A pile of discarded clothing sat under the broken warehouse window: jeans, boxer shorts, black sneakers, socks, a dark blue button-up shirt, and a long coat. Bethany handed me the staff and helped Thornton get dressed. Once he had his shirt buttoned up and felt more confident that his insides wouldn’t fall out again, he insisted on finishing the job himself.
He put on the rest of his clothes with the speed of someone who was used to constantly shedding his garments and then donning them again. Of course, he had a good reason for it. Change, they’d called it. Such a simple word, as if turning into a wolf was an everyday thing. When he was finished, he gingerly adjusted his shirtsleeve to accommodate the leather bracelet around his wrist, and said, “Much better. I almost feel like my old self again.” A dark stain spread across the shirt where his stomach had been torn open. “Well, I did say almost.” He drew his long coat closed around him.
A familiar shriek sounded from somewhere in the dark night sky. I couldn’t see anything up there, but it was close enough to draw a chill on the back of my neck. “They’re coming. We have to go now.”
“There’s no way we can outrun them,” Bethany said, her eyes frantically searching the sky. “They’re faster than we are. We need to take cover.”
“The subway,” Thornton said.
“It’s too far,” I said. “But I’ve got a car parked across the street.”
Thornton nodded. Bethany said, “Lead the way.”
There was no time to wait for a break in the traffic, so we hurried across the West Side Highway like suicidal fools. Bethany and I supported Thornton between us as cars screeched to a halt and honked angrily. A cabbie yelled, “Get out of the fucking road, ya morons!” I smiled to myself. The world almost felt normal again, predictable, a place where everything made sense and angry cab drivers yelled obscenities at pedestrians.
When we reached the other side of the highway, I brought them to where I’d parked the Explorer and opened the back door. Bethany got in first, then helped me load Thornton in beside her. I gave them the Anubis Hand to lay across their laps, and slammed the door closed. I quickly checked the sky for gargoyles, then got in the driver’s seat and started the car.
“Where to?” I asked.
“Just drive,” Bethany insisted, so I did.
Forty-Ninth Street, like so many of the streets in New York City, only went one way. It took us back to the West Side Highway. I made a quick right onto the highway, then another onto Fiftieth Street, speeding east across town to put as much of the city between us and the warehouse as I could. I worked the gas pedal, maneuvering the car through the narrow passage between the double-parked U-Haul and Con Edison trucks that lined the street. I hated driving in this part of town, especially when I was in a hurry. I expected gargoyles to fly out from the shadows at any moment. I glanced nervously at everything we passed—empty shuttered storefronts, a rental-car lot, a twenty-four-hour parking sign, the small, leafless, sickly trees that lined the sidewalks—but the coast was clear. So far, anyway. When I reached the corner of Eleventh Avenue, the traffic light turned red and I braked to a stop, trying to calm down. I looked in the rearview mirror. In the backseat, Thornton was clutching his stomach and gritting his teeth.
“I feel like I swallowed a block of ice,” he groaned.
“Your body is adjusting,” Bethany told him. “Your muscles are trying to go into rigor mortis, but the amulet won’t let them.”
“Wonderful,” he muttered.
The light turned green, and I hit the gas. The next block was lined with three- and four-story tenement buildings. A dark shape stood on a street-side fire escape. I stared at it as we passed, expecting it to spread its wings and leap down at us, but up close I saw it was just a man out for a smoke.
Thornton said, “By the way, I didn’t catch your name, friend.”
“Trent,” I answered, trying not to think about the fact that there was a talking corpse in the backseat of my car.
“Trent, you look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Thornton said. He chuckled.
“That’s not funny,” Bethany said.
Thornton ignored her. “You have a last name?”
“Just Trent,” I said. Underwood hadn’t seen fit to give me a last name along with the first. Honestly, I didn’t want one, not yet. A last name implied family, history, whole generations of people I belonged with. The only last name I wanted was my real one, when I found it.
“Okay, that’s cool,” he said. “Nice to meet you, Trent. I’m Thornton Redler. I take it you’ve already met the always-charming Bethany Savory. And yes, that is her real name. Thanks for your help back there. So where’d you come from? I haven’t seen you before. Did Isaac send you?”
I weighed my options carefully before answering. If I lied and said Isaac sent me—whoever that was—my cover would be blown the minute they tried to verify it. That would be disastrous. If they were going to lead me to the box, I needed them to trust me. So I shrugged like I didn’t know what he was talking about, which wasn’t a stretch. I said, “I don’t know any Isaac. I was just walking by the warehouse when I heard a scream. I thought someone was in trouble, so I went inside to investigate. The next thing I knew, I was being attacked by those things—those gargoyles.”
“Do you always rush into abandoned warehouses when you hear someone scream?” Thornton asked. “That’s a good way to get yourself killed. Take it from me, getting killed is no fun. I don’t recommend it.”
Been there way more times than you, buddy, I thought.
The block between Ninth and Tenth Avenues was lined with more trees. Even without their full foliage, they were perfect hiding places for something with wings. I scanned the treetops cautiously as I drove, but the farther we got from the warehouse without incident, the better I felt our chances were.
In the backseat, Thornton convulsed suddenly. He doubled over, groaning, and hit the button on the door handle that lowered the window. He leaned his head out of the Explorer, opened his mouth, and regurgitated a spray of dark red liquid that splashed to the street below in a viscous puddle. I glanced at the sidewalks, hoping no one was around to notice. I needed us to stay inconspicuous. There were a few nighttime pedestrians on the block, but they continued on their way, dutifully ignoring the zombie vomiting blood out of the back of my car. Good old New Yorkers. They really couldn’t care less.
Thornton reeled back into the car and raised the window. He collapsed against the seat. “What’s happening to me?”
“Don’t worry,” Bethany explained. “You had blood in your lungs and stomach from your injuries. The amulet was helping you clear it out, that’s all.”
“Don’t worry?” Thornton’s pale lips glistened a dark red. He wiped his sleeve across his mouth. “I’m dead and vomiting blood, Bethany. I think that’s pretty fucking worrisome.”
She sighed and shook her head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know what else to do. I couldn’t just leave you there.”
Thornton calmed down. “Sorry. I’m just freaked out. I can’t help it. I’m not like you, I can’t always be so in control. So is there anything else I should know about being a zombie? Am I going to start craving brains next?”
She blew out her breath. “There is something.”
“I knew it. Might as well sign me up for the next Romero movie.”
“Thornton, listen to me, this is important. The amulet’s effects are only temporary.”
He was silent a moment, then asked, “How long have I got?”
“It’s not an exact science, but … twenty-four hours, give or take.”