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“Good. You can do so next week when I have your new formula ready. For now, take half-doses of V12 twice daily.” He leveled a stern gaze at me. “Do it by the clock, not by perceived need. And do not take less in a misguided attempt to wean more quickly.”
Gulping, I nodded. In return he retrieved a pill bottle from his jacket pocket and pressed it into my hand. “Take one capsule along with each dose. It will help withdrawal symptoms until I can reformulate for you. And if you feel yourself faltering, call me. Yes?”
“I will,” I promised. It was almost too good to be true, except that this was Dr. Nikas, and this was exactly how Dr. Nikas handled shit. I summoned up a crooked smile. “Speaking of field operative crap, today has been one hundred percent psycho.” I filled him in on the events of the last twenty-four hours: my suspicions about the decapitated Seeger, the list of zombie-related file names from Seeger’s pocket, the possible involvement of Randy, Judd, and Coy, as well as my plan to check out more at the Zombie Fest.
He nodded as I wound down. “I’ll pass the information on to Pierce. Call me next time, yes?”
The mild admonishment in his voice stung worse than any chewing out I’d ever received. I’d been an idiot to avoid him. “I’ve learned my lesson.”
“Good. Brian is available by text today for urgent matters, and Naomi is on surveillance at the Zombie Fest if you need physical backup.”
Absurd relief flooded me as if he’d handed me two lifelines. Though not a zombie, Naomi was a fierce advocate for our kind and worked as an operative for the Tribe. Brian was my usual go to resource but, with him off doing secret stuff with the other honchos, Dr. Nikas was the next in line. Even if I didn’t need Brian or Naomi, it felt good to have them as options.
Dr. Nikas retrieved a handful of brain packets from the console and handed them to me. “That should help bolster your diminishing supply. Be careful out there.”
I shoved the packets into the bag that held the pig brains, opened the car door then turned back and threw my arms around him in a hug. He stiffened, and for an instant I thought I’d made a horrible mistake by intruding on his personal space, but before I could pull away his arms came around me and he returned the hug. It only lasted a couple of seconds, but it was full of warmth and comfort and support. It was the best goddamn hug in the history of hugs.
He released me, eyes glistening, and I suddenly wondered how long it had been since he’d been hugged.
“Take care, Angel,” he said, voice soft.
“You too, Dr. Nikas,” I whispered, then climbed out of the car and closed the door.
Philip turned to me as I exited. “You cool, ZeeEm?”
“I am now.” I paused. “I need to get something off my chest.” He frowned, but I forged on before I could chicken out. “It’s my fault you’ve been feeling like shit. I was skimming your doses for my own use, but I swear I didn’t know it would affect you like that, and I’m really really sorry.” The words tumbled out in a jangled rush, leaving me breathless and anxious at the end.
“Ah.” He flicked a glance toward the back of the SUV then to me, face as unreadable as granite. “Dr. Nikas is helping you?”
My eyes welled up again. Did he hate me? If so, I deserved it. Nothing I could do about it except not fuck up again. “Yeah. He is.”
“Good deal. I’d better get him on back to the lab.” He slid into the driver’s seat. “I’ll, um, catch you later.” He looked as if he was poised to say more, but closed the door instead.
“He’ll be all right,” Jacques said. “You’ll be all right.”
“What about you?”
His eyes told me everything I needed to know. My throat tightened as he climbed into the backseat of the Escalade. A smile flickered on his face. “It’s not too late for you. Call me.”
The door closed, and the SUV pulled away. People—non-zombies—laughed and chatted and strolled toward Main Street for the parade. They had no idea they’d just passed four monsters living right alongside them.
And I would do my damnedest to make sure they never did.
• • •
My phone rang as I put the brain packets in the console of my car. I didn’t recognize the number, but I answered with a professional hello since it might be work-related.
“Angel, it’s Andrew Saber.” He spoke in an urgent whisper over muffled crowd noise and distant music.
I instinctively tensed. “Is something wrong?” Andrew had never called me before.
“No. I don’t know. My sister isn’t answering.”
“Is that all?” I relaxed again. After I saved his life by turning him into a zombie, he and the Tribe had forged a loose deal. We supplied him with brains and “new zombie” counseling, and in return he promised to give us the heads up if Saberton hatched any new nasty plans to use zombies in research. His twin sister, Naomi—formerly Julia Saber—was his usual Tribe contact. She’d fled Saberton after she witnessed their zombie atrocities and killed one of their researchers. Today she was busy at the Zombie Fest. If she wanted to contact him, she would. “So you stooped to calling me?”
“Grayson Seeger was murdered,” he said, still in the hoarse whisper. “What do you know about it?”
“Not much. Why?” If he knew anything regarding Seeger, I wanted to hear it without showing my cards. We had a truce, but we didn’t have an open exchange of information.
