One Kiss: An Apocalyptic Urban Fantasy (Transmissions from The International Council for the Exploration of the Universe., #1) (10 page)

After it was over, we stumbled off the stage, all of us drunk on the music, smiling, knowing we'd done something special. Michael threw an arm around me. "You were incredible," he said.

Our manager, Veronica Haus, a tall woman wearing cowboy boots, tight jeans, a black tight T-shirt, and a grin, walked into the green room moments after us. She was older than me, in her late thirties, with bleached blond hair she'd pulled back into a loose ponytail. "You guys were amazing!" she said.

"Thanks," Michael answered.

Veronica turned toward me. "You were on fire," she said. "I haven't seen you play like that in a year."

I nodded, unable to respond, feeling that she was sucking the joy out of it. Megan flashed across my vision. Her hair disappearing through the door at the hospital, her secret smile just for me, the scent of Gilt rushed up at me. "Thanks," I managed to say.

She turned back to Michael and grinned at him. I put my violin in its case and then backed toward the door and opened it slowly. Emmanuel looked over at me and caught my eye. "Bathroom," I mouthed before slipping out.

****

"
You were great," Marty, the owner of the club, said once I'd pushed through the crowd and pressed up against the bar.

I smiled and felt my cheeks get warm. "Thanks," I muttered.

"No, seriously, Darling. That's one of the best sets I've heard you do. You guys are really starting to sound like a band," Marty continued, resting a meaty forearm on the bar and leaning toward me so that I could hear him over the din of the crowd. I hated to hear him say that. If we sounded like a band than I had moved on. But Megan wasn't gone!

"Can you call me a cab?" I asked.

"Leaving so soon?" he asked with a frown. "I thought I saw Thomas Dowerdy from ToneShell Records heading backstage."

"Yeah," I said. "I'm not feeling great."

"You didn't take anything, did you?"

"No," I said, letting my eyes touch his for just a moment.

He nodded, frowning, leaning toward me.

"Hey," a man said behind me as he tapped my shoulder. I turned around and was face to face with Dr. Issa Tor.

"Hi," I said, casting my eyes to the bar. It was deep, dark wood, thickly lacquered so that it shone even in the low light of the club.

"You were great, I didn't realize you played here," Issa said, totally acting like I hadn't attacked him when he tried to bring me soup.

"Only sometimes," I said, playing the game.

"I just started coming here. I just moved here, you know?" He was close, and as the crowd shifted he pushed closer. His shoulder brushed against mine. I leaned back into the bar, trying to avoid contact.

"Darling, you still need that cab?" Marty asked, holding up the phone.

"I can drive you home," the doctor offered quickly. "Really, I'd be honored." He leaned closer to me so that his breath caressed my ear. "I think we should talk. There are things you should know."

Marty raised his eyebrows at me. "How could you refuse him the honor, Darling?"

I looked up at Issa; his caramel eyes glowed almost gold as I stared into them. His hand grasped my upper arm. "Please," Issa said.

"Okay," I answered, shaking my head at Marty.

"I can carry that for you," he said, reaching for my violin.

"I've got it."

He nodded and smiled, looking almost nervous. "My car is right out front," he said, taking my elbow to steer me through the crowd. I pulled free from his touch—afraid of the energy zapping through me.

He respected the distance I placed between us as we navigated between sweaty bodies, avoiding rocking beers, and out onto the street. A sleek black town car with tinted windows and headlights that looked like glowering eyes waited at the curb.

Issa stepped to the car's back door and opened it for me. The interior overhead lamp went on, lighting black leather seats. There was a driver, I realized. He was wearing a black-brimmed cap and he didn't turn his head around when the door opened.

"Your car?" I said.

"Yes," he answered. "My father is a—" He paused, seeming to search for the right word. "—a diplomat, so I have certain protections."

"Okay," I said, making no move to get into the car.

Issa let go of the car door and stepped tentatively toward me. "I promise you that no harm will come to you with me." His voice was smooth and low, the accent slight but decidedly different, like the car and driver. Out of my world.

"What kind of stuff do you think I should know?" I asked.

"Please," he said again, casting a quick glance at the few people smoking by the entrance.

"Give me a hint."

