Divine Fantasy (21 page)

Ambrose scrambled the eggs in butter. I insisted. Have you ever cooked eggs in a cast-iron skillet without lubrication? Ever tried cleaning up afterward?

While he cooked, Ninon and Miguel told us what they knew of the Dark Man and Saint Germain. The good news was that the original Dark Man was dead and his son probably was as well. The bad news was that there were a number of Saint Germain clones running loose, and that one of the clones had gotten enough DNA from the Dark Man to begin cloning another of his parent. Ninon’s group had been steadily sabotaging Saint Germain’s “clinics” in the third world where he carried on his genetic experiments, but there was always a new one springing up. Though reluctant
to embrace the idea, they had begun to wonder if there was some new supernatural agency at work.

When we were done eating, which was quickly, we shared our story and I got out my vacation photos. We were all careful with the computer, and only Miguel and I touched it. Ninon and Miguel seemed to especially enjoy the photos of Saint Germain in the crocodile’s stomach. Miguel asked if I would mail him an attachment so he could use it for wallpaper on his laptop.

Perhaps it was that Miguel had the gift of putting me at ease, or maybe my recent transformation had disabled old conversational boundaries, but I found myself talking easily about what I had seen and experienced.

When we finished looking at the photos, Ambrose suggested that I do the dishes while he and the others took care of the bodies out in the road. A braver woman would have insisted on helping, but I simply couldn’t face seeing my parents or the sheriff again. It wasn’t just that I was suddenly thanatophobic. Truth to be told, I was worried that I would look at the corpses and feel nothing at all.

Then I would know for sure that I really had become a monster.

I got dressed. I didn’t have a lot of options. Zombies had taken their toll on my limited wardrobe, so I was wearing my teen jeans and a cropped sweater that was a decade out of style.

The kitchen sink had a faucet but also an old-fashioned hand pump that worked fine when the power went out. I took my time drawing water, and
when I had finished with the plates, I got out the hand-crank coffee grinder and ground up some beans. The old tin coffeepot was still in the cupboard, so I filled it with water and grounds and took it into the living room where I once again built up the fire. I thought that the others would probably want something hot to drink when they were done. Also, it kept me busy so I couldn’t think.

This time I was listening hard and I heard them approaching the house. I was waiting by the back door with coffee boiling in the fireplace. We still had no power, but it didn’t really matter because none of us felt the cold or had trouble seeing in the dim light.

“…still has facilities in Somalia, North Korea and Iran.” Ninon’s voice was light but I could tell she was annoyed. “Reaching them has proved difficult.”

“So you think he’s after the lycanthropy virus now?” Miguel asked. He set a knife on the table by the door. I recognized it as the one I had driven into that sinister shadow. “Did you catch Pan’s shadow?” he asked me softly.

“I caught someone’s,” I answered, telling the truth without thinking.

“I believe so. He tried for you too, didn’t he?” Ambrose asked Miguel. “That was what I read about in Mexico.”

“Yes—the bastard tried again after he found out that the female vampires can’t reproduce and are basically brain-dead besides. Since only the males can create other vampires, he needed either
my father or me, and Smoking Mirror wisely did a disappearing act.”

Smoking Mirror. I knew that name. He was supposed to be some kind of Aztec death god. This made Miguel even more of an enigma. Probably I should have been afraid, but somehow I just couldn’t manage it. We had werewolves and Frankenstein and a whole raft of zombies—what was an Aztecan god to that?

I could suddenly smell ozone on Ambrose and knew he had been starting fires. The door opened a second time, letting in a gust of air. No one was on the other side and I told myself that it was only the wind and a latch that hadn’t closed properly. It was not a ghost that had followed him home.

“I find it interesting that he sent a golem instead of a clone. Perhaps we have pressed him harder than we thought and he hasn’t had time to resume cloning. We need to take some time to compare notes and strategize.” Miguel shut the door firmly. I liked his voice. It didn’t make me shivery the way Ambrose’s did, but I found it almost hypnotically relaxing. That was probably useful when he was lulling prey.

