Which kind of made me rethink him as a suspect. Why would a DP who was already so popular want to become a superhero?
But then, why wouldn't he want to become a superhero? Stronger, faster, and better was a good thing, no matter how popular you were. Right? And no matter how I tried, I couldn't seem to forget about the blood I'd seen on his shoes.
Unfortunately for me, suspecting a sex god of murder did not in any way lesson his effect upon my girlish sensibilities. When Gavin spotted me at my locker and came bounding over with a big grin on his face, I couldn't
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help but grin back. And giggle dorkily, and maybe drool a little bit. (Though I really hope I'm wrong about that last part.)
"Hey, Karen. How's it going?" The way he stared deep into my eyes made it feel like he really cared. This was no idle conversation--this was a meaningful inquiry into the state of my soul.
Sigh.
"A little freaked out. Trish told me about the whole Deprogrammed superhero spell thing," I said, trying to watch his expression for signs of guilt, but instead getting sucked into the gorgeousity that was McDoMe. Surely someone so beauteous couldn't be an evil brain thief.
"Oh, that." Gavin rolled his eyes. "That's the stupidest thing. Only a high priest or priestess could work that kind of magic, not some kid. That's what we told those two losers who were fighting."
"Yeah?" I wondered if this meant Gavin thought I was stupid for bringing up the spell in the first place. Crap! I knew I should have checked my facts before I started questioning potential suspects.
"I mean, a freshman wouldn't know that," he said with a comforting smile. Ahh... McDoMe. It was like he could read my mind and was hurrying to allay my fears. Could he be any more perfect? Assuming he wasn't a cranium harvester, of course. "Seniors should know better. But maybe they slept through magical behaviors sophomore year."
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"Maybe." I smiled back at him as I did my best to (1) remember my locker combination and (2) execute said combination with Gavin standing so close. "But it seems like a lot of people are seriously disturbed."
"And they should be. Some sicko harvested Kendra's brain." Wow, Gavin looked a lot meaner when he was angry, that was for sure. But he also looked even more unbearably yummy. Be still, my nonbeating heart. "Until they find out who did it, everyone should be careful. But I'm sure Principal Samedi will--hey, you dropped something."
He bent down and grabbed a piece of lavender paper that had fallen out of my locker, glancing at it before handing it over. While he glanced, I sneakily checked out his shoes. Black boots today, without a spec of blood splatter in sight. I was pretty relieved until I looked back up and saw that he was still perusing the paper.
I hurried to pluck it from between his fingers, praying it didn't say anything embarrassing. I didn't know anyone well enough for them to be leaving me shame-inducing notes, but a girl could never be too careful when she was the new kid.
"Thanks. And thanks for the information."
"No problem." Gavin smiled. "I'd better go. See you at lunch?"
"Yeah! See you," I said, tossing my ponytail.
You can take the girl out of the cheerleading squad, but you can't take the cheerleading squad out of the girl. My signature pony toss, once employed while thrusting my fist
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into the air and urging the Peachpit fans to give it up for their team, was still as perky and attention-getting as ever. I could have sworn Gavin looked over his shoulder at least twice before turning the corner at the end of the hall.
He was totally acting like he liked me! Gah, was I ever praying he wasn't the brain thief.
Unfortunately, I was so addled by our meeting and my crushy thoughts that I didn't look down at my note until the first bell rang.
meet me in the girls' bathroom on the second
floor before first period. five got new evidence.
"Hugs, you know who. (I'm not going to sign this in case it falls into the wrong hands!)
"Crap!" I grabbed my books and made a dash for the girls' room. Trish had obviously had more success investigating than I had.
Of course, she did know a lot more people. The only other person I was on chatting terms with was Clarice. Sort of. At least I talked at her and she occasionally threw an obscenity or two my way. Last night, I'd managed to freak out my freak-tastic roommate by asking a bunch of questions about who she thought might have it in for Kendra. In the end, I'd gotten nothing but the middle finger and some vague threat involving my bedspread and a package of black dye. No matter how pleasing it had been to spook the girl who seemed to enjoy nothing more than long, intimate conversations with her chicken bone collection,
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it was frustrating to go to bed without being any closer to the truth.
