Undead Chaos (27 page)

“And yet he is targeted a second time for a crime he never committed?”

Dad rubbed the dark patches under his eyes. “Unfortunately, that is not my call. The Elders voted and majority rules. Simeon remains a wanted criminal.”

I gritted my teeth. “They’ll kill an innocent man.”

“To a degree, yes. Simeon may be innocent of the charges against him, both today and from years ago, but without the evidence to support a testimony, it does us no good. He’s not doing himself any favors by hiding.

“I know you blame yourself,” he added, staring intently at me, “but believe me when I tell you that if there was anyone that has done more to aid that man, it is you. Besides, he’s good at hiding. I’m sure he’ll be able to take care of himself until the time comes for us to properly clear his name.”

Dad made a good point, but Simeon was finished with trying to clear his name. The Council had failed to help him twice in as many decades, and the Skilled community would forever remember him as a dark Necromancer. If I’d spent two decades living in shame because of lies, I’d also want nothing more to do with my society.

Then there was Banks. As an undead that was regenerating more and more each day, he was both an abomination and fascination all rolled up into one flabby, putrid being. What would happen to him in the weeks and years to come? Would he continue to regenerate, or would he finally succumb to the inevitable as Simeon claimed?

So many unknowns.

“By the way,” Dad said, interrupting my thoughts, “we recovered your car from the woods. It’s parked in one of the spare garage bays.”

“Did anyone molest it?” I asked, thinking of the sack in the backseat.

He shook his head. “No. I simply had one of the guards bring it here and lock it. Otherwise, it’s been untouched.”

The panic in my chest eased slightly. The first order of business when I got healthy was to destroy every one of the books Nick had given me.

Except the cooking tome, of course.

“I’m not sure how you did it,” my father said, changing subjects, “but your actions yesterday were amazing. To best a demon the way you did was truly remarkable.”

“Thanks.”

“It was also stupid!”

My mother burst into the room, leveling me with a withering gaze as the door closed behind her. Her arm was wrapped in thick gauze while the sling held it tight against her body. There was a nasty purple bruise on the left side of her chin, but otherwise she seemed fine.

Well, fine and pissed. She was barely able to contain her rage.

“Young man, do you have any idea how much damage you caused yourself pulling that stunt out there? You’re lucky you weren’t killed.”

“Angela,” my father said calmly, “I think Marcus knows the danger.”

“Well obviously he needs reminding!” she snapped, glaring at me, “Tapping so deep into your Skill was irresponsible and nearly fatal.”

“You realize you were both unconscious, right?” I asked. “And I had Quinn by my side?
And
that I’m a grown man?”

Mom seethed, then simply deflated like someone had put a hole in her balloon.

“I know.” She slumped into a chair and set her chin on her good hand.

I gave her a wide smile. “The Healer here says I’ll be fine, Mom. Besides, I could use a little time off. All this Warlocking is pretty tiring.”

“You’re talented, Marcus,” she said, ignoring my humor. “And you’re obviously a powerful Warlock. But no matter how old or experienced you get, you’ll always be my little boy.”

I couldn’t help but beam.

Moms rock.

There was a light tapping on the door.

“Marcus?” Quinn asked, poking her head into the room. Her eyes widened when she saw the cluster around my bed.

“Sorry,” she said in an embarrassed tone. “The nurse told me it was okay to visit.”

“It’s fine,” Jenkins replied, giving my father a wink.

Dad placed a hand on my mother’s shoulder. “I think we should let Marcus get some more rest. Jenkins, would you please give me the rundown on my wife’s injuries?”

My parents departed the room but not before Mom gave me a smile that seemed to radiate with the hope of grandchildren. The Healer followed close behind, but paused at the door and looked at Quinn.

“I was supposed to dress his hands. Would you mind doing it for me? The healing balm and gauze are in the top drawer.” He nodded to a cabinet nearby.

“Um, sure.”

“Thank you. I’ll be back in, say ninety minutes?”

Quinn’s face suddenly matched her highlights, but the Healer closed the door before she could respond.

She sat on the bed and slowly unwrapped my gauze. “So, how are you?”

