I responded with a sour glare. He sighed and released me, but I didn’t make another move to get out.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I was trying to protect you…keep you from getting uptight—”
“Uptight?”>I rubbed my head, scowling. “Okay, okay.”
He grimaced. “I feel responsible that all of this happened. I should have come back to the morgue with you.” He looked truly upset, and I was reminded for the zillionth time that this man, who looked like he could still play linebacker without breathing hard, had the gentlest soul I’d ever encountered. No wonder he was so damn good at dealing with the bereaved.
I shook my head firmly. “Derrel, I’ve been to the morgue at night a zillion times. And if you’d been here he probably would have shot you.” I stepped back and made a show of sizing him up. “Though he might have had to use several bullets.”
On impulse I gave him a quick hug, though my arms didn’t come anywhere close to reaching all the way around him. “It’s cool, big guy. And if you keep that shit up I’ll start crying, and then I’ll have to kick your ass.” I gave him a mock-fierce look that was as much an attempt to cheer myself up as him. “And don’t you think I can’t! I play dirty.”
He grinned. “I know. It’s why I like you so much.”
Chapter 7
The rest of my shift was blessedly uneventful. No deaths, no autopsies, and at five p.m. I quickly changed into the clothes I planned to wear to Pietro’s and drove to Marcus’s place. I sure as hell didn’t want him to pick me up at my house. My dad still had no clue who I was dating, and I intended to keep it that way until the right time to break it to him that I was dating the cop who’d taken him to jail for domestic violence.
In other words, never.
Marcus greeted me with a smile and a kiss. He didn’t seem annoyed or upset, which told me that he hadn’t seen the article. And I didn’t feel like bringing it up and putting a damper on the rest of the day.
Fortunately—or unfortunately—the whole prospect of meeting his uncle was more than enough to distract me.
“Would you please calm down?” Marcus abruptly said after we were well on our way.
I stopped jiggling my leg, clamped my hands together, and gave Marcus an overly wide smile. “I’m calm. Totally calm. Like ice.”
He reached over to give my hand a squeeze. “Angel. It’s going to be fine. I promise. My uncle’s pretty damn cool.” He smiled. “He puts up with me, doesn’t he?”
I snorted. “Yeah, like that’s hard.” I glanced his way. “So, is he your dad’s brother or your mom’s? What’s the rest of your family like?”
“He’s my dad’s older brother—both adopted. The rest of my family is great. Mom, Dad, my sister, and before you ask, no, they don’t know I’m a zombie. My uncle’s the only one who knows.”
“A sister? Younger or older?”
“Older,” he replied. “By about ten years. She works up in Boston.” He smiled proudly. “She’s brilliant. Masters in Modern Lit and going for her Ph.D.”
“Have you thought…” I stopped, tried to figure out how to ask what I wanted to ask without killing the mood. “Never mind.”
“What?”
I grimaced. “Um, well, this has been on my mind ever since I found out how old Kang was.” Kang had been a mortuary worker at Scott Funeral Home, and was the first zombie to give me some pointers for how to exist in my undead state. He’d looked like he was in his early twenties, but had actually been closer to eighty—that is, until Ed killed him and chopped off his head.
A shadow passed over Marcus’s face, and I instantly regretted bringing the subject up. “You’re wondering how I’m going to someday fake my death and start over somewhere else?” he asked.
“Well, jeez, it sounds so depressing when you say it like that.”
He let out a breathless laugh. “I have thought about it…and my answer is, ‘I don’t know.’ I figure I’m probably all right for another ten, maybe fifteen years before I have to start wearing makeup or dying my hair grey or something to look older. That’s what my uncle does.”
“How old is he?”
Marcus pursed his lips in thought. “Sixty-ish, I guess? Something like that. He said he got turned about thirty years ago, and so far he’s managed to get by with hair dye and a little bit of makeup that makes it look like he has more wrinkles than he has.” He shrugged. “Anyway, I’m not going to make any decisions about what I’m going to do any time soon.”
“Makes sense. Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry, Angel.” The smile he gave me was tinged with sadness. “You’re still getting used to all of this. I’ve had six years to adjust.”
I sat back and watched the scenery of forest, swamp, and small towns go by as I thought about what he’d said. How long would it take me to adjust? And what did that even mean? Was I still essentially human, but with a weird disease? Or had I been changed so thoroughly that I was something else entirely now?