Chapter Ten
Chapter Ten
We practically threw each other aside as we leaped to our feet Any softness, any sex, forgotten, we crossed to the trampled, bloody grass and gaped.
“What the hell?” Murphy’s gaze flitted nervously to the surrounding trees. “If he wasn’t dead, why didn’t he try and kill us again?”
“I think he was dead. Probably from the beginning.”
Silence was the first clue that I’d spoken my thoughts out loud. Murphy’s guarded expression was the next.
“What did you say?”
I shouldn’t tell him, but he’d risked his life for me. He had a right to know what we were dealing with.
“Our friend was already dead, which was why it was so damn hard to kill him. Again.”
“Already dead,” he repeated. “Which means?”
“Silver didn’t cause fire, so not a werewolf.” I frowned. “I don’t think. Could be something new. And the crucifix—”
Hell, he’d run off with my necklace still stuck in his neck. I doubted I’d be able to find another out here.
“Didn’t work, either,” I continued, “so not a vampire. Probably a zombie, though I can’t be sure since the zombie-revealing powder got blown into your face.” I brushed a last bit from his eyebrow. “At least you’re not one.”
Murphy put his palm against my forehead, just as I used to do with Sarah. I j erked away. “I’m not sick!”
“Not physically.” He lowered his arm. “If I’d known you were nuts I wouldn’t have been seduced by your sad eyes and that lovely tight ass.”
“Don’t bullshit me, Murphy. You were seduced by the money.”
“I guess you haven’t seen your ass lately,” he muttered.
I made a derisive sound. I knew what I was and what I wasn’t. I also knew what he was and wasn’t.
Great comfort and the promise of excellent sex aside, Murphy was an adventurer to say the most, an opportunist to say the least, and I really shouldn’t trust him. But he was all I had.
“The guy could have walked off.” Murphy hunkered down and peered at the ground.
Unfortunately, night had fallen and the ground was hard to see. I couldn’t discern any tracks. From the tightening of Murphy’s lips, he couldn’t, either.
Which screwed up my theory. A zombie would walk off; only other things disappeared. I’d even heard tales of invisible werewolves.
I glanced at the steadily darkening forest. I just hoped there weren’t any here.
Murphy straightened. “Just because I can’t see footprints doesn’t mean they aren’t there.”
“How do you explain his resistance to stabbing and shooting?”
“Killing people isn’t as easy as you think.”
“I’ll take your word on it,” I said, my mood much lighter now that I hadn’t killed someone.
“Guy looked awful good for a zombie,” Murphy said.
My mood lightened even more. He had looked good, which gave weight to the rumor that Mezareau was a very talented man.
“That’s why you have to meet the bokor,” Murphy blurted. “You want to learn how to raise the dead.”
I guess Murphy had picked up a little knowledge of voodoo and the nature of a bokor while living in Haiti, men put two and two together.
I shrugged and didn’t answer.
“Why?”
That I wasn’t telling him.
“Why wouldn’t I want to raise the dead?” I asked. “Seems like a handy talent to have.”
“You aren’t the type who’d do anything for money.”
“Who said anything about money?”
“Why else would you want to raise the dead? Can you imagine the kind of cash you could rake in on that scam?”
Only Murphy would make the leap from raising the dead to making money on the practice.
“It isn’t a scam,” I said.
His eyes narrowed. “You don’t actually believe the dead can be raised.”
“You don’t actually believe the man who attacked us was just a man?”
Murphy didn’t seem to have anything to say to that.
“Haven’t you seen things in your life for which there’s no explanation?” I asked.
“Never.”
“Where have you been?”
“Everywhere.”
Which kind of explained the accents.
However, his answer surprised me. If Murphy hadn’t seen anything amazing anywhere that he’d been, then Edward and crew were doing their j obs better than I imagined.
“You don’t believe in magic?” I asked.
“Sweetie, there’s no such thing. I believe in what I can touch. Wine, women, and cash.”
His opinion disturbed me; I have no idea why. I knew there was magic; I’d seen it. So what did I care if Devon Murphy had no hope, no faith, no soul?
Maybe because I’d kissed him, nearly let him try to fill the great big empty inside of me. Discovering that Murphy was more empty than I was… why wouldn ’t that be disturbing?
“You believe in monsters?” Murphy asked. “Evil beasties that go bump in the night?”
“Yes.”
“Which explains why you were shooting up the trees.”
How could I have forgotten our visitor of the night before? The memory brought a measure of relief. Not an animal stalking us but a person.
If a zombie could be called a person.
My relief was short-lived, however. The man who’d stalked, men attacked us had never spoken, only growled, which didn’t bode well for the completely human zombie I was interested in. Although he was moving pretty well for a dead guy—no shuffling and stumbling—and he’d appealed as alive as anyone else.
“We’ll go back to Port-au-Prince in the morning,” Murphy said.
My gaze snapped to his. “We will not!”
He sighed. “There aren’t any zombies, Cassandra. If I’d known that’s what you were after I never would have—”
He broke off and looked away.
“What? Tried to screw me?”
His gaze snapped back. “I didn’t.”
“Then whose tongue was down my throat ten minutes ago?”
He shoved his fingers through his hair, lips tightening when they tangled in the feathers and the beads. “I meant I wouldn’t have taken the j ob if I knew you were…”
“Wacko?” I suggested, and he shrugged. “You said you’d do anything for money.”
“I wouldn’t do you.”
“I’m not part of the deal.”
“Seemed like you were ten minutes ago.”
“Then why did you say ‘wait’?”
My question brought him up short. “What?”
“You told me to wait. I find it hard to believe you suddenly had an attack of the Good Samaritans.”
“More like a panic attack.” His smile was rueful. “No condom.”
Now I was the one in a panic. The very thought of having unprotected sex made me dizzy. Not only from the very real possibility of contracting AIDS in this country but also from the thought of birthing another child, the chance of losing him or her… I didn’t think I could ever do it again. Which only strengthened my resolve to bring Sarah back.
The one thing I’d been good at was being a mom. I’d loved caring for Sarah, sharing her life, teaching her things. I liked to play Barbies, read books, watch her dance. I was the secretary of the PTA, chairperson of the annual bake and book sale. I’d been prime candidate for mother of the year—until I’d fucked up and let Sarah die.
“You OK?”
Murphy stared at me with an odd expression—wary, as if he thought I might flip out and try to chew his nose. I guess I’d zoned off too long into the land of guilt and recrimination. What else was new?
“Let’s make camp,” he said gently.
I got the feeling he was planning something. Like how to trick me into following him back to Port-au-
Prince, where he’d turn me over to a psychiatrist.
I went through the motions of unpacking for the night, even helped with dinner, but all the while I was thinking. I couldn’t trust Murphy anymore, if I’d ever trusted him at all.
We had to be close to Mezareau’s village, hence the zombie henchman. I’d do better to strike out on my own rather than follow Murphy blindly back to a little white room. But how could I get away without his seeing me?
Simp le.
Voodoo sleeping powder.
***