Which made me plenty eager to hear what Trish had found. I only had ten minutes before the tardy bell rang, and I didn't want to be late the first week--especially not to Cork's class--but I didn't want to stand Trish up, either. Especially since she'd still been bummed when she left my room last night.
I'd decided to risk tardiness and scary Cork be darned, but as I hustled up the stairs to the second floor, I smelled the telltale scent of my teacher's head-exploding cologne. I tried to hide behind my English book as we passed on the landing, but it was no use. The man had potentially tardy student radar or something.
"You've got three and one half minutes, Miss Vera. I anticipate you will be in class on time," he said, his pale gray eyes still glued to the folder in his hands. It was like he'd just known I was there. Creepy. But then that pretty much summed up Mr. Cork.
Yesterday, he'd suggested that my theme on "My first day as a member of the Undead" could be enhanced by describing the sensations I'd felt as my father scooped my brain back into my skull. Shudder. Morbid to the blechk degree. But then, what did I expect from a ghoulish-looking guy who'd been dead nearly three hundred years?
"I will," I assured him, trying to hold my breath until we'd passed each other, but still catching another headful of his signature stank. Ugh. Whoever had sold him that stuff should be dragged out into the street and shot--after
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being forced to inhale that heinous cologne for a few hours first. It really was rank. A single whiff of eau de Cork never failed to turn my stomach.
Of course, that could be said of many things lately. My Undead stomach was not nearly as iron-clad as my living one. Which made me wonder if they had a zombie version of Turns. If they did, I would have to start carrying some in my backpack.
"Now you have three minutes," Cork threw over his shoulder.
"I just need to use the restroom. Be right back." I took the last few stairs at a run and bolted for the door to the girls' bathroom like a zombie who'd broken the no-dairy rule (the results of which aren't pretty, according to my health book), already planning exactly what I'd say to Trish.
"Hey, I can only talk a second, so... Trish?" My voice echoed off the tile walls of the eerily dark bathroom.
The small bulbs above the sinks were still on, but the overhead lights had been shattered. Glass littered the floor in front of the first two stalls and crunched lightly beneath my black boots as I moved deeper into the apparently deserted room.
"Um, hello? Is anyone in here?" More echoing ensued, and the strange hollowness of my own voice sent a chill skittering across my skin. This bathroom was even creepier than Cork, and obviously Trish-free. She must have decided to head to class when she heard the first bell ring.
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I was turning around, prepared to follow her lead, when I saw them: a pair of brown loafers--approximately size 7 or 8 if my shoe-sense wasn't failing me--sticking out from under the doorway of the last stall. The toes were pointed straight toward the ceiling, which meant, whoever was in there, she was lying down on the germ-ridden bathroom floor.
Which also probably meant the chick in question was in a bad way, since no one in their right mind would choose to take a catn
ap on the floor of the lady's lav. She must have passed out or fallen down or something.
"Great," I muttered under my breath as I trudged toward the stall, hoping there wouldn't be any blood involved in whatever mishap had occurred. I don't do blood. Not even to be a Good Samaritan. If the girl was bleeding, I was so going to leave her there and run for help. There would be no looping a bloody arm in mine or leaning a crimson brow against my shoulder or anything of that nature.
Ew. Just thinking about the red stuff made me blecky, and my tummy was full-on rolling by the time I reached the door to the stall and gently pushed it open.
"Hello? Are you--ohmygod!" I screamed and scrambled backwards, gluing myself to the wall furthest from the mess on the floor.
That was all it was--a mess. I couldn't think of it as a person. And I especially couldn't think of it as a person who'd had their skull opened and their brain removed with the litde garden trowel lying next to them on the tile.
