Hearing his name, the dog came over, and rolled onto his back, waiting for a belly rub. Isaiah obliged. "Beatin' a dog! You shoulda ripped his owner's heart clear out while you were at it."
"I did!" said Zin. Then she waffled. "Well, I almost did. I mean, I woulda done it, but the dog was watchin'. Couldn't let him see that, could I?"
Kudzu purred like a kitten as Isaiah rubbed his belly. "Sure is one funny-lookin' pooch." Then he stood up and handed Nick the list. "Here you go--ten reasonable requests. Let's see what the girl can do."
The requests that Isaiah passed along were all well-chosen, and although it took some time, they were doable. A saxophone and a guitar for two kids who hadn't played since the day they each crossed over. The sixth Harry Potter book, which, for some reason, was the only one that never crossed into Everlost. A Bible--which often did cross--but the request was for one in Portugese. Zin ripped an art set for a girl who had brushes, but no paint, a big sixty-four box of Crayolas for the younger kids, and a pair of glasses for a kid whose eyesight was as bad in Everlost as it was in life. The remaining requests were for desperately needed sports equipment. Nick was surprised that Isaiah didn't pass along any more food orders, but as it turned out, Isaiah had his reasons.
Once all ten requests had been fulfilled, Isaiah called Nick in for a private meeting. Isaiah's quarters were comfortable but modest, behind an unassuming storefront in Underground Atlanta. He lived no better than any of the kids in his care, although he did have a bit more room. There was a bed that was probably just for show, since most Afterlights--especially leaders--didn't sleep. There was a Formica table from the 1950s, an orange leather sofa probably from the seventies, and several fragile-looking round-backed chairs that looked like something Nick's grandmother might have owned. Nick made a mental note to have Zin rip Isaiah a respectable furniture set.
Nick sat on the sofa, figuring it would be the least likely to be left with permanent chocolate stains, and Isaiah sat across from him in one of the grandma chairs.
"I've let you have your fun," Isaiah said. "Now I want to know what you want from us."
Nick knew there was a fine line between a gift and a bribe. He could only hope that he was still on the right side of that line. "I would have ripped all those things for your Afterlights, without getting anything in return," he told Isaiah. "But you're right--there are a couple of things I'd like to ask you for."
"You can ask," said Isaiah, "but it doesn't mean I'm gonna give."
Nick cleared his throat so that his speech lost that thick chocolatey tone. "First I need information. I need to know about other Afterlights in other towns and cities in the South. I need numbers if you have them, and what those Afterlights are like--are they friends or enemies? Are they easy to deal with, or should they be avoided? You know-- that kind of thing."
"Fine," said Isaiah. "I'll tell you what I know about the South." The chair creaked as Isaiah leaned back in it. "But that's not all you want, is it?"
Nick took a moment. This one wouldn't be as easy. He tried to sit up as straight as he could in the low-slung sofa, and looked Isaiah in the eye.
"I'd like fifty of your Afterlights."
Isaiah's expression became so stony, the features of his face actually seemed changed. "They're not for sale," he growled.
"No--that's not what I mean." Nick said. "Mary Hightower is a threat to all of us, and I can guarantee you that she's building an army. Which means I need to build one too. So I'm asking you for fifty volunteers. Only those who want to go--I don't want to force anyone."
Isaiah took his time to think about it. "I don't like it," he said. "I don't like it one bit ... but I do get the feeling that living under the Sky Witch would be a whole lot worse."
Nick leaned forward. "Will you do it, then? Will you ask for volunteers?"
"If I give it my blessing, you'll get your volunteers," Isaiah said. "But it's gonna take more than 'ten reasonable requests,' from the Ripper to get my blessing."
"All right, then--what?"
What Isaiah asked for was a feast. A Christmas feast for his entire vapor, regardless of the fact that it was the summer. Nick supposed that in a timeless world, each day could be whatever day you wanted it to be.
"Everyone knows how hard it is to find food that's crossed over," Isaiah pointed out. "You saw how they acted when they saw that ice cream. Coulda had a riot if I wasn't there to keep the peace." Isaiah indicated a little jar in the corner that held just one unbroken fortune cookie. "Mostly we get those damn fortune cookies--and when it's a bad fortune, no one'll even eat the crumbs."
"So," asked Nick, who knew more than anyone that every Everlost fortune was true, "was your last fortune a good one, or a bad one?"
Isaiah raised his eyebrows. "At first I thought it was bad, but maybe it's turning halfway decent."
"What did it say?"
Isaiah gave him the slightest hint of a grin. "It said 'Embrace the bittersweet'."
The feast took some time to arrange, and since all the ripping effort was Zin's, it exhausted her--but she was a trooper. Nick had her rip a smorgasbord of edible items from dozens upon dozens of restaurants, markets, and homes.
"Why cain't I go to some big ole' banquet hall," Zin asked, "and rip all the food from there?"
"That would be easier," Nick admitted, "but it would also be obnoxious. If we have to steal hundreds of meals from the living, we should spread it out--so that no one feels the cost of what they've lost."
It was obvious that Zin cared little for the living and their loss. The concept of "responsible ripping" was foreign to her. Fortunately, in her many years in Everlost, her designs were never so grand that her ripping created major problems for the living. Unless you count all the missing artillery.
In the end, Zin did what she was told, and asked if this earned her a raise in her military rank. Nick told her a good soldier never asks.