Hold Me Closer, Necromancer - Lish McBride [18]
Frank perked up. “You were killed because you watched Mansquito?” He paled slightly. “Oh, man, I watched Mansquito. Do you think I’m next?”
We all turned and stared at him. “What? Brooke’s head is sitting in your easy chair and we’re talking to it, and you’re looking at me like I’m crazy?” He squinted his eyes shut and huddled around the shampoo bottle.
I looked back at Brooke. She was staring at my Hellboy poster like she hadn’t seen it a thousand times. Her lip was trembling. Freaky or not, severed or otherwise, Brooke was my friend.
“Don’t call her it, Frank.” I nudged him with the toe of my shoe, hard. “Shut up and take it like a man. She’s still Brooke. You’re lucky to have her, head or otherwise.” I nudged him again. “Now apologize.”
His cheeks went red. “Sorry, Brooke.”
“That’s okay,” she said with a sniff.
The silence was awkward. “So you didn’t see anyone come in the house? Didn’t accidentally take a bunch of painkillers and then fall on a knife?”
“I don’t know, Sam. I think I felt a hand on my shoulder, but I’m not sure. Then…nothing.” She pushed out her lower lip in thought. “Well, nothing until I woke back up and I was, you know. This.”
The edge of her neck appeared so clean and straight that it looked as if the rest of Brooke was hidden in my chair, like we had cut a hole in the plaid so she could hide in there for a haunted house stunt.
Brooke cleared her throat. The noise snapped me back into the moment. I had been staring like an ass.
“So, um, Brooke, can I get you anything?” I asked.
“Water would be super, actually. Thanks.”
I filled a small glass for her, grabbing a Plumpy’s emblazoned straw as an afterthought.
Brooke took a sip and thanked me. I resumed my seat on the coffee table and set her glass to the side. Where did the water go? Come to think of it, how did she clear her throat?
“So…” I drifted off because, honestly, I couldn’t really think of anything to say. Next time a talking head ended up in my easy chair, I would have all sorts of points of reference, but at that moment, I was completely at sea.
Brooke saved me from an extremely awkward pause. “Sam, I’m supposed to give you a message.” She stopped to puff a strand of hair out of her face, which completely blew my mind. Where did the air come from? She had no lungs.
“Well, I was supposed to give you a message, but ass-face said he couldn’t trust me to get the stupid thing right, and I was like, well, duh, like I’d want to do anything for you anyway. I mean, he cut off my head! What a douche bag. Like I’m supposed to turn into his little messenger girl just because he brought my head back. I mean, I would have been all alive if that psycho hadn’t killed me in the first place—”
“Who gave you a message?”
She stared at me in exasperation. “The guy who woke me back up. Geez, Sam, get with the program here.”
“Brooke,” I interrupted, “I don’t mean to be rude, but what message?”
“Oh,” she said, “it’s in the box.”
She kept talking to the boys as I went over and searched the empty container. Tucked into the corner was a piece of expensive-looking stationery that had been folded in half. All it said in a loose sprawling cursive was “Two o’clock, Woodland Park Zoo, Asia exhibit. Come alone, or I’ll send another message.”
I flipped the note over. “There’s no signature,” I said. “Not surprising. Talk about zero manners,” Brooke said. “Martha Stewart would so bitch-slap that guy. And it would most certainly be a good thing.”
Carefully, I collapsed onto the couch next to Ramon and handed him the note. I closed my eyes and leaned back, head resting against the wall. “I am so screwed.”
“Ugh, you are such a baby,” Brooke said. “Try being just a head for a little bit. Then you can complain.”
5
She’s a Lady
Brid woke to the taste of blood and the scent of wolf. Normally a comforting smell, but now it made her uneasy. If they were close enough to