Mab gave my hand one last pat, dismissing my concern. “Don’t fret. Over the centuries, I’ve gained control that most of our kind never have a chance to develop. I’ll be here, and in my usual form, within the half hour.”
I kissed my aunt’s cheek and told her to be careful. She waved her hand and told me not to make a fuss. Across the terminal, Daniel gestured impatiently for me to come over.
He could wait one more minute.
I scanned the terminal, looking for Kane. I knew “sorry” wouldn’t be enough. Maybe nothing would ever be enough to erase that shocked betrayal I’d seen in his eyes. There was no time now to explain, to try to fix things with him. Still, I needed to tell him how much I wanted to try.
But I couldn’t. Kane was gone. I turned in a circle, surveying the hall. He was nowhere to be seen.
My heart a cold, heavy lump in my chest, I trudged over to where Daniel awaited me.
THE POLICE HAD REMOVED THE FEMALE ZOMBIE TO A cinder-block room deep in the bowels of the airport. After taking an elevator to a subbasement, Daniel and I went through a locked metal door and down several more flights of stairs. We emerged into a long, narrow hallway. Body-armored cops holding automatic weapons were stationed every ten yards. At the end of the hallway was a single door. It looked like the door to a bank vault, but behind it was no treasure. Behind it waited the zombie who’d nearly choked the life out of Mab.
It wasn’t the zombie’s fault, I reminded myself as a guard opened the door. It was the Morfran. Still, when I stood in the doorway and saw her sitting at the far end of a long table, her fingers drumming nervously on its wooden surface, all I could think of was those hands, locked around Mab’s neck—squeezing harder, tighter—as my aunt’s eyes bulged. My demon mark itched and grew hot; my fingers curled into fists. How dare she attack one of my own? I’d make her feel what Mab had felt. I’d—
Wait. Stop. Not her fault. The image of zombie hands choking Mab was replaced by one of my own arm, reaching for a sword to wield against my aunt. My nails bit into my palms. This zombie had been driven by a demonic force that pushed her from the inside. Of all people, I knew how that felt. The Morfran took over her will, just as the Destroyer was always pushing to take over mine. Now that the Morfran had been expelled from her, she was our best chance to understand what was happening.
“Vicky?” Daniel already seated, looked at me curiously. A folder was open in front of him. “They need to close the door.”
“Sorry.” I blew out a lungful of air and took a chair beside Daniel’s. The door shut with a thud and the shlick! of bolts shooting home. One guard, armed with an automatic rifle, stayed inside. Daniel shrugged off his jacket, twisting around to hang it on the back of his chair. The grip of his gun protruded from his shoulder holster.
Undoubtedly, every single gun I’d seen was loaded with zombie droppers. If this zombie tried to attack, she’d never make it to this side of the table.
Not that she looked like she wanted to. She sat like . . . well, okay, like a zombie, stiff and awkward. She stopped drumming, slapping one hand over the other, and stared at a spot halfway along the table. Deep gouges from the falcon’s talons furrowed her cheeks.
“Good evening,” Daniel said. She didn’t reply. He waited a few seconds, then cleared his throat and continued. Not even an eyelid twitched as she heard that she was being questioned in connection with tonight’s attack and that the conversation was being recorded on video. He didn’t read her rights, of course. Zombies don’t have any.
“Please state your name,” Daniel said.
Nothing.
Daniel glanced at me with raised eyebrows, and I shook my head. I didn’t know her.
Daniel repeated his request, louder this time.
The zombie lurched forward and put her face in her hands. Zombies can’t cry, but she gasped and her shoulders heaved as though she were sobbing. We waited. Suddenly she dropped her hands and pounded both fists on the table. The wood cracked.
“I didn’t want to attack that lady.” Desperation pushed her high-pitched voice to shrillness. “I tried not to, but I couldn’t stop myself. Those birds . . .”
“We’ll get to that,” Daniel said. “First, I need you to tell me your name.”
Her hands returned to her face, and she stayed silent for a long time. “Bonita.” The muffled whisper barely made it through her fingers.
He wrote it down. “Bonita what?”
She shook her head, shoulders heaving again. “Wait,” Daniel said. He leafed through the papers in his folder, then ran a finger down one of them. His finger stopped, and he looked up. “Bonita Scruggs?”
She nodded, letting her hands fall to the table, where they lay like stunned animals. “You gonna kill me?”
