Unsympathetic Magic (40 page)

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Authors: Laura Resnick

BOOK: Unsympathetic Magic
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“We’re not sure what happened to Darius after I was arrested, but no one has seen him since. And zombies aren’t exactly stealthy, if left to their own devices. So I think the bokor probably regained control of him while I was in jail.”
“Tough break.”
“He’s probably under wraps somewhere, at least most of the time, with the other zombies.”
“Yes, probably.”
“Anyhow, we’re not sure why yet, but the bokor is raising an army of zombies. Well, a small team of them, anyhow. I guess five zombies—four, now that you’ve found a discarded body—doesn’t really count as an
army
. But there may be more that we don’t know about. You haven’t had time to investigate every cemetery in the tristate area, after all.”
I fell silent, unable to keep going in the face of his carefully blank expression.
After a long moment, he asked very calmly, “Is that all?”
“No, there’s more.” I added, “I was just waiting for, um, your reaction.”
“Reaction? I see.” He nodded. “You want a reaction.”
“Or I could just tell you the rest,” I said in a rush, sensing the storm was about to break.
“No, no. You want me to
react?
Okay,” he said. “How’s
this
for a reaction? You know why I had to give you up? This! Right here! THIS!
This
is exactly why I had to stop seeing you! This lunatic, crazy, nutbag garbage of Max’s that you swallow hook, line, and sinker!”
“I haven’t
swallowed
—”
“A little eccentricity is one thing—in fact, I
like
that you’re different. I liked it the night we first met, when you were covered in green body paint and had just destroyed an expensive stage prop with a hammer because you were trying to help someone. I liked it the night I had to get you out of jail because you’d tried to assist an assault victim while you were dressed like a hooker.”
“I—”
“But you always go too far, Esther!
Way
too far. You’re going to get yourself killed!” Lopez said. “Or
Max
is going to get you killed! And other people will get hurt—or worse—because of both of you!”
The unfairness of that last comment made me angry. “Other people’s lives have been
saved
because—”
“I’m not doing this, Esther!” He looked like his head hurt again. “What man in his right mind would fall for a woman who actually
believes
the things that you say to me?”
I tried to calm down. “Okay, this is more of a reaction that I was really looking for. Maybe we should both—”
“Has Max got you out there hunting zombies by night? Are you running around Harlem after dark with an armed teenager and a lunatic old man who’s giving you God only knows
what
kind of hallucinogenic drugs to feed these bizarre fantasies?”
“Oh, for God’s sake! Max is
not
drugging—”
“I’m warning you right now,” he said. “Don’t expect me to write more false reports and lie to more cops when I find you and Max knee-deep in missing corpses. I won’t keep covering up for you!”
“I’m not asking—”
“And who’s watching your back while you’re skulking around looking for a body snatcher?” he demanded. “How am I supposed to protect you when you lie to me about what you’re doing?”
“I haven’t lied,” I protested. “I just left out some things. And
this
is exactly why! Just
look
at the way you’re behaving now that I’ve told you!”
“Stop right there,” he snapped. “No way is this fight
my
fault!”
“All right, look, I know how crazy it all sounds. Okay? I
do.
And I knew how you’d react. Well, I didn’t know you’d be quite this
loud,
” I said critically. “But I was pretty sure you’d react badly. And you have.”
“You’re talking about a sorcerer raising zombies from the grave!” he shouted. “Of course I’m reacting badly!”
“You need to calm down,” I said firmly. “There’s more that I have to tell you, and I can’t talk to you when you’re like this.”
“No,” he said. “
No.
I don’t want to hear anymore. Not unless the next words out of your mouth are that you’ll end your friendship with Max and submit to drug testing.”
I ignored this and said, “What do you think sent Frank Johnson over the edge? He was attacked by the baka!”
“You’ve been talking to—” His dark brows swooped down. “Oh, Jesus, Esther! You used
me
to find that poor deranged guy?”
“No! I just wanted you to make sure he wasn’t dead!” I said. “I was worried about his safety, because I think Darius Phelps was murdered!”
“Well, at least that’s one thing you and I can agree on,” Lopez said irritably.
“Really?”
“But I’ll never prove it.”
“Because Darius was killed by a voodoo curse?” I said.
“No, Esther,” Lopez said with forced patience. “Because the body is missing.”
“Oh! Right.”
“And even if I find it, it’ll probably be too contaminated by then for forensics to get good evidence.” His shoulders sagged. “Maybe there wasn’t any evidence, anyhow. That’s probably why the hospital is convinced Darius died strictly of natural causes. But
I
don’t believe it.” He took my shoulders between his hands, and his grip was hard, making me wince a little. “Listen to me. I don’t want you going back to the foundation.”
“You think the killer is there?”
“And I especially don’t want you hunting zombies by night in Harlem.”
“But something is coming! Something very dangerous! Why else would the bokor raise zombies and—”
“Stop talking.” His expression was angry again. “Just
stop.
”
“That’s why the community held the ceremony tonight!” I said. “Because of the dark magic that someone’s working in Harlem!”
“Enough,”
he said.
“No,
listen
to me! At the ritual, you—”
His mouth came down on mine. I was surprised enough to struggle. He gripped me tighter and kissed me harder, his mouth ruthless and punishing. And I realized I didn’t
want
to struggle. I surrendered to the angry strength of his arms and the cruel pressure of his mouth. Surrendered and begged for more, kissing him back with all the pent up hunger of the past few months. Where had he
been?
He should have been here all along, damn him.
I had tried so hard not to think about him. Not to imagine
this.
I had failed over and over.
“You should have been here,” I said, clinging to him.
“Don’t talk,” he insisted, his breathing harsh and fast now.
