Unsympathetic Magic - Laura Resnick [43]
Max immediately released the boy. “Oh, I do beg your pardon.”
Biko looked at the kid and nodded his head toward the open door. The boy obeyed the silent command and, with a look over his shoulder that indicated he thought we were all crazy, went into the room from which Biko had just emerged.
“A fencing class,” I said, realizing what the sound of clashing swords and the white jackets meant.
Biko frowned at me. “What are you doing here?”
“This is most embarrassing,” Max said. “I fear we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot. And I am to blame.”
“I’ll say,” Jeff muttered.
Biko looked at him. “Are these people with you, Jeff?”
Jeff sighed. “Yes.” He made brief introductions. “Esther Diamond, actress. Dr. Max Zadok, madman. Biko Garland, fencing instructor.”
“Why are they here?” Biko asked him, ignoring the introduction.
“I’m filling in for Jeff,” I said.
“Oh, that’s right.” Biko nodded. “The gladiator gig. Scheduling conflicts.”
I looked at Jeff, too. “Gladiator? That’s the kind of ‘athlete’ you’re playing?”
“Biko helped me prepare for the audition,” Jeff said. “I needed some sword fighting moves.”
“Gladiators didn’t fight with rapiers,” I said.
“The rapier is the weapon I’m best with,” Biko said calmly, “but it’s not the only one I know how to use.”
“Is that why you took it hunting with you last night?” I said. “Because it’s the one you use best?”
He looked at me, then at the two men, then back at me. His face didn’t give away anything, and I wondered what he was thinking. Then he said, “Class isn’t over. These kids need my attention.”
He turned to reenter the training room.
Max said, “Were you hunting a zombie, by chance?”
Biko froze, and all three of us looked at Max in surprise.
“A what?” Jeff said.
“A zombie?” I said.
Biko just stared at him, frowning.
“Well?” Max said. “Was that what you were hunting last night?”
“Biko, man,” Jeff said. “I’m sorry about this. I don’t really know these people. I’ll get them out of here now, and we won’t even talk about this again. Okay?”
Jeff took my elbow in a firm grasp and tugged. I jerked my arm away from him, looking from Max to Biko. I repeated, “A zombie?”
“Reanimation of the dead,” Max said. “Exactly what we were talking about this morning.”
“Holy shit,” Jeff said. “You really are a madman.”
“I don’t like people cursing around these kids,” Biko said absently, still staring at Max.
Jeff ignored that. “Max? Esther? Shall we go now?
I said to Max, “Now you’re saying I saw a zombie last night?”
Biko’s gaze flashed to me.
“Are zombies a sign of the apocalypse?” I asked, feeling confused.
“God, what are you into these days?” Jeff asked me in horror.
Biko said to me, “You saw something last night?”
I looked at Max. He nodded.
I looked at Jeff. He was staring at me as if seriously rethinking the wisdom of letting me spend time with his students.
Then I looked at Biko and said, “I saw Darius Phelps last night. About a block past where I saw you.”
Biko look puzzled. “You mean you saw his body?”
“No, I mean I saw him. Walking and talking.” I added, “Sort of.”
“You didn’t see Darius,” Jeff said firmly. “He’s dead.”
“Jeff’s right.” Biko nodded. “It couldn’t have been Mr. Phelps. He’s . . .” His gaze shifted to Max, and he drew in a sharp breath through his nostrils. “No.” He shook his head. “No way.”
Max said to him, “Wait a moment. If you weren’t looking for Darius Phelps, then what were—”
Jeff said impatiently, “Darius is dead, I’m telling you. I was at the funeral.”
“What was he buried in?” I asked suddenly, turning to Jeff.
“A coffin, Esther. Like most people.”
“No, what was he wearing?”
“How should I know?” Jeff said.
Biko said, “It was closed-casket funeral. But I heard Dr. Livingston saying that he’d asked to be buried in his tuxedo.”
I gasped and clasped my hand over my mouth.
“Figures,” Jeff muttered. “He was a pretentious bastard.”
“Oh, my God,” I choked out, feeling cold again.
“I know, I know,” Jeff said. “Don’t speak ill of the dead and all that.