Free One Foot in the Grave: An Almost Zombie Tale by Shanti Krishnamurty Page A

room.
    “No-one’ll hurt you here. I already told you that. I’m going to get a drink.” He grins at me before striding toward a corner of the room I assume has a refreshment table. Or a bar. Or a freezer full of bodies.
    The shadow/thing/vampire glides closer.
    “Uh, hi,” I say as it draws near to me. I clear my throat and try again. “Can I help you with something?”
    The vampire moves into my light circle. It’s a long-legged female dressed in a business suit.
    “You smell…intriguing,” she says. “What are you?”
    Well, that’s more abrupt and to the point than I expect. I decide to return the favor since it looks like Daniel was right and I’m not on the menu.
    “I’m a zombie.”
    The woman’s almond shaped eyes narrow. “You don’t smell like a zombie.”
    “I’m a half-zombie. Maybe that’s it.”
    She shakes her head. “No…you smell of decomposing flesh and blood. A zombie-vampire hybrid, maybe?”
    Oh, disgusting. I wonder if they make industrial strength perfume. I just might need a gallon. Or eight. “No, I am…I was…human.”
    “But you have been consorting with vampires…I smell it, though it is an old scent and not recent.”
    Then it couldn’t be Daniel. Besides, she’d smell human on me if that was the case…wouldn’t she? The answer hits me hard, even though I kind of already knew it. I have been consorting with a vampire…and not recently, either.
    She smells my ex. There aren’t enough showers in the world…

Thirteen:
    Inka, Binka, Bottle of Ink.
    “You interest me, zombie.”
    “I don’t mean to.” I cross my arms.
    “Nevertheless.” The vampire holds out one hand. “I’m Ink.”
    “I’m Isis,” I say, taking her hand in mine. It’s cool to the touch.
    Her hand closes around mine. Firmly. She clearly has no intention of letting me go. “What brings you here?”
    She’s an anonymous vampire; there’s no reason in the world not to tell her all about Andrew and Father Moss’s church. Except for the sheer embarrassment of it. So I tell her about discovering the church, but not about my ex, ending with ‘And so Daniel asked me out.”
    “I am familiar with the gargoyle’s church and the reasons behind it.” She tilts her head to one side. “Are you?”
    “Not really.” I shrug. “Do I need to be?”
    “Have you met the witch and her daughter yet?”
    I blink. “I’ve met Lydia, but who’s her daughter?”
    Ink shrugs. “It’s not my concern,” she says. “Merely an idle curiosity.”
    I file it away for future reference. “Why isn’t there music playing down here? I saw the drum set upstairs.”
    She nods toward the center of the room. “We don’t need music to dance.”
    I look. My heart clenches. A woman with long red hair and skin whiter than mine is whirling gracefully through the filmy beings littering both the shadows and the circles of light. She is tall and long legged; there’s not an ounce of fat anywhere on her, and when she smiles at me my palms remember how to sweat.
    “What’s that?” My voice cracks on the last word. Holy Mother, whatever that thing is, I want no part of it. Ever.
    “That’s Lorii Martin, our local banshee.”
    “Don’t banshees kill people?”
    The banshee stops whirling and walks toward us, hips swaying. When she speaks, her voice is liquid smoke. “I’m not a murderer. I only let people know when their time is over.”
    Oh. “How do you do that?” I have to ask. Of course I do.
    “My screams are knives from Heaven. I shred souls and give those fortunate enough to hear my true voice time to put their petty human affairs to rest.”
    “Lorii!” Ink snaps, and the banshee’s eyes refocus on me.
    The woman blinks incredible green eyes and smiles again. “But I’ll never visit you,” she says. “You don’t have enough soul to shred.” She stamps her feet in a one-two pattern, and whirls back to the center of the floor.
    I spin to face Ink. “Is she saying I have no