Dad or Nonna, which was as fun as it sounded. As in, not.
But on Monday, I would go get my driver’s license.
Woot!
It was only three weeks into the school year, and soon I’d have my own ride. Well, Nonna’s ride. She had this huge boat of a car that she didn’t drive very often, mostly because she didn’t see so well anymore and hit stuff like mailboxes and curbs. I’d saved up some money, but nowhere near enough to get a decent car. Rick Widdenstock had turned sixteen over the summer. The first day of school, he’d arrived in a new black-and-silver Mustang. That car had just upped his hotness factor. I’m aware of how shallow that makes me sound, but hey, I can live with it.
Demetrius helped me off the table. “If the wound’s not healin’, you tell me.”
I nodded. A zombie bite was nothing to blow off. I’d just have to figure out a way around the stink. I looked toward the barred door and saw the shadow of Mortimer flickering against the frosted glass. “What are you going to do to him?”
“Put him to rest, child. Like he want.”
I frowned. “He’s a zombie, Dem. How can you know what he wants?”
Demetrius shook his head, and I felt like I’d disappointed him. Hey, I paid attention during our lessons. I just didn’t remember anything about zombies having feelings or thoughts. ’Cause they don’t.
“You don’t know everything yet, child.”
Well, duh. “Mrs. Woodbine is gonna be pissed.”
Anger slashed his expression. “Don’t you worry. I deal with her.” He patted my non-injured shoulder. “Go on now.”
The sahnetjar was made up of several rooms. Zombification took time and skill and there were stages to the process. The room we stood in now with its gleaming silver table, wash area and cabinets was used for assessment. The other rooms included the materials needed for each part of the zombifying. So far, Ally and I had been allowed to train only in the first stage, which was the part where we took out organs, rubbed the body with netjer—also called natron—wrapped it loosely with linens and prepared it to receive its ka, what the ancient Egyptians had called the life spark. Soul work is tricky. The zombification process has to be completed within seven days of death. After that, there is no getting the ka back to reanimate the body.
Sheesh. You didn’t think it was easy, did you?
Like all necromancers, Ally and I had been born with heka gifts. Probably because Mom was a ka heka. Dad didn’t have any powers. He was just a regular guy.
Mom wasn’t much on actual instruction. She didn’t like us being in the back rooms, and she didn’t really talk about the magic or the process too much. But Dem was a zombification master. He taught us how to draw on the magic and use it, usually with already-made zombies. Ka hekas can control the ka (um...duh), so we can control zombies. Usually. Sometimes, I wondered if Mom would’ve showed us the cool things we were learning from Demetrius.
We had a back door that led to a loading dock, where we took in supplies and bodies. The bay was closed, so I went out the side door. Then I realized my keys were on the floor with Mortimer. Crap. I couldn’t lock it. I dug in my front pocket for my cell phone to call Ally to do it. Then I realized I’d left the phone, along with my purse, at the front desk.
I hesitated.
I did not want to see Mrs. Woodbine, especially not after she found out her husband was done for. Plus, I’d have to explain to Ally about the bite and she would call Dad and he would freak and do something parental like call an ambulance or the National Guard.
No, thanks.
If I hurried, I could get home, use the hide-a-key, change clothes and come back. Ally wouldn’t be thrilled to get stuck in the customer care center, but she’d deal.
Vegas didn’t have seasons. It was hot most of the time, though it cooled down in the winter months. It had snowed only once in my whole life, and that lasted all of two days. September had brought lower temperatures, but it wasn’t jacket weather. I had nothing to cover my ruined shirt or messed-up shoulder.
I strode out of the parking lot to the stoplight. It took forever to cross Warm Springs Road. If I’d been wearing sneakers instead of my fabulous black ankle boots, I would’ve jogged.
I walked past a shopping center and then I was clipping down the sidewalk that ran in front of the school grounds. The school was set on the other side of a large parking area. The sports arena was up on the left. I was almost to the edge of the structure when I heard my name being called.
“Hey, Molly!”
I looked over my shoulder. I’d just crossed the entrance to the school parking lot, and Rick’s Mustang had just rolled up to exit the lot. He leaned over the center console and peered at me through the open passenger-side window.
“Wanna ride home?”
My heart skipped a beat. I sniffed and grimaced. The salve’s awful smell was still evident, though its stench had lessened. And there was the matter of my ripped shirt. Still, there was no way I was giving up a ride in Rick’s Mustang. Or—and here’s my shallowness showing again—the potential to be seen in Rick’s Mustang.
I opened the door and slid inside. Oh. My. God. New car smell was so delicious. Everything was clean and shiny. I glanced at Rick and saw him check me out. Then his nose wrinkled.
Heat surged to my cheeks. “Sorry,” I said. “I had an accident at work.”
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Yeah. It’s just that the medicine is kinda...fragrant.”
Wouldn’t my English teacher, Mrs. Dawson, be proud? Rick grinned, which made me feel warm and squirmy. His blond hair was cut short, his face all angular like a movie star’s. He even had a little dimple in his chin. “No big. I just finished football practice and the showers are under maintenance or something. So I don’t exactly smell like a petunia.”
“Petunia?”
He grinned. “My mother runs a flower shop. It’s almost enough to get my dude card revoked.”
I laughed.
He seemed pleased that he made me giggle and offered another melt-alicious grin. “You live on Grimsby, right?”
I nodded. He looked at me with one eyebrow cocked. “Seat belt.”
I put it on, embarrassed that he’d had to remind me. “It’s the ’rents,” he said. “You wouldn’t believe all the rules I have to follow to keep my ride.”
“Was blood sacrifice involved?”
He laughed as he flipped on the signal and made a right onto Arroyo Grand Boulevard. “Almost.” He glanced at me. “You have to deal with any of that...you know with your powers?”
“Nah. We drink blood only on Thursdays.” Rick’s eyes widened and I smiled. “Joking.”
He chuckled, but I was aware of the tension in his body. I’m a necro, and part of the