"I know why you always feel so hungry," he said. I felt my eyes narrow with suspicion. "And I know about your father. Your real father," he said, raising his thick brows at me. "Please, allow me to drive you home."

"Isn't he"—I inclined my head toward the driver—"going to be the one driving me home?"

Issa laughed. "Yes, I guess you're right. Basil will be driving you home."

I climbed into the back seat and said hi to Basil. He nodded his head. In the mirror I saw intense dark eyes, walnut skin, and a bushy mustache. The hair that crept from beneath his cap onto the back of his neck was straight and jet-black, like a panther's. Issa told Basil my address.

"Tell me what you know about my father," I said, keeping my hands knotted in my lap, the hunger tickling at my throat, the mention of it like a call, waking it up.

I looked over at him. When our eyes met his went a little hazy. I felt how close we were. Only my violin case separated our hips. "I'm sorry," he stammered, looking away.

I turned to the window. "For what?" I asked, looking out at the busy streets, people smiling and tipsy, falling against each other. My eyes filled with tears. I watched them and it was like we were underwater together. All of us lost beneath the sea.

"Darling?" he said. I nodded and felt a tear slide down my cheek. My chest seemed to be clenching, tightening around my heart, squeezing my insides. "Are you okay?" I didn't answer. He sighed. "I think we need to talk about what happened the other day. Your... recovery, it's important to me."

I couldn't help but let out a small laugh. "My recovery," I said, turning to him. "I hardly think what I did was a part of my recovery."

"But that's just it—"

"Sir," Basil spoke without turning around. "The street is blocked."

We both looked forward to see people streaming across the intersection. They were dressed in shabby clothing, their skin sheet-white, hair gray, patchy, and in disarray. A woman in a hospital gown stumbled by, blood dripping down her arm, a gash on her neck. In her right hand she held a beer.

"It's the zombie run," Issa said. "It must have just finished."

"Right," I said, trying to hide the fear in my voice.

Issa looked over at me. "I'll walk you to your door," he said. I tried to smile back but fear was growing in my stomach, warring with the desire lining my insides, prickling up through my skin. He opened his door and I clutched my fiddle, taking a deep breath.

"
So even with the promise of information about your father, and the answer to your hunger, you were that scared of them."

"In my gut, I guess, I knew it was more than just a drug or a disease. But the simple answer is, yes, I was scared. Have you ever seen a zombie?"

I shook my head no. "Not in the flesh."

She reached out and picked up the pack of cigarettes again, offering me one. I shook my head. "Turns out I had a good reason to be afraid," she said as she slipped another smoke between her lips.

<<<<>>>>

B
asil followed behind us a couple of paces as we fit ourselves into the stream of runners. Many of them still had numbers on their backs. The block was filled as far as I could see in both directions. Someone brushed up against me, then turned and smiled; his eyes were dark and there was a line of fake blood along his neck. "Sorry," he said.

I nodded an acknowledgment of his apology and he continued on, saying something to his friend, who laughed loudly at it. I tried to make myself smaller. Glancing back, it looked like a never-ending stream of them.

"You okay?" Issa asked.

I looked up at him. Issa took my elbow, gently pulling me forward. "Don't worry, I'll get you home safe. And if I fail, Basil is right behind us," he said with a soft smile. "Nothing gets past Basil."

I looked over my shoulder again. Basil's dark, watchful eyes were trained on us, the sea of people splitting around him. There was something about Basil that people kept an instinctual distance from. Then a scream rose behind us. Basil's head whipped around and his hand went inside his jacket.

What started as one scream was quickly joined by others, and the crowd at the edge of my vision pulsed forward, causing a chain reaction, lightning-fast, and suddenly people were running past me, their arms pumping, dodging those of us who still stood rooted in our place. Then Basil's arm was around my and Issa's shoulders. He pushed us into a nearby dead end. Buildings rose up on three sides.  One of the walls was lined with dirty dumpsters.

The crowd streamed past and Basil stepped to the edge. A woman fell and then, letting out a sob, stumbled back to her feet, her head twisted around to watch the approaching danger behind her. Ignoring her bloodied knees, the fresh, real stuff looking bright and lurid compared to the dried fake stuff that clung to her neck and shoulder, she put one foot in front of the other and began to run again.

