgen asked, taking it from her and fastening it around Zoë’s neck.

“Look at me, Morgen. Am I goth? Even slightly?” She wore a red sweater, khakis, and brown boots under a tan overcoat.

“Not even slightly,” the water sprite said. “But people in this city don’t notice the fact that zombies walk the street with them, not to mention other coterie. Do you think they’ll notice the one goth necklace standing out of your mundane wardrobe?”

Zoë made a face. “Yes, actually! The fact that zombies are wandering the streets is so far outside the concept of the human world, it just flows out of their mind. At the very least, people will think they’re going to a costume party. But bad accessorizing…” She shuddered.

Morgen rolled her eyes. “You’ll deal. Better than getting eaten.” She pointed to the door where the zombies were exiting, and she, John, and Zoë slunk back into the shadows. “Come on, let’s follow them.”

Each zombie wore an overcoat and a low-pulled hat. To Zoë’s eyes, they looked painfully obvious, but it was the city’s way to ignore passersby, so no one took notice. The zombies were clearly hurrying, but still walked slower than Zoë, John, and Morgen, so they followed at a leisurely pace far behind.

“I think the necklace is lovely on you,” John said. “It may look better with a more revealing top. May I suggest a button-down blouse?”

In the dark, Zoë wondered if by his very nature he could tell when her face reddened due to his attentions. “You can suggest all you want. But I think wearing revealing clothing around you is a bad idea.”

He laughed, a low chuckle. Then his hand was on her shoulder again and his breath was hot on her ear. “Then perhaps you should wear none at all.”

I walked into that one
, she thought. Her legs turned to jelly. “Sheesh, John. It’s really good that you’re a supernatural being.
I figure if I can hold you off, I can handle any temptation.” She laughed, determined not to show the cracks in her armor.

He just smiled at her, his gorgeous, full lips promising much in the way of pleasure.

Morgen slipped between then, forcing them apart. “Come on, you two. John, if you mess her up so she can’t come to work, Phil will have your head. Zoë, I told you, he’s sex on two legs. He’s programmed to turn you on. You’ve got to be strong.”

Zoë blushed harder and stared firmly ahead. She’d forgotten Morgen was there.
John really is powerful. I shouldn’t underestimate him simply because he doesn’t want to eat my brains or blood.

They stepped up their pace, as the zombies had gotten farther ahead of them. Zoë remembered she’d meant to contact an old college friend to find out if she knew how Scott had died, which might lead to some clues about Wesley’s goals.

Putting dead people out of her mind was difficult as the zombies led them through an alley and to a garage door on the side of a hospital annex. It took Zoë a moment to realize they were at the hearse entrance for the morgue. “Ohh…” she said. Morgen grinned at her.

“Where did you think we were going?” she asked.

Zoë shrugged. “A coworker is made of an ex-boyfriend and an incubus is trying to seduce me on the streets. I was kinda distracted.”

“OK, we need to keep quiet. But,” Morgen added, pulling at Zoë’s jacket collar to show off the choker, “if we’re seen, make sure anyone can see this.”

“But aren’t they humans?”

“Doesn’t matter. They’ll have one too. Watch.”

The zombies pounded four times on the door, and a hum came from inside and the door lifted. An older, heavyset Hispanic man came out, glaring at them. He rolled up his sleeves
in the chilly night, showing a talisman set into a frayed leather strap around his wrist.

“Jorge, we need replenishment,” Montel said without preamble.

“You’re not supposed to be here for another week or so. What makes you think I have any stash left?”

Zoë had the bizarre feeling of being present during a drug deal, and felt the need to look right and left for any lurking cops. No one noticed them; no one was present except for a homeless woman pushing a shopping cart and muttering to herself.

“This is worse than I thought,” John whispered.

“How so?” Zoë asked.

Morgen watched the zombies with shining eyes. “Montel’s nearly lost all humanity. He’s seriously feral at this point. If we tell you to run, do it.”

Zoë nodded, biting her lip.

“We require food,” Rodrigo said. He switched to Spanish, and spoke a moment longer. Jorge’s face went slack with shock and he took a step back.

Montel groaned, then said, “You should always be ready to provide.”

“I don’t have anything ready, you’ll have to hit another supplier,” Jorge said, his voice going high with panic. He tried to close the door, but Montel blocked it with his arm. The zombies shuffled closer.

Just go inside!
Zoë thought, her heart hammering. She opened her mouth to call to him, but Morgen stopped her. “If you speak up, all they will hear is another meal. Keep quiet. I’m going to call Phil.”

“But—” Zoë said, and Morgen ran out of the alley to the sidewalk.

Jorge held up his hand, showing his talisman. “I’m neutral!
You can’t harm me! You kill me, you lose this hospital and call Public Works down on your nasty heads!”

Montel shook his head as if to clear it and stepped back. His dead eyes caught Zoë and John in the shadows, and then the homeless woman. He put his hand on Paul’s shoulder and pulled him back too. “He’s right. We need to calm down.”

