Free Back From the Undead by DD Barant Page A

me back where I came from.”
    “I couldn’t give you that if I wanted to. I told you, Ahaseurus and I are quits.”
    “So you say.”
    He sighs. “You are still the most difficult woman—no, human being—I have ever met.”
    “Thank you.”
    “You’re welcome. Do you know why I’m here, Jace?”
    “If it’s for the clams, you should have brought a shovel.”
    In the moonlight, his smile is a broad white slash across his jaw. “Because I’m sick of death. It’s all I’ve ever made, all I’m really good at. In your world, I could have been so many different things—but in your world, there wouldn’t have been any need for me. Here, I’m a product of natural selection, an animal specifically evolved to fit a particular environmental niche. And I don’t want to be that animal anymore.”
    It’s a pretty speech, but I’m not exactly a dewy-eyed optimist when it comes to human nature. “So?”
    “So when you reject death, what are you left with?”
    “An undertaker with his hopes dashed?”
    His laugh is the low rumble of an earthquake. “I really missed you, Jace. You’re not going to like this next part, but if you want proof, there’s only one way to get it.”
    Uh-oh. “So spit it out, already.”
    “Gertrude’s disappeared. So have the few possessions the other kids left behind, which she was taking care of.”
    “How inconvenient,” I say coldly.
    “But I have another lead. A member of a Triad who says he has information and is willing to speak to us.”
    “So instead of a forensic examination of actual evidence you want us to take the word of a local criminal?”
    Stoker shrugs. “Why don’t we listen to what he has to say, first?”
    I glare at him, but I’m not ready to shut this operation down just yet. “When and where?”
    “I can take you to him right away. He’s expecting us.”
    *   *   *
    We take Stoker with us when we leave. Between his weight and Charlie’s, I’m surprised the boat will still float. I operate the small electric outboard while Charlie keeps a baleful eye on Stoker.
    “How are those swimming lessons going?” Stoker asks him. “You master the sinking-like-a-boulder stroke yet?” His tone is light, but it’s a warning shot all the same; Charlie isn’t built for an aquatic environment and Stoker knows it.
    “Nah. These days, I just concentrate on finding a convenient flotation device and hanging on—you know, something like a big bag of meat. Doesn’t work too well, though; even when I get a really good grip, I still tend to go straight down. Good thing I don’t need to breathe, I guess.”
    Stoker smiles.
    We take the skiff back to the marina, then get in the DeSoto—Charlie’s forced to let me drive, while he sits in the back with Stoker. “Try not to completely destroy my clutch,” Charlie growls as he hands me the keys.
    “Please. I learned how to drive on a stick. The clutch is that thingie that signals lane changes, right?”
    It’s been a while since I drove a standard shift, but I only grind the gears a little and don’t stall it out once. Both the steering and the brakes are manual, but it lunges like a tiger when I hit the gas and rumbles like a contented kitten on the highway.
    “Nice car,” Stoker says.
    “Don’t even,” Charlie says. He can’t decide if he should be more worried about the killer sitting beside him or the nut loose behind the wheel.
    And then I’m driving, and no one’s talking.
    I’d like to have taken Eisfanger, had him sweep Stoker for anything sorcerous, but I couldn’t put my entire team at risk; I needed to have at least one person in reserve in case things went off the rails. Stoker might have any kind of voodoo hidden up his sleeve, just waiting until we get far enough away from the border fence’s alarms before he triggers a spell. If this is a setup, right now is the most dangerous time.
    But nothing happens. We cruise back into Vancouver, park at the all-night restaurant where