Sheyenne wasn’t so convinced. “Yes, but they were murdered by a monster. What if public sympathy shifts to the poor Straight Edge victims torn apart by intolerant unnaturals?”
Someone chose that moment to let out a piercing scream that turned our attention to the bar. Cougar Sharon reeled back in horror as Cindy’s appletini glass slipped from her grasp and shattered on the floor. The grayish necrotic skin on Cindy’s forearm and hand also slipped off the bone, like a thick floppy rubber glove. She put her other hand to her face and let out a scream, just before her jawbone fell off. Her fingers pressed into her cheek and sank through to the skull. Her other arm fell off. She collapsed onto the bar stool and kept falling to the floor in dripping, dissolving pieces.
Other patrons made sounds of disgust. Many backed away.
Next, Sharon’s head lolled to one side. As she reached up to hold it in place, the head fell completely off. She managed to catch her hair, dangling her detached head for a moment as her face continued to contort and scream. Then the hair ripped off the scalp like a hunk of sod, and Sharon’s head fell face-first to the nightclub floor. Her body slumped forward.
Victoria had an extra five seconds of stunned panic that turned to sad resignation as she also flash-rotted like a time-lapse video and fell into a pile of suppurating goo that mingled with her two companions, pooling together around the three now-empty cocktail dresses.
The zombie patrons of Basilisk were the first to flee. Vampires and werewolves, who were not usually squeamish, looked grossed out.
“We should get out of here, Mrs. Jekyll.” I wasn’t sure what was causing this gooey crisis, but I feared it might spread. First Mr. Galworthy and now the cougars. Could it be some kind of undeadly epidemic? And what if I was vulnerable too.
Miranda finished the rest of her martini in a gulp. “I believe you’re right, Mr. Chambeaux.” With remarkable speed, she flitted out of the nightclub in the crowd of retreating patrons.
Wearing a sour expression, Fletcher Knowles went to the back room and brought out a mop and bucket.
Ivory stepped out onto the stage, freshly made up and ready for her set. In disbelief she watched her admirers stampede for the doors. She grabbed the microphone, but saw it was a lost cause. She shot an angry glance toward Sheyenne, as if the ghost had caused the disaster.
With pure showmanship, Ivory announced, “Thank you for coming. That’s our show for tonight, but I’m here all week!” She ducked back to her dressing room at the rear of the club.
Chapter 36
Next morning, Sheyenne hand-delivered the chemical samples for analysis to her friend at the lab, asking for results as soon as possible.
After the uproar of the previous night, a divorce settlement—however bitter—seemed less important than zombies falling apart in the middle of their daily activities. What if the horrific affliction spread across the Unnatural Quarter? It could turn into a real zombie apocalypse.
Nevertheless, I had a responsibility to our clients. I checked to make sure that Jekyll’s Grand Wizard ring remained locked in the office safe. I needed to figure out how to deliver an ultimatum to Harvey Jekyll, let him know the leverage we had, and convince the man it was in his best interests to reach a settlement with Miranda. Robin was far too innocent for that type of work.
My overture (I considered it negotiation rather than blackmail) had to come from an unexpected quarter. Maybe I could recruit Tiffany from the All-Day/All-Nite Fitness Center. Considering how much the tough vamp despised the Straight Edgers, she might do the job just to watch the Grand Wizard squirm.
I spent the morning trying to work out details in my head. Shortly before lunch, the telephone rang, and Sheyenne called for me. “It’s Officer McGoohan. He sounds upset.”
I took the phone. “What is it, McGoo?”
On the other end of the line I could hear his quick breathing, the rasp in his voice. “Shamble . . . that client of yours—Sheldon Fennerman, the vampire?”
“Yes, I was about to close the case.” The vampire’s problems should be over now that the Wannovich sisters had cast their gruesome protection spell . . . and since the Straight Edge kids had all been torn limb from limb, they weren’t going to harass him anymore.
“Don’t close it yet.” I heard him swallow hard. “You’d better get down here right away.”
By the time I reached the vampire’s brownstone, two other police units had arrived and uniformed officers were keeping the crowd back. I saw the trollish landlord chatting with the people on the street. “He complained that his neighbors had been killed, but I didn’t believe him. Now how am I ever going to rent to vampires again?” He lifted his pumpkin-like head, stared around with beady eyes at the people. “I do have apartments for rent, if anybody’s interested? Some of them zoned for dual use, daytime and nighttime. There’s a move-in special this month. I—”
I went directly to the troll landlord. “Where’s Sheldon?”
He flinched back. “I’m just trying to make a living here!”
One of the cops who worked with McGoo called me over. “Dan Chambeaux? Right this way—Officer McGoohan told us to expect you.”
He led me around the corner to the alley behind Sheldon’s brownstone. McGoo was standing there, his face drawn, expression gray. “Shamble,” he said, and shook his head. “Sorry I told you to hurry—not much point. I was just upset. There’s nothing you can do.”
Sheldon Fennerman hung dead, suspended three feet off the ground. A long wooden stake the size of a laundry pole had been shoved through the center of his chest and directly into the crumbling brick wall of the alley. The nervous vampire had been pinned there like a piece of meat stuck on a fondue fork.
I reeled. “Oh, Sheldon . . . I let you down.”
McGoo took off his cap and wiped his forehead, then replaced it. “What could have the strength to do that?”
My throat was as dry as grave dust. “We both know what has the strength.”
“But why go after a nervous little vampire who wasn’t hurting anyone?”
“Why smash Mrs. Saldana’s mission either? Why slaughter a bunch of Straight Edgers? What’s the connection?”
I saw genuine fear in McGoo’s eyes. “Unless it’s just running amok. I’ve got to get that monster off the streets, Shamble—but I wouldn’t want to meet him in a dark alley unless I’m carrying a bazooka.”
I wondered if they made silver-jacketed heavy ordnance against unnaturals. Probably a special order.
I looked down at the ground again. Among the garbage strewn in the alley, I saw dozens of large cockroaches curled up on their backs, legs waving weakly in the air. They were bigger than any roaches I’d ever seen.
McGoo ground one under his heel. “Now, what’s all that about?”