Dying Is My Business Read online

  Oh God. In all the chaos, I’d forgotten about the box. My stomach dropped. Bethany was one of the squatters Underwood had mentioned. I’d made a serious mistake. I saw that now. I’d gotten carried away in the moment and let my guard down. I never should have told her my name, or found out hers. That was only going to make it harder to do my job.

  “Tell me about the box,” I said. She didn’t answer. She kept her eyes on Thornton.

  I’d saved her life, only to have to kill her myself. Because she didn’t just know my name, she’d seen my face. She could identify me, trace me right back to Underwood, which was exactly what he didn’t want. I reached behind my back for the gun in my waistband. My mouth went as dry as sand. My heart lurched into my throat. My fingers grazed the gun’s handle. This was important, I told myself. There was too much riding on this.

  When the box is in my hands, and the ones you’ve taken it from are dead, then I’ll tell you everything you want to know.

  I wrapped my fingers around the grip of the gun. My index finger touched the trigger guard.

  “Bethany, where is the box?”

  I started to pull the gun free.

  Between us, Thornton sat up suddenly, gasping air into his lungs.

  Seven

  There was no doubt in my mind that Thornton had been dead. Well and truly dead. I’d seen the body with my own eyes, clear as day, and they didn’t come any deader. And yet, one minute he was lying motionless on the floor with his guts practically falling out of his stomach, and the next he was sitting up and hyperventilating like he’d just surfaced from a deep-sea dive.

  Startled, I let go of my gun, leaving it tucked in the back of my pants. Adrenaline surged through me, my muscles coiling, ready to spring away if he made any sudden moves. In the back of my mind, I wondered if this was how Bennett had felt when he saw me coming for him after I died.

  The thought blossomed into another, more earth-shaking one. Was it possible Thornton was like me?

  “Thornton?” Bethany said.

  He stared at her, gasping and choking, still trying to catch his breath. “Bethany? What happened to me? I—I can’t breathe.”

  “Take it slow,” she said. “Don’t force it. Just stop trying to breathe and you’ll be okay.” She turned to me. “Help me get him up.”

  I closed my mouth, suddenly aware that it had been hanging open this whole time. Bethany took one of Thornton’s arms. I reached for the other, then paused. I didn’t want to touch him. I didn’t want to be anywhere near him. I had the sudden and inexplicable urge to beat him with a shovel until he stayed down for good.

  “Please, I can’t do this alone,” she said.

  We didn’t have a lot of time before the gargoyles came back, so I reluctantly took Thornton’s other arm. His skin felt cool and clammy, like a slab of raw meat. I didn’t like it, it didn’t feel right, but I helped him get to his feet. He was heavy, cumbersome, awkward. In that moment, I finally understood the term dead weight.

  Thornton wobbled unsteadily on his feet. He tried to walk, but his knees buckled under him and he stumbled. Bethany and I kept him upright. “I can’t feel my legs,” he said.

  “Just take it slow,” Bethany repeated.

  I glanced at the hole in the warehouse ceiling and wondered just how slow we could really take it. Bethany had said the gargoyles would be back soon, and with help. Where did they fit into all this? Was their attack on Bethany purely random? Somehow I doubted it. It wasn’t like the New York Post was running articles on random gargoyle violence in the daily police blotter. So what had they been doing here?

  “Something’s wrong, I—I can’t feel anything.” Thornton looked down at himself and noticed, for the first time, the amulet at his chest. The small red gems at its center pulsed with a subtle, rhythmic glow, almost like a heartbeat. “Is this…?”

  “The Breath of Itzamna,” she said.

  “Why am I wearing it?” He paused, then looked up at Bethany. “Oh, no. I’m dead? I’m fucking dead?”

  “Try to stay calm, Thornton,” she said. “The Breath of Itzamna worked. It brought you back.”

  “No, I—I don’t feel right,” he said. “I’m cold. Numb. I can’t even feel my heartbeat. The only time I’m breathing is when I talk.”

  “That’s because technically you’re not alive,” she explained. “Just … back.”

  I bit back a swell of disappointment. Thornton wasn’t like me any more than Bennett’s fellow soldier Sully was. He was only up and moving because of the amulet. Somehow it had the power to bring him back. An amulet that could reanimate the dead. My brain tried to wrap itself around that but only wound up hurting.

  “Christ, I’m a fucking zombie,” Thornton groaned.

  “We have to keep moving,” Bethany told him. “Can you walk?”

  He took a wobbly step forward. A rope of something thick and gray almost fell out of an open gash in his stomach before he pushed it back in with his hands. “Oh my God, I’m disgusting!”

  We helped Thornton toward the door, his feet sliding stiffly along the warehouse floor. “Help me get to my clothes. They’re right outside.” He glanced at Bethany sheepishly. “Sorry about all the man flesh on display. It’s hard to make the change while I’m wearing clothes.”