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"Ohmygod, ohmygod," I chanted in a trembling voice as I backed toward the door of the girls' room, my stomach heaving and my breath coming in desperate little pants.
Never in my entire life had I felt so close to passing out. Little gray spots danced around the edges of my eyes, and my head felt like it was going to swing around in a full circle and fall clean off my body, but I knew I couldn't let myself lose consciousness.
I couldn't pull a girly faint while still in the same room as a brain-harvest victim or I would completely lose my mind from fear. Or maybe even literally lose my mind if whoever had taken the girl's brain was still around, lurking in wait for another easy victim.
As if summoned by my terrified thoughts, the bathroom door swung open and, before I could turn around, heavy footsteps rushed me from behind. Something rock hard smashed down on the back of my head. The little gray dots turned into big black patches, which spread until I sank to the floor with a whimper, and the entire world went dark.
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CHAPTER SIX
Dairy allergies are rampant among the Undead. Though some Death Challenged individuals may consume cow's milk without ill effect, the risk of severe allergic reaction--including shortness of breath, irritable bowels, seizures, paralysis, and even death--make it advisable to avoid milk and milk by-products.
--Total Health for the Death Challenged, 5th Edition
Zombie Joe lost his toe and still went a courtin', Zombie Beth lost her breath, but still got up in the mornin',
But Zombie Fred lost his head and now we're all a mournin' Mournin', mournin', we all fall down.
--Traditional Irish Zombie folk song, late 18th century
I wasn't dead! I mean, I was still dead, as in, still a zombie, but I hadn't shuffled off my mortal coil. Still, if I didn't get something for the pain, the excessive pounding in my skull was going to make me wish I had. I couldn't remember anything hurting so bad, even my pavement dive the day I'd really died.
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"Drugs," I groaned, smacking my dry lips. "I need drugs."
"Ohmygod! She's awake. Principal Samedi! Dr. Connor!" Trish's worried face appeared above me a second later. Her eyeliner had run at the edges and her brown eyes shone with more unshed tears, assuring me I looked as bad as I felt. "Karen, god, we were so worried. Are you okay?"
"Drugs..." I feebly moaned again, hoping someone would understand that I was talking pain relievers, not illegal contraband. I couldn't remember the name of the particular drug I was craving.
All my thoughts were muddy, foggy around the edges. I knew my name and age and shoe size and favorite shade of lipstick and all that, but for the life of me I couldn't remember what had--
"The bathroom!" It was coming back to me--the creepy bathroom, the blood on the floor, the scary footsteps rushing up behind me. "There was a girl... she was... someone had--"
"We know. The victim was discovered by the same hall monitor who found you unconscious on the floor." Principal Samedi appeared on my other side and took my hand in hers, applying pressure between my thumb and pointer finger. Amazingly, the pain rocketing through my skull began to fade. I mean, I still wanted drugs, but whatever hippie acupressure thing she was up to did help.
"It was Penelope Sweetney, another new freshman," Trish said, sniffling into a Kleenex that a grandmotherly
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looking person in a lab coat (Dr. Connor?) pressed into her hand. "She'd only been here three weeks, and now she's dead."
"She's not dead. "We're going to find the person responsible in time to restore both Penelope and Kendra." Principal Samedi's sharp voice made me jump, and a fresh wave of agony slice through my head.
O drugs, sweet drugs, where were they when I needed them? "Why had they forsaken me? "Would this Dr. Connor--who was cranking up the top of my bed until I was in a seated position--give me something for the pain if I asked? Or was I destined to suffer for all eternity, doomed to live out the rest of my Undeath with a killer migraine?
Guess that was better than not living without my brains, but--
"My brain!" I shouted, panic in my voice. "It's still there, right? I mean, he didn't take it, didn't harvest it or whatever?"