“In a lot of pain. Thankfully the Healer has some awesome meds.”

Quinn peeled the last of the gauze away, and we both examined my hands. My fingers were curled into claws, and the dark red skin was covered in angry blisters. The addition of the bloody scars made my left hand exceptionally grotesque. I was glad Jenkins had told me they’d eventually heal.

Quinn sniffed and I caught her wiping her cheeks.

“Here,” she said quickly, digging her fingers into the balm, “let’s get you redressed.”

“Ow,” I whined dramatically as she rubbed the cool goop on my palms.

Quinn rolled her eyes. “Oh hush, you big baby.”

I watched in silence as she coated each hand, straining to feel the warmth of her touch through the tingling sensation of damaged nerve endings. When she finished she gingerly wrapped my wounds in fresh white gauze. She gave my mummy hands the once-over, then nodded with satisfaction.

“That should do it.”

I held my hands up. “Guess I won’t be playing piano anytime soon.”

“I didn’t know you played.”

“I don’t, but now I have an excellent excuse.”

Quinn laughed. “You are such an odd nut, you know that?”

“Yeah, it’s part of my charm.”

“I could get used to that,” she replied.

Her laughter died and we were silent for a few moments. Her gaze drifted to the window, focusing on something far in the distance.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what to do with myself now that Daddy is gone,” she said quietly.

“And?”

“And I have no idea.” She raised an eyebrow at me. “Your mother suggested Hunter training, but I’m not sure I’d enjoy it.”

“You’d be a great Huntress. Especially considering your, um, unique talents.”

“Maybe, but I’m afraid that no matter what, the Council will try and force me to track down my father. That’s something I would never do, so formal schooling or training is out of the question.” She ran her fingers through her hair. “I have some money in the bank, which will give me time to figure out what to do and where to go.”

I placed a mummified hand on hers. “Whatever you decide, I hope it keeps you close by.”

She grinned. “Me too.”

* * *

I spent two more days in bed, and another few in my old room at the Homestead. Despite Jenkins’s assurance that I was on the mend, I suspected my mother of ordering the staff to keep tabs on me. Everywhere I went, maids or gardeners kept asking how I was feeling. Even Cornelius seemed less stiff toward me, which I took as one of the signs of the Apocalypse.

The guards, who were normally terrifyingly quiet, were talkative. Several thanked me for atoning Mercer’s death and all of them started calling me “sir.” When I asked Santiago about it, he said that I was now considered “one of the boys.” It was a compliment he swore was more meaningful than I could imagine.

Coming from someone like him, I felt both honored and humbled.

I ran into Alexander in the bee yard, and was impressed with the hives he’d installed. Each was stacked and painted, and he’d even ordered queens to replace the ones lost to the fire. The girls accepted the three new matriarchs and seemed happy as clams with their rebuilt homes.

It was good to see the old man out of the house, but the sight of him working a hive in his armor was both unnerving and hilarious. Considering my hands would be wrapped up for a couple of weeks, I wasn’t about to question his methods. The girls didn’t seem to mind, although a few did ask when I was going to feed them next. They had a hard time understanding that they’d have to ask the “
Shiny Keeper.
”

One of the few surprises of the week was finding Steve still at the Homestead.

When I asked him about it, he mentioned that Dad had offered him a job as part of the security detail. Since Steve was both homeless and jobless, it seemed like a good idea until something better popped up. As we said goodbye, he handed me the Elvin knife, stating that it was far too small for him and that I should keep it as a souvenir.

Quinn wrote a message to Millie for me thanking her for all the help and asking about Jones and the wounded. She responded with a letter that smelled heavily of bacon. In it, she stated that the Oracle had taken up residence in the room and was slowly nursing Elyanna and the others back to health. The prisoners had been worse off than we’d realized and, like with Jethrow, might not have survived more than a few more hours. Healer Utterback had them under close watch, but he seemed to think they’d all live.

The most startling news, however, was that Jones was still sober. Millie swore that he hadn’t had more than water to drink since we’d left. Additionally, he’d actually showered and shaved for the first time in forever and, in Millie’s words, was a “relatively handsome man.”