Issa stepped up next to Basil at the edge of the alley. Basil said, "Sir, we need to get you inside." And then a shot rang out nearby, followed by three more and then an anguished yelp. I backed up until I hit against the far wall, clutching my violin case to my chest like a shield, like a lover.

"We should run for it," Issa said. His eyes were wide; a lock of his dark hair curled down over his forehead and bounced around as he looked from me back to the street, and then to me again. He held his hand out and I stared at it, keeping mine clutched around my instrument.

A gun fired and Issa turned, clearing my view to the street. Basil was shooting a man crouched over a body. The legs of the victim were shaking against the pavement. The hunched figure, its head bobbing over the person on the ground, did not flinch as the bullets entered its back, pow, pow. But then when the last one, pow, went through its head, the figure collapsed over its victim, the only movement the body spasming beneath its slumped form.

Basil took one step, positioned his gun over the head of the victim on the ground and fired, pow, once. I tasted blood in my mouth and realized I'd bitten my lip. Basil looked up, toward where the screaming started and dropped the clip from his gun; it bounced once when it hit the pavement. He turned toward Issa as he pulled a spare clip from inside his coat. "Sir, you need to go now." He jammed the clip into place and raised his gun toward uptown.

Issa took my arm and pulled me forward. I stumbled at first but as we came out of the alley I looked where Basil was pointing his gun, and adrenaline released into my system, shocking me into action. With Issa's strong hand on my arm I pounded forward, running faster than I ever had, dodging dropped bags, and slower individuals, as we flew toward my apartment. Just around the corner and we'd be there.

Gunshots sounded behind us and I took just the sparest second to turn my head before dodging left, down my block, Issa with me. In that brief glance I saw chaos, smoke, still, slumped figures, others spasming. I skidded to a stop ten paces from my apartment entrance. There was a person wearing jogging clothing lying on the ground, face a bloody pulp except for the terrifying specter of white teeth right where the mouth ought to be, its entire body shaking uncontrollably, just in front of my door.

People streamed by me, running, screaming, crying. Issa bent down to examine the person. "Don't," I said.

Issa looked up at me and in that moment the body on the ground lunged for him, those white teeth open and the stump of a tongue straining toward Issa's neck. Issa threw himself away from the creature, which grabbed his ankle, pulling it toward what was left of its mouth. Raising my violin case above my head, I slammed it down onto the thing's wrist but it continued to hold Issa's ankle. However, the case was now blocking its mouth, which pressed against the rough black exterior.

I was staring down at it, watching the blood ooze from its horrific wounds, mesmerized by the horror of it when the back of the thing's head blew off. "Where is your apartment?" Basil asked me. I looked up at him. There was blood splattered all over his crisp white shirt and dark suit jacket.

"There," I said using my chin to point at the door next to him.

He looked at it. "Key?"

I reached into my pocket and pulled the keys out. Basil raised his gun, pointing it at me. "Duck," he said.

I dropped to the ground, crouching next to my violin case, pulling it close to me. Basil fired, a body crumpled behind me, its limbs loud against the pavement without any attempt to break its fall.

Another shot rang out and the same thud. "Sir, get the keys," I heard Basil say as he fired again, and again.

Issa pulled me up, and took the keys from my hand. He hustled me over to the door. I held my violin case flush to my chest, my back against the wall as Issa put the key into the lock. But then a creature came from the other side and grabbed Issa. It was a man, his hair gray; a giant bite out of his neck exposed tendons and torn-open veins that spurted blood in long, thick lines down his chest. His eyes were fogged over and his teeth yellow and bared as he grabbed Issa's arm, knocking the keys to the ground.

Issa turned toward the creature, holding its shoulders, keeping its chomping teeth away from him. They fell back against the wall next to me. A lock of Issa's black hair dodged left and right across his forehead as Issa turned his head from side to side, the muscles in his forearms standing out in strong bands as he held the zombie off.

Looking over I saw that Basil had a knife out, and as a woman grabbed his forearm, trying to pull it toward her teeth, he stabbed her through the eye. "Help me," Issa said, his voice low, struggling for breath. I stuck my violin case between the teeth of the zombie and Issa's face. Issa's arms gave out and the creature slumped against the case, pushing Issa against the wall harder. Then Basil was behind the zombie, stabbing him at the base of his skull, angling up.