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The Urban Fantasy Anthology (Peter S. Beagle) (Kitty Norville 1.50)

Page 81

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The paramedics came straight toward Beth. I got out of the way. They immediately knelt by her, checked her pulse, shined a light in her eyes. I breathed a little easier. Finally, someone was doing something useful.

“What happened?” one of them asked.

How did I explain this? She’s a zombie. That wasn’t going to work, because I didn’t think she was one anymore. She was a zombie didn’t sound any better.

“She was going to leave,” Carson said, suddenly, softly. Responding to the authority of the uniform, maybe. He stared at her, unable to look away. He spoke as if in a trance. “I didn’t want her to go. She asked me to come with her, to Seattle—but I didn’t want to do that either. I wanted her to stay with me. So I…this stuff, this powder. It would make her do anything I wanted. I used it. But it…changed her. She wasn’t the same. She—was like that. Dead almost. I left her, but she followed. She kept following me—”

“Call it poisoning,” said one paramedic to the other.

“Where did you get this powder?” I said.

“Some guy on the Internet.”

I wanted to kill him. Wanted to put my hands around his throat and kill him.

“Kitty—” Matt said. I took a breath. Calmed down.

“Any idea what was in this powder?” one of the paramedics said, sounding like he was repressing as much anger as I was.

Carson shook his head.

“Try tetrodotoxin,” I said. “Induces a deathlike coma. Also causes brain damage. Irreparable brain damage.”

Grimacing, the paramedic said, “We won’t be able to check that until we get her to the hospital. I don’t see any ID on her. I’m going to call in the cops, see if they’ve had a missing persons report on her. And to see what they want to do with him.”

Carson flinched at his glare.

Trish backed away. “If I tried to break up with you—would you have done that to me too?” Her mouth twisted with unspoken accusations. Then, she fled.

Carson thought he’d make his own zombie slave girlfriend, then somehow wasn’t satisfied at the results. She probably wasn’t real good in bed. He’d probably done it, too—had sex with Beth’s brain-damaged, comatose body. The cops couldn’t get here fast enough, in my opinion.

“There’s two parts to it,” I said. “The powder creates the zombie. But then there’s the spell to bind her to you, to bind the slave to the master. Some kind of object with meaning, a receptacle for the soul. You have it. That’s why she followed you. That’s why she wouldn’t stay away.” The salt hadn’t broken that bond. She’d regained her will—but the damage was too great for her to do anything with it. She knew enough to recognize him and what he’d done to her, but could only cry out helplessly.

He reached into his pocket, pulled something out. He opened his fist to reveal what.

A diamond engagement ring lay in his palm.

Beth reacted, arcing her back, flailing, moaning. The paramedics freaked, pinned her arms, jabbed her with a hypodermic. She settled again, whimpering softly.

I took the ring from Carson. He glared at me, the first time he’d really looked at me. I didn’t see remorse in his eyes. Only fear. Like Victor Frankenstein, he’d created a monster and all he could do when confronted with it was cringe in terror.

“Matt, you have a string or a shoelace or something?”

“Yeah, sure.”

He came back with a bootlace fresh out of the package. I put the ring on it, knotted it, and slipped it over Beth’s head. “Can you make sure this stays with her?” I asked the paramedics. They nodded.

This was half-science, half-magic. If the ring really did hold Beth’s soul, maybe it would help. If it didn’t help—well, at least Carson wouldn’t have it anymore.

The cops came and took statements from all of us, including the paramedics, then took Carson away. The paramedics took Beth away; the ambulance siren howled down the street, away.

Finally, when Matt and I were alone among the remains of his disaster of a party, I started crying. “How could he do that? How could he even think it? She was probably this wonderful, beautiful, independent woman, and he destroyed—”

Matt had poured two glasses of champagne. He handed me one.

“Happy New Year, Kitty.” He pointed at the clock on the microwave. 12:03.

Crap. I missed it. I started crying harder.



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