Montel’s arm was out to grab Rodrigo, but the shorter zombie reached out with one decayed finger and hooked Jorge’s leather strap. It had frayed too much, and one quick tug pulled the talisman off. Zoë caught sight once more of Jorge’s frightened brown eyes, and then Rodrigo was on him, chewing on his head and ripping at his clothing.

Zoë staggered back, her hand clasped to her mouth, John’s hand over hers. This was supposed to be a stop as benign as a grocery trip. Even after the bloody meeting with the vampires, she had nearly convinced herself that coterie were just people too. She’d never seen them hunt. But the scene in front of her rivaled Friday nights when she’d worked as a waitress at Applebee’s and belligerent customers had nearly bitten her head off for bringing the wrong drinks.

Well (her frantic mind tried to calm itself with logic), that biting of her head had been metaphorical, even if a customer had sprayed her with infuriated spittle one time. Jorge was getting his head literally bitten off, and Zoë pressed her fingers into her mouth to stop herself from screaming.

Then John’s mouth was at her ear, his hands on her shoulders, he was pulling her away, whispering, God, whispering things, filthy, seductive things, shocking things, but his coterie power had the desired effect. Lust surged in Zoë and she nearly swooned, falling into his arms. His lips were on hers then, crushing her, and she could feel something boiling inside her, and
then being removed from her. The screams and hungry moans behind her faded, and all she could hear was her own pulse in her ears, and her own roaring need.

Then she was on the street, with no idea of how she’d gotten there. Morgen was shutting her phone and frowning. “Voice mail. This is not good.” She looked at Zoë and then at John. “Fuck, John, what did you do to her?”

He looked affronted. “I got her out of there. She was freaking and I had to… distract her.”

“Why was she freaking out?”

“Rodrigo is feeding on his supplier.”

“Shit. Did the others go native, too?”

“I think they’re all right. They pulled him off the man, but the damage is done. Rodrigo is mad with hunger, and Montel and Paul have enough to deal with controlling their own hunger.” John pointed down into the hospital’s parking deck. “Rodrigo ran that way.”

Morgen looked grimmer than Zoë had ever seen her. “Phil’s not answering. Montel can’t help. And I’m not leaving Zoë alone in order to run them down.”

“Should we call—” John asked.

Morgen made a cutting motion with her hand, interrupting. “No. They will know about it. They always do. That’s why we shouldn’t be caught here. Let’s just go.”

The city became a somber place, a safer place, for the humans after the 9/11 attacks. But for coterie it got a lot more dangerous.

First there was the ifrit and djinn hunting. Any coterie with Arab or Muslim origins were hunted down, as Public Works became convinced that the terrorist attacks were too well orchestrated to be pulled off by humans alone. The ifrit and djinn were rounded up and interrogated, and some disappeared. Coterie investigators tracked some to a closed-off area of Guantanamo Bay, but others simply disappeared and, as of this writing, are assumed dead.

This was a dark day for the city’s coterie, as war with Public Works threatened. It was averted when a group of ifrit from New Jersey traveled back to the Middle East and dug up information about the attacks, sending proof back to Public Works that they were a human job. Public Works never fully believed coterie hadn’t been involved—at the very least, it assumed gremlins had been hired to take over the planes—and tensions have been high since.

The buildings that have been closed off to the public since 9/11 (such as the New York Stock Exchange) have also had most of the coterie entrances blockaded.

T
his feels wrong,” Zoë said, staring dumbly at the menu.

“Why?” Morgen asked, her menu down.

“We just saw a guy get killed. Eaten. We shouldn’t be… going to a fancy restaurant. It feels disrespectful. Also I’m pretty sure I’d be freaking out right now if someone didn’t practically molest me in the alley.” She glared at John, but her words lacked venom.

He sipped a glass of water and leaned back, utterly delicious. “Tell me you didn’t enjoy it. Tell me it didn’t save your life by keeping you focused on something other than the zombies feeding.” He leaned forward and his fingertips brushed her knee under the table. “Tell me you don’t want more.”

Morgen reached over and pushed him back. “Hands on the table, perv. Are you honestly trying to make a case that you used your powers for good?”

John crossed his arms. “As a matter of fact, I am.”

Morgen rolled her eyes and focused on Zoë, who blinked stupidly at her. “Anyway, Zoë, there’s nothing we can do. We told Phil, I know that Public Works knows about it already, we got you out of there, and now we’re feeding you. Have you eaten all day?”

Zoë scanned the menu again, realizing that part of her light-headedness was from low blood sugar. Despite her utter need for the man (
not man
) beside her (
not man, incubus
), Zoë felt a small disquieting tremor in her chest. (
Not man. This is wrong.
)
She blinked a couple of times and then took a deep breath, as if she had been holding hers for a long time. She rubbed her face and said, “OK. I’m back. Thanks for the rescue, John. I think.” She smiled at John, who looked, for the first time since she’d met him, unsure.