I suspected the sudden change had something to do with the Elf, but whatever the reason, I hoped it would stick. The man was a mess when I’d met him, and he needed a new outlook on life.

Eventually I was deemed healthy enough to return to my place, which was unwelcome news to my mother. She argued in vain with the Healer, then hugged me tightly as I gathered my things. Since my hands were still wrapped, Quinn volunteered to drive me, and we waved goodbye to everyone.

On the way home we swung by the hospital so I could check on LaDell. His shoulder was still sore, but he was out of the sling and back to work.

He harassed me about my mummy hands before spending an eternity explaining the new security features he’d asked the hospital board to install in the morgue. He didn’t think they’d agree to the retinal scanner, but was certain they’d go for a keypad with rotating code. As long as it kept the dead inside Winter Wonderland, he didn’t care.

Considering everything that had happened, I agreed wholeheartedly.

It was early evening by the time we got back to my townhouse, and even though I had only been gone a short time, the diffusion of my being from the place was palpable. The interior felt cold and stale. Without a living presence, the space was nothing more than a large storage unit.

I flipped on some lights and asked Quinn to pop the cork on a bottle of wine. She poured us two glasses while I scooted chairs together on the deck so we could enjoy the view of the golf course. She set the glasses on the small table between the chairs. I smiled as I looked at mine.

“I didn’t know I had straws.”

She sat next to me. “Found them in a drawer.”

We both waved as a golfer spotted us and raised his putter in a salute. He missed his putt, but whistled pleasantly as he climbed into his cart and drove off.

“This is nice,” Quinn said after a few moments.

I inhaled the cool Reston air. “Yeah, I really love it here. Very calming.”

She closed her eyes and put her head back. For the first time since my finding her in the Underground, the tension in her jaw and shoulders seemed to ease.

I leaned over and took a long pull on my straw. The wine was warm and smooth.

Quinn blew out a long breath. “Man, what a wild couple of weeks.”

“Hard to believe everything that’s happened, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

I gazed into the setting sun and let my mind drift over recent events.

“Penny for your thoughts?” she asked, opening one eye.

“Just thinking about the butterfly effect.”

She sat up. “What do you mean?”

I motioned toward the horizon. “Somewhere out there, the greatest Necromancer of our generation and his ‘creation’ are on the lam while a rogue Hunter is avoiding Council justice. My old friend and nemesis is in a hospital bed, and an alcoholic Oracle is apparently trying to sober up in the name of love. Or possibly extreme infatuation. You are attempting to figure out what to do with your life while I will soon report to the Council headquarters in order to help root out a possible traitor. And all of it, every single thing that has happened, is because of a single phone call.”

“I hadn’t thought about it that way.”

“Dad always said that eventually, everything connects. I never believed him until now.”

“Speaking of your father, he asked me to show you this.” She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket, unfolded it, and set it on the table.

It was a short article from the announcement section of the local news outlet.

“Well, how about that?” I asked, reading the piece.

Quinn frowned. “What’s so interesting about some rich socialite publicizing her pregnancy?”

“It’s Carly,” I said, pointing at the picture. “And she claims she’s already two months along.”

“Oh.” Then her eyes widened. “Oh!”

“Exactly. Sounds like she’s sobered up, too. Thank goodness.”

“Do you think it’s Tony’s baby?”

I shrugged. “The timing works that it could have happened before he died, but it could just as easily be her boyfriend’s. We may never know for sure. The important thing is that Tony thought it was his. Hell, he escaped from Quaos because of it.”

Quinn nodded slowly. “Like all undead, he was following his strongest urge.”

“Yeah. A paternal one.”

She shook her head. “I’m pretty sure that’s a first for a reanimated. The Council Necromancers will have a field day with that information. It may even revolutionize our understanding of the undead.”

My mind went back to the night I banished the zombie, and I laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Quinn asked.

“After I re-killed him, I actually asked him why he’d return from the dead for someone as screwed up as Carly. I’m glad at least one of my questions from this whole mess was finally answered.”