“I have another cabin in Alaska. I couldn’t take Joyous there before because of the altitude,” Ambrose was saying as he stopped to wipe his shoes on the mat by the stove. “It is deep in a valley and can only be reached by air. As the Realtor put it: It’s inaccessible from without and not to be left from within. It’s a ghastly and lonely place in winter
but very private. And none of us has to worry about being affected by the cold—unlike the zombies.” He kissed me absentmindedly as he brushed by. “We could meet up there and start working on a plan. I’ve got enough arms stashed there to hold off Armageddon.”

“Bien
. It would be best if you left here at once. Does anyone know that you’re in town?” Ninon asked.
Anyone
. That was code for
anyone human
. I noticed that she didn’t have snow on her boots, perhaps because they were stilettos.

“No, no one knows. Except Saint Germain, I guess. There’s no sign that any of the next-door neighbors are in residence,” I answered before Ambrose could. “Anybody want coffee?”

“Yes, please,” Miguel answered, taking a turn at politely stomping his ice-covered boots on the mat so he wouldn’t muddy the kitchen. He closed the door softly. “I know it’s all in my head, but that snow looks damned cold.”

I glanced out the window. The sun was up, but only barely, and the snow did indeed look very cold. It was strange to think that I would never have to worry about cold or my heart again.

“We need to turn in our rental car and get tickets.” Ambrose started for the living room. “And I’ll have to arrange for new IDs for Joyous and I.”

“I can help with that,” Miguel said, following down the hall. “Faking IDs has become a sort of hobby. Dumas’s wife has been teaching me. Harmony is an ecoterrorist. Have you heard of The Spider?”

“I have indeed,” Ambrose answered, clearly impressed.

“Do we have to fly?” I asked, coming into the room behind them and pushing by. They turned and looked at me as I bent to pick up the tin coffeepot. The bottom was scorched but the coffee smelled good. I hoped the boiled grounds hadn’t made it too strong. I had never fixed it this way before, and was guessing about proportions.

“What did you have in mind?” Ambrose asked. There was no hint of condescension in his voice. No one was treating me like the new kid on the block, even though I was.

“We are going to leave this place, right? I’ll probably have to sell it since we can never safely stay here again.” I began pouring coffee into the tin cups. There were porcelain teacups in the cupboard, but that just wouldn’t have felt right under the circumstances.

For a long moment no one answered.

“I’m sorry. I know this is your family home, but that would be wisest,” Ninon said gently. I don’t think she knew what to make of me, and I didn’t feel like explaining that the family home didn’t mean all that much because I had never been part of the family. Keeping it had just been my defense mechanism, a way of pretending to myself that I had some connection with my parents.

“I don’t mind that, but there is something of my father’s that I want to bring with me and we can’t fly with it.”

“What is it?” Ambrose asked. I knew he was
thinking about weaponry, and I was suddenly worried about disappointing him with my whimsy.

“It’s out in the shed,” I said. As one they put down their coffee cups and waited for me to show them.

“Can I see it?” Ambrose asked.

“Now?”

“If you don’t mind. Haste is the order of the day. The sooner we leave Bar Harbor, the safer it will be for everyone else.”

Everyone else
. That was code for
humans
. I doubted zombies could do much to anyone in the living room. Not anymore.

Shrugging, I put down the pot and headed for the back door. I stopped at the telephone table and opened the tiny drawer in the desk and removed a set of keys.

We all crunched through the ice in silence. I opened the old padlock and pulled open the shed door. It took some effort because the snow had drifted against it during the night, but I was a lot stronger now and I didn’t need any help from Ambrose.

“This is it,” I said proudly, and everyone looked intently at the green shroud that covered the treasured contents. Realizing that they didn’t recognize it just from the shape I added: “My father was a huge fan of the movie
Vanishing Point
and he kept this 1970 white supercharged Dodge Challenger here at the house. My mother didn’t approve, but she let him have his toys.” Just not his damaged daughter.