"He? Are you sure it was a man who attacked you?" Samedi's face was scary intense, and the fingers digging between my finger and thumb began to hurt. "Did you get a good look at him? Can you give a description to--"
"Hold on a second, Theresa," Dr. Connor said. "Let's give Karen a chance to get her bearings." Smoothly, the doc moved closer to the bed, brushing Principal Samedi aside. "Bet you've got quite a headache, don't you, sweetie?" I nodded, almost teary with relief. "Just try to hold still while I finish the examination, and then we'll get you something to make you feel much better."
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"Examination? To make sure my brain is still there?" I did my best to suck the tears filling my eyes back inside my sockets. The logical part of me insisted my brains had to be okay or I wouldn't be able to ask about them, but I couldn't keep from stressing.
Before this week, the grossest thing I'd ever seen had been the fake autopsy victim at the Jaycee's annual haunted house--or the trips' nursery the day all three of them had the flu and projectile baby vomited at the same time. Blechk. The Exorcist chick had nothing on those three when it came to spew. It'd looked like a curdled milk factory had exploded and smelled even worse.
Oh god, now I felt like I was going to be sick. Why did I have to dwell on spew? Why?
"Your brain is fine. You've just got a nasty dent in your skull." Dr. Connor patted the hair around said dent softly, her gentle touch reminding me of my mom's, which made me even more sniffly. "But it's nothing a good meal won't cure. I'll have something sent up from the cafeteria." She turned back to Principal Samedi with a stern look. "You can ask your questions, but keep it brief."
Principal Samedi nodded meekly as Dr. Connor headed out of the room, presumably to order up a big mess of raw brains. "She's my great-great grandmother," Samedi confided with a smile as she resumed her death grip on my hand. It didn't feel good anymore, but I was reluctant to say anything about it. Nice lady or not, Principal Samedi still gave me a mild case of the creeps. "Even principals need someone to keep them in line."
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I smiled and tried to ignore the strange look on Trish's face. My new BFF was standing a bit behind our fearless leader so Samedi couldn't see the panic and suspicion in her eyes, but I could. Trish was afraid of more than whoever was harvesting brains at DEAD--she was afraid of Principal Samedi.
But why? I mean, yes, Samedi was a little creepy, but she was basically good people. Wasn't she? Trish had seemed to like her before. But maybe something had happened while I was unconscious. For all I knew, Samedi could have said she hated blond former cheerleaders and begged Clarice to cut off my head while I slept.
Argh! I was dying to jump off the bed and pull Trish back to my room for some serious debriefing, but for now I was stuck.
"Do you feel up to answering a few questions?" Samedi
asked. "If not, I can always find you later in the day. I don't want--"
"No, I'm fine. I'll tell you everything I remember, but... it isn't much." I briefly recounted my tale of woe, from the moment I stepped into the girls' room and saw the body, to the sound of the heavy footsteps, to the whack on my head and the world fading to black.
"So, you didn't get a look at your attacker? Couldn't say if it was a male or a female?" Samedi looked suspiciously pleased by this news. Why would she be glad to be no closer to identifying her perp?
"No. I just thought it was probably a man because of
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the shoes. They sounded big, with a thick sole, like something a guy would wear."
"And it definitely could be. We're not going to rule that out." She stepped back, putting an arm around Trish in a gesture that should have looked motherly and sweet, but didn't. Principal Samedi just wasn't the maternal type; she was too cool and collected, not nearly messy enough for the mom gig. "But from the depth of your wound, we were thinking you'd been hit by a female or an adolescent male."
"Couldn't it have been a grown man who just didn't use all his strength?" I asked.
"Possibly," Principal Samedi said, but I could tell she wasn't buying that theory. "Or he could have been in a hurry. We believe whoever it was fled the bathroom not long after striking you. The hall monitor said she heard something drop to the ground outside the bathroom window."
"But she didn't see anything?"
"Unfortunately, no. Still, you're very lucky she came along when she did."
I tried to nod, but stopped when a head twinge reminded me of my injury. "I guess I owe her my brain."