Maybe Pietro sensed my attack of sudden remorse; when he replied his tone was surprisingly mild. “You made a decision in the heat of the moment. I’ve heard the reports. If you hadn’t taken him out and utilized the resources he had to offer, Heather would likely be dead now, and those men would have certainly captured you.”
“Right,” I said softly. He was right. I knew that logically, but I also knew I’d probably never shake that sliver of guilt. And that was probably a good thing. If I didn’t feel some guilt and shame, then I really would be a monster. “It’s kinda hard to get used to. Though I guess you know that.”
“Yes, I do,” he replied. “But killing him was a matter of survival for you. And as far as eating him goes, you’d have eaten his brain without hesitation had his body been in the morgue, yes? It’s simply a different setting.”
“Yeah,” I said, subdued. “I’m having a little trouble adjusting to the whole being-a-killer thing.”
He exhaled. “Maybe we can discuss this more later, when things settle down a bit,” he replied, tone gentle. “My people will be occupied for a few days with the aftermath of your encounters with Saberton, but after that we should talk.”
I hesitated. I still didn’t fully trust him, not by a long shot. And the quick and efficient response to the highway incident had shown me quite clearly that Pietro was, well…when I’d half-joked about him being the head of the zombie mafia, I’d probably been underestimating his power and reach.
But I had no doubt he had a lot more experience with dealing with the aftermath of killing someone. And it wasn’t as if I had a whole lot of other people I could spill my guts to. I couldn’t exactly go to a therapist and say, “The thing is, I’m having some guilt issues over the fact that I’m a brain-eating murderer.”
“That would be great,” I heard myself saying.
“Excellent. I’ll tell Dr. Nikas you’ll be coming by shortly after noon.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll, uh, be ready.” I hung up, shaking my head at the awkwardness of my goodbye.
But then I laughed. A year ago I was a drugged-out felon shacking up with my loser boyfriend, Randy. In a couple of hours I was going to see zombie heads in a secret lab owned and operated by the head of the local zombie mafia.
Sometimes life was pretty damn funny.
Chapter 13
I told myself I’d study until eleven which would give me enough time to get ready so I wouldn’t be in a frantic rush before Brian picked me up. At least that was the plan. I ended up getting caught up in a practice test, and when I looked up it was eleven-thirty and then, of course, I had a frantic rush to get ready in time.
Fortunately, I was an expert on running late, so by ten ’til noon I was showered, had my hair dried with most of the frizz tamed, and even had a bit of makeup on. I put on the same pants I’d worn to the Gala, but this time paired it with a simple shirt that wasn’t at all skanky, and my regular low lace-up boots. I’d briefly considered wearing the same heeled boots that I’d worn the other night, then decided that comfort and sure footing was probably the better choice for a research lab. I wouldn’t want to trip and knock something crucial over, land in a bizarre cocktail of chemicals, and end up some sort of freak mutant, right?
I laughed at myself as I dabbed on a touch of lip gloss. I was already freaky enough, thank you very much. And I’ve also been watching way too many science fiction movies with Marcus!
My dad stumbled out of his bedroom wearing only a pair of ragged boxers while I prowled the kitchen in search of something to eat. He grunted something at me and continued right on past to the bathroom. I rolled my eyes, annoyance winding through me as I stuck a burrito into the microwave.
By the time the microwave dinged, and I had the burrito on a plate, he shuffled back into the kitchen.
“Afternoon, Dad,” I said. I figured it was close enough to noon that I could be snarky about the time of day.
He mumbled something that might have been an answer as he scrabbled through the pantry. “Dammit, Angel, we’re out of coffee.”
“I’ll pick some up later,” I said around a mouthful of too-chewy tortilla and cheese. “There’s some Cokes in there.” I shrugged. “At least it’s caffeine.”
His scowl deepened into familiar lines as he pulled a can of Coke out of the pantry and popped the tab. “You shoulda gotten coffee yesterday.” He took a swig of warm soda, gave me an accusing look as if it was my fault that warm Coke sucked compared to coffee.
I took the time to chew and swallow more burrito before answering. “I didn’t know we were out,” I finally said. “And I was working. Y’know, for the money that buys coffee.”
“I buy things around here too, dammit,” he growled, then let out a low belch.
I bit back a retort that I knew damn well would start a fight. “So, you going anywhere tonight?” I asked instead.
“Why the hell do I have to get the third degree in my own goddamn house?” He shot back. “I may go out. May not. None of your goddamn business.”
So much for not starting a fight. “Jesus, Dad, I’m just trying to have a fucking conversation,” I said. Why the hell did he have to be so goddamn ornery all the time? “You’ve hardly been home at all most evenings.”
He got a cold hotdog out of the fridge, wrapped it in a piece of white bread. “Maybe I have things to do. And you’re one to talk after staying out all night.” He took a bite, then looked me over as if focusing on me for the first time. His eyes narrowed. “Looks like you’re going out again. With that cop?”
“No, it’s not Marcus,” I said, then had to mentally fumble for what the hell to tell him. Zombie head tour at a secret lab probably wouldn’t go over too well. “I have a meeting, um, sorta job interview,” I lied. Badly.
He leaned toward me, frowning. “You get fired?”
“What? No!” I shook my head. “This is mostly a tour, that’s all.” I jumped at a sudden knock on the door. Crap. Brian was here. And my dad…
I groaned under my breath. “Could you maybe put on some pants?”
“Oh, for the love of…It’s my goddamn house.” He scowled as he stalked to the window and tweaked the curtain back. I heard him breathe a low curse, and I looked over his shoulder to see a very official-looking black Escalade with heavily tinted windows in the driveway, and on the porch the equally official-looking Brian, dressed in a dark suit, and wearing sunglasses and a Bluetooth headset.
“Who the fuck is that, Angel?” He let the curtain drop and rounded on me.
I hissed a whisper, “Jesus, Dad, he can hear you!” I swallowed down the last bite of burrito and grabbed my purse. “Hang on!” I called toward the door, then looked back to my dad. “He, um, works at the lab. He’s giving me a ride, that’s all.”
My dad glowered at me as he crossed his spindly arms over his thin, bare chest. “You’ve sure taken up with some folks that aren’t our kind, Angel.” Something flickered in his eyes, but I couldn’t tell if it was anger or worry. “You better watch yourself.”
“I’m fine,” I muttered, then waved a hand at him to at least get behind the counter so that his underwear wasn’t visible. He rolled his eyes and grudgingly complied, but continued to cast dark looks my way as I yanked the door open.
I gave Brian a bright smile. “Hi!”
With the sunglasses over his eyes I couldn’t tell if Brian was looking past me and taking in the general state of my house—and my dad—but I had no doubt he was doing exactly that. Though if he found any aspect of it disgusting or amusing, it didn’t show at all in his face. Instead he simply gave me a slight nod.