I pulled the tarp off the car and smiled at the gleaming paint. The hood was cracked open because of the cables running to an outside battery. The car had been left on a trickle charge while the caretaker was away for the holidays. “It gets lousy gas mileage, but the son of a bitch can go. It’s like riding a rocket.”

“Holy shit,” Miguel said, and gave a soft laugh.

Ninon didn’t react beyond a small smile that said she appreciated the need for pretty toys. But Ambrose ran an appreciative hand over the hood, stepping back as I pulled the top back and removed the cables from the battery.

“Beautiful,” Ambrose said, though I had a feeling he preferred horses.

The car wasn’t dusty. Part of the caretaker’s job was to see to the maintenance of Dad’s automobile, and he obviously had put a lot of care and attention into it. He was especially willing because I let him drive it in town when the weather was good. This kept the battery charged, and the gas didn’t go bad in the tank.

“Let me start it. You have to hear the engine.” Eagerly, I got in the car and jammed the key home. In spite of the cold, the car started right away and screamed like an angry beast.

“Wow.” Miguel laughed again.

I smiled at him. “I know.”

“Ninon has a Cobra,” he volunteered, and we began talking cars.

Even in the cold, the shed was a bit odoriferous, and with the engine running it was like standing in
the bell of a trumpet played by a halitosis sufferer who never changed the spit valve. I also knew from experience that where Ninon stood near the door, there was every chance the vibrations from the car’s engine would eventually send the snow off the pitched tin roof right onto the top of her head. I reached out a reluctant hand and switched off the engine. Playtime was over.

“Okay,” Ambrose said. “It’s crazy, but we’ll drive as far as we can and then we’ll put her in storage. I’m not sure how far that will be. We are going to Alaska. In January. This isn’t exactly an all-terrain vehicle.”

“But you can control the weather,” I pointed out.

“So can you now,” he answered with a small smile. “But only to a limited degree and for a short period of time. We can call storms if they get within range and make small bubbles of calm around us, but we won’t be diverting any blizzards or tornados.”

“We’ll manage.” I nodded to myself. Feeling happier, I pulled the shed door back into place. I didn’t bother locking it this time.

I knew there were some bad times ahead, and I doubted very much that I was going to like turning into a wolf whenever the moon was full, but I couldn’t help but marvel that I was standing in freezing snow, manhandling heavy frozen doors without aid, and not worrying about my stupid heart giving out on me.

Ambrose waited for me while I fussed needlessly with the door.

“How soon can you be ready to leave?” he asked me, sensing my reluctance to actually depart. I wasn’t sentimental, but I was sure this would be the last time I saw the place and touched the things my father had.

I forced myself to stop being maudlin and just say good-bye to the old life I hadn’t liked anyway.

“We can leave as soon as I pack up some clothes and that Bacchus china piece in the dining room. I have some other arrangements to make if we are going to sell the house, but I can take care of them on the road.” I reviewed my mental checklist. “The lawyer for the trust can manage most things for a while, but some of it I’ll have to hire others to deal with.”

“Like?” Ambrose asked. This was simple curiosity. I realized that he didn’t know very much about the nuts and bolts of my daily life, nor I about his.

“My rent is paid through the trust but eventually I’ll have to close up the apartment in Munich. And sooner is probably better than later. It isn’t like I’ll ever go back there to live,” I added. “And I am taking a long break from writing biographies. I think I’m more of an action-adventure kind of girl now, and I am going to have to break this news to my editor. He isn’t going to like that, and I’m thinking the Band-Aid approach is best.” He cocked a brow. “You know, best to just rip it off quickly.”

Ambrose grinned. “I suspect I will end up thanking God daily that you aren’t a ditherer. Many other women would be whining and crying.”

“You might want to add a prayer of thanks that
I like perverts while you’re at it,” I muttered, my eyes flicking downward and catching the slight tenting in his jeans. “Is that erection ever going to go away?”

“Yes. Eventually. It’s a side effect of the shifting and calling up lightning. Up until now, I’ve considered it damned inconvenient, but I can think of occasions when it might be handy.”