How the White Trash Zombie Got Her Groove Back (White Trash Zombie 4)

For our part, Philip and I swapped off on the driving while Naomi stayed in the back seat with Kyle. He looked like death warmed over, and his jaw and hands still didn’t work right. For his sake, everyone was relieved when we finally pulled up to Dr. Nikas’s lab in St. Edwards Parish.

Naomi hustled Kyle off toward the medical section, and Philip and I went to a treatment room. Dr. Nikas gave us each two injections, then had us drink a quart of medicine-laced brain smoothie to stop the whole MegaPlague imprinting thing and put us both back to normal—or as normal as we could be at the moment. Once that was done Jacques invited me to the back to look at the growth of the heads, where I was totally psyched to see that Kang’s body was almost three feet long—though still as weird and gross-looking as before—and he’d been moved to the full-size coffin tank.

I finally left the lab and headed off on my own, this time to Nick’s house where my dad was still staying, according to my latest phone call to him.

Nick lived in a much swankier area than I expected, a gated neighborhood with large houses and perfectly landscaped yards. It didn’t seem to fit practical Nick at all, and the only reason I didn’t stop to double check the address was because the gate guard had my name as a visitor. After I pulled into the driveway of a two story house on Seraphim Circle I sat for a moment and stared at the doors of the two car garage. How the hell could Nick afford this on Coroner’s Office pay, and why did he need such a big ass house?

I shook off the questions as I climbed out of the car and walked up to the porch. Before I could ring the bell, my dad yanked the door open. “Angel, it’s ’bout damn time you got here.”

Blinking, I took in the sight of him looking halfway respectable. Clean shaven, hair combed—and trimmed since I left—and with freshly laundered clothes judging by the Summer Breeze scent wafting from him. He lost “respectable” points due to the old spaghetti sauce stains, frayed collar on his shirt, and the rip in the side seam of his pants that he’d declared “didn’t do no one no harm” when I’d once offered to sew it up for him. “Um, nice to see you too?”

The next instant he pulled me into a fierce hug. “Don’t you ever run off like that again, you hear me?” he muttered, voice rough.

I hugged him back, hard. “I hope to hell I never have to,” I said, a little sniffly. “I’m so glad you’re doing all right.”

“Yeah, I’m doin’ okay,” he said, then pulled back. “C’mon in.” He waved a hand toward the inside as if he was inviting me into his own house.

I entered, still struck by the sense that none of the décor reflected Nick. Floor to ceiling mirrors lined one wall of the foyer, and a vase of fresh pale yellow flowers stood on a table against the opposite wall. Through an archway, I caught a glimpse of cream leather sofa on spotless matching carpet. It was all very lovely and tasteful, neat and tidy, without a thing out of place. Expensive and classy, and I couldn’t for the life of me explain why it felt so very not-Nick.

“This is a really nice place,” I said, because it was.

“It’s comfy enough,” Dad said with a bit of a shrug. Maybe he felt the same way about the décor and Nick. He gestured to a pile of books on the coffee table. “That’s where Nick does his studying, and the kitchen is this way.”

I followed him into a kitchen at least three times the size of mine. White tile and black appliances. “Where’s Nick now?”

“Should be home soon.” He opened the fridge and pulled out a Diet Coke. “With the short staff at the Coroner’s Office he’s had some long hours.”

I grimaced. “Yeah, I called Allen yesterday. I go back to work in the morning.”

He popped the top on the can and took a sip. “Allen and Nick were pretty worried about you.”

“I’m sure they were,” I said with a sigh, then gave him a brighter smile. “But everything’s cool now.” I heard the sound of the door opening.

My dad leaned in close and lowered his voice. “And I didn’t tell him anything about, um, you know.”

“God, I’d hope not!” I whispered back, then gave Nick a smile as he strode into the kitchen. “Hey!”

“Hey, Angel,” he said, trying to look casual but failing miserably. Anxious delight shone in his eyes, and he cleared his throat. “I’m glad you’re back safe and sound.”

Grinning, I closed the distance between us and pulled him into a hug. He wasn’t much taller than me, so it was a bit different than hugs from big guys like Philip or Marcus. Nick had his face right on my neck which made me glad I’d eaten recently. Nothing like getting a face full of rot smell.

Nick’s breath shuddered out of him, and the hug he’d been holding somewhat awkwardly relaxed and shifted a bit closer.

I held him, deeply grateful that I had such amazing friends. “Thanks for watching out for my dad,” I murmured.

I felt him nod against my neck. He continued to hold me for another couple of seconds then abruptly released me, all but shoving me away, a strangely stricken look on his face. “Yeah. Sure. Wasn’t any trouble.” He wiped his hands on his pants, and I had the weirdest feeling it was to remove any trace of me. “I . . . need to get so

me water,” he muttered before hurrying out of the kitchen.

I watched him go, then glanced to my dad with a huh? look.

He shrugged. “Never hugged me,” he replied in a low voice, “so I don’t got nothin’ to compare to.”

I bit back a laugh. “C’mon, get your stuff. I’m taking you home.”

“All right. It’ll just take a minute.” He headed off down the hallway, I assumed to the guest room. I heard a strange strangled sound from the direction of the living room and headed that way, shocked to see Nick leaning over the coffee table, hands clenched to white knuckles on the edge, face pale and breath wheezing.

“Shit! Nick, what’s wrong?”