It was a valid question. The law offered no protections to zombies who got violent. But Daniel didn’t answer her. “Bonita, you failed to return to Designated Area One after Police Commissioner Hampson issued a Code Red.” He tapped the list of names he’d consulted. “Where were you during that time?”
“Nowhere.”
“Listen,” Daniel said, meeting her surly tone with gentleness, “I’d like to be able to report that you cooperated with this investigation.”
“Why should I? You’ll never believe me. Might as well go ahead and kill me right now.”
He sighed. If he weren’t packing a serious weapon, he’d look exactly like an exasperated high school teacher trying to collect missing homework.
Maybe I should try. “Bonita, we know what happened wasn’t your fault. You were possessed.”
Her head snapped toward me. “You know about the birds?”
“Crows, right? Filling your head with unbearable cawing.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “I woulda done anything to make it stop.”
“That’s why you need to talk to us,” Daniel said, leaning forward. “You’re a valuable witness because you survived that possession, and you can help us prevent it from happening to other PDHs.”
“You don’t have to say that.” Daniel blinked, confused at Bonita’s words. “PDH. I’m a zombie, and I know it.” Her voice turned hard. “I also know what happens to zombies who do what I did tonight, whether they did it on purpose or not.” She narrowed her bloodred eyes. “Right?”
“No one will kill you, Bonita,” I said. “I won’t let them. I promise.”
Daniel scowled at me. I had no authority to make a promise like that. But so what? I meant what I said. I’d enlist Kane to help and then—
Oh.
My heart turned to lead and sank to my shoes. Kane had left the airport without saying good-bye. I doubted he’d be taking my calls.
Bonita, at least, seemed encouraged. She straightened in her chair and took a deep breath. “So you wanna know where I was?” A humorless laugh escaped her lips. “It’s like I told you—nowhere. Or if it was somewhere, it wasn’t like any place I’ve ever been.”
“I’m not following you,” Daniel said.
Bonita snorted. “You wouldn’t want to follow me there.”
“Let’s start at the beginning.” He shuffled through his papers, then picked one up and scanned its text. “According to records, you left Deadtown on Thursday at nine fourteen P.M. as part of a group of workers. The group was covered by a Class B permit held by the We Klean 4U maintenance company. You were the only worker who didn’t return.” He set down the piece of paper and tapped it with his index finger. “Where did you go after you exited the checkpoint?”
“To work. I clean offices in a building on Boylston Street.” She gave the address, and Daniel wrote it down.
“Was anyone with you there?”
“Just my friend Suzanne, but we work on different floors. The third floor was empty, except for me. Until he showed up.”
“Who?”
“The Devil.”
Daniel looked up sharply. I did the same. Bonita was dead serious.
“The Devil,” she insisted. “I know it was. Even though at first I thought it was just some guy.” Neither Daniel nor I said a word. Bonita’s hand shook as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’d almost finished vacuuming the hallway when I looked up to see a man walking toward me, fast. I didn’t know what to do. We’re supposed to keep a low profile because some of the tenants don’t like having zombies clean their offices. It’s usually not a problem, since we clean after hours. Anyway, all of a sudden there was this guy, and he looked mad.”
“Can you describe him?” Daniel asked.
“Tall. Dark eyes with thick black lashes. Black hair, too, but pale skin. Unhealthy pale, like a vampire. But why would a vampire come after a zombie? He wore a black suit, and all that black made me think of an undertaker.” Her gaze went distant, and she shuddered. “He looked like Death coming to get me.”
It was my turn to shudder. She’d just described Pryce. Poor Bonita. I knew how it felt to have that scowling face approach, lips twisted in a sneer, intent on doing harm. Of course she’d think of death and devils.
“I started to apologize,” Bonita continued. “Why, I don’t know. I was only doing my job. But he looked so angry, like he wanted to hurt me. I stood there frozen, and he grabbed both my arms. I must have blacked out or something, because after that everything went dark.” She hugged herself and rocked in her seat. “But I couldn’t have passed out, because I remember how scared I was. His grip hurt my arms. I smelled the most awful smells—worse than the time a skunk died under my grandparents’ back porch. And the sounds. Mean, horrible laughter. Screams. Sobbing. That’s when I knew it. I’d died and gone to hell.”
“That’s one name for it.” I turned to Daniel. “Somehow, Pryce pulled her into the demon plane.”
He nodded, still watching Bonita. “What happened next?”