  She grinned at him. “Please, like I’ve never seen you change before? I’m used to you letting it all hang out.”

  Thornton groaned. “That’s not a nice thing to say to someone who’s been disemboweled.”

  Bethany stopped to pick up the Anubis Hand from the floor. I took the opportunity for one last glance around the room. She’d said Thornton was the only one who knew where the box was, which meant it wasn’t in the warehouse anymore. A moment ago I’d been ready to use my gun to get her talking, but now a new strategy occurred to me. If I stuck with these two, they would lead me to the box. I was sure of it.

  We carried Thornton through the door. Outside, the familiar sights and sounds of the West Side Highway had a surprisingly calming effect on me. Maybe the entire world hadn’t been turned on its head after all.

  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 br
ought 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.”

  In the rearview, I saw him wipe his hands over his face. “God. I need to see Gabrielle. Right now.”

  Bethany shook her head slowly. “I’m sorry, Thornton, we can’t go back yet. If we do, we’ll lead the gargoyles right to Citadel.”

  “Bethany, for Christ’s sake, I have to see her.”

  “You will, I promise,” she said. “Tomorrow, when the sun is up and it’s safe, we can go back, but right now we can’t. I need you to understand that.”

  Thornton chewed his thumbnail worriedly. “You promised, Bethany. I’m going to hold you to that.”

  I didn’t know who Gabrielle was, but judging from the way Thornton was so desperate to see her before his time ran out, I figured she was important to him. His girlfriend, maybe. So what did that make Bethany?

  In the backseat, she said, “Now we just need to get the box back, before…” She trailed off self-consciously.

  “Before I die, you mean. Permanently this time.” Thornton leaned his head back against the top of the seat. “Shit, Bethany. You always figure you’re going to die sometime, but it always seems so far away. Though, on the plus side, I’m already dead, so I guess I don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

  “Thornton, I’m serious about the box,” she said. “You know how important it is we get it back to Citadel safely. It’s why we split up in the first place, so you could find someplace to hide it.”

  Thornton sat up. “That’s why you brought me back, isn’t it? It wasn’t because you couldn’t leave me there, it wasn’t sentimental, it was because I know where the box is and you don’t. Jesus, Bethany. I’m right, aren’t I?”

  She didn’t answer. Her silence did it for her.

  I slowed behind a car that was taking a right turn onto Ninth Avenue and did my best not to look like I was eavesdropping.

  Thornton glared icily at Bethany. “You don’t have to worry about it. The box is safe.”

  “You’re sure?” she pressed.

  He nodded. “I left it in the safest place I could think of, with someone even the gargoyles wouldn’t dare mess with.”

  Her eyes widened. “Oh no, you don’t mean—?”

  “I gave it to Gregor.”

  “Tell me you didn’t,” she said. “Gregor’s a compulsive hoarder. He keeps everything.”

  �
�Just another reason it’ll be safe with him.”

  She groaned. “There’s no guarantee we’ll ever get it back now. Not from him.”

  “He owes me a favor. A lot of favors, actually. He’ll give it back. Trust me, I know what I’m doing.”

  Bethany sighed and crossed her arms. It was evident she was someone who hated not being in complete control of a situation.

  “Who’s Gregor?” I asked.

  “An old friend,” Thornton said.

  “Very old,” Bethany added, like that cleared things up.

  Apparently that was all they were willing to tell me. I pressed a little harder. “Is that where we’re going now, to get this box back from Gregor?”

  Bethany shook her head. “Just keep driving. Right now, our priority is to make sure we’ve lost the gargoyles.”

  I maneuvered the car across the intersection at Eighth Avenue, still heading east. I checked the side mirrors. The buildings in this part of town were too tall for me to see anything but walls and windows, but we were moving at a pretty good clip, especially by Midtown standards. “I think we’ve shaken them off.”

  “It won’t be that easy,” she said. “They’ve got our scent. I wouldn’t be surprised if they were still tracking us but hanging back, waiting to see where we go.”

  “What’s their beef with you anyway?” I asked.

  “They want the box,” Bethany said.

  That made two of us. “Okay,” I said, “but why?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  Why wasn’t I surprised? Everything had gotten a lot more complicated when I walked into that damn warehouse. “News flash, sweetheart, I’m the guy who saved your ass back there by turning a gargoyle into a pile of ashes, so maybe you can clue me in on what this is all about.”

  Bethany turned to Thornton. “Did this asshole just call me sweetheart?”

  Thornton leaned forward in his seat. “Wait, what are you talking about, turning a gargoyle into ashes?” I told him what had happened when I used the staff. His eyes bugged. “But that’s impossible, the Anubis Hand isn’t supposed to—”