“But—” I grunted in surprised pain when he sank his teeth into my lower lip. Then he soothed my bruised mouth with a long, hot, wet kiss as his hands tangled in my hair, holding my head still for his plunder.
His rum-scented breath clouded my mind as he whispered against my mouth, “No more talking.”
He shrugged out of his shirt and dropped it on the floor, still kissing me.
“No more talk,” I said with difficulty. Then I gasped as he roughly tore open the zipper on the side of my dress, ruining it. “Oh!”
Instead of apologizing, he knocked me down onto the bed, falling heavily with me. My head was reeling dizzily as his weight pinned me to the mattress and his mouth came down on mine once again.
My eyes suddenly stung, and my nose tickled. Lopez drew his head back and coughed a little.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” he muttered as he realized what was irritating his senses.
His expression dark with impatience, he grabbed the thin string that was around my neck, yanked it so hard the knot snapped and broke, and tossed the gris-gris pouch across the room. Then he kissed me with rough insistence.
He had never touched me like this before. Out of his head. Not tempering his strength. Not worrying about whether he hurt me. Leaving bruises and teeth marks that would be visible on my skin in the morning.
I clutched his naked shoulders and arched against him as he punished me with his passion and tried to make me regret pushing him this far. As my legs embraced his hips, he pulled up my skirt, tugging on the material until a seam gave way and tore. Then his hands were on my bare thighs, and I didn’t care that this dress was in tatters by now.
His back was smooth and warm, flexing with supple muscles. His silky black hair tickled my neck and shoulders as he shoved aside the straps of my dress and feasted on my skin. His belt buckle pressed sharply into my belly, hurting me. I made a sound of protest and reached for it. He grabbed both my arms and pinned them on either side of my head, then kissed me again.
I thought I would faint from lack of air—and I didn’t care. I clutched him tighter between my thighs, yearning for everything he could give me. Burning for him. Heat flowed over me and consumed me.
His grip on my wrists was hard enough to hurt. The rum that lingered on his tongue was making me feel drunk. His weight on my chest and his hot kisses made it impossible to breathe. When he lifted his head and looked down at me, I gasped for air and tore my hand out of his grip so that I could reach for his belt buckle. The metal burned my fingers, making me gasp and jerk my hand away. Then he kissed me again, incinerating all other sensation.
Wrestling against the mindless grip of my legs, he rose to his knees, breathing hard, his chest pumping in and out, his lips wet and swollen from our kisses. When I tried to sit up, he shoved me back down, carelessly rough, his eyes glinting with challenge, his dark golden skin gleaming in the lamplight. His gaze stayed locked with mine as he unbuckled his belt.
I was burning for him. On fire for him. Heat licked at my skin. The bed was hot, my body engulfed in fire, the sheets awash in it . . .
The dark, angry passion in his face transformed into shock as the bed burst into flames all around us.
“Esther!”
In one fluid motion, Lopez grabbed me, rolled off the bed, and threw me bodily across the room as he tumbled across the floor. Then he was on feet and hauling me up into his arms while I was still reeling from the fall. Half dragging and half carrying me, he got me out of the burning bedroom and down the hall before I understood what was happening.
“Fire extinguisher!” he shouted.
“Wh-what?”
He seized my shoulders, shook me, and shouted into my face, breaking through my shock with sheer volume, “Where’s the fire extinguisher?”
“
Oh.
Oh!” I tried to think. “Ki- ki—” I was shaking with reaction and could barely make my lips move. “Kitch—”
“Kitchen?” When I nodded, he shoved me toward the front door. “Go warn your neighbors! Then get out of the building!” He went into the kitchen and found the fire extinguisher. When he saw me just standing there, he shouted,
“Go!”
I knew his instructions were sensible and that I should do what he told me. But I couldn’t leave him alone in my burning apartment. I just
couldn’t
. Even knowing that it was stupid and would make him angry, I followed him into the bedroom.
The bed was on fire, robust yellow flames rising from the mattress as if someone had tossed a firebomb into the sheets. Lopez sprayed the bed with foam from the extinguisher and—to my immense relief—the fire was doused within moments.
The room filled with smoke. I started choking. In the hall, the smoke alarm was shrieking. Waving my hand in front of my face, I stumbled across the bedroom to open the window.
Lopez was breathing hard, coughing, and staring at the bed in appalled amazement. As if for good measure, he aimed the extinguisher at it again and covered the blackened, smoking wreck with a thick film of white foam. Then he looked around the room to make sure nothing else needed dousing.
I dragged a chair into the hallway, climbed up onto it, and silenced the shrieking smoke alarm overhead. Then I opened my front door and went out into the stairwell, where I assured several neighbors who were emerging from their apartments that things were under control and they didn’t need to evacuate the building. I reentered my apartment and opened my remaining windows. A robust wind blew into the living room, and I realized with relief that the stifling heat wave was breaking at last—and that this wind would help clear the apartment of smoke pretty quickly.
Lopez came out of my bedroom, still carrying the fire extinguisher. I realized my legs were shaking, and I sat down suddenly. He sat nearby.
There was a long moment of stunned silence as we sat there, catching our breath and waiting for our hearts to stop pounding.
Finally, I got up and poured two glasses of cold water. He accepted the water with absentminded thanks as I sat back down.
He drained his glass, then said, “Did Jeff or Max smoke when they were here tonight?”

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