Page 47 of Which Witch Is Wicked?
His head bounced twice off the grass and rolled to a stop against the gate. “You’re being a real drag about this, man,” he accused, spitting grass out of his mouth. His body, still dripping with fringe and goo, stumbled forward, arms out and bending to grope for the head.
“Gitcha undead ass out of here or we’ll start hacking limbs,” Moira spat. Though Aerin could see that she was shaken. Or, rather,shaking.
The corpse picked up his own head and jogged toward the gate. “Don’t take it so personal,” he said as a parting shot. “This is our one chance.”
“Your one chance to what?” Aerin started after him, but for a dead guy, his skinny legs ran pretty fast. “And who is the lady fascist?” she yelled.
“Later, witches.” His answer was lost in the breeze that was picking up into a wind. Aerin took a moment to wonder if he’d meant witch as a slight or a title.
Hippie ass clown.
Moira stood on the grass, the ax dripping with blood, and… other.
Aerin whirled on her, her blood singing with fear and violence with no outlet. “What have we learned?” she demanded.
Moira blinked. Then blinked again. Her wild auburn hair ruffling across her face. “That…zombies are a damn sight harder to kill than they are on TV,” she panted.
“No!” Aerin waved the shoe at her face, the heel stained with whatever resided inside a zombie’s skull. “No, we learned that you grab the fucking ax to fight zombies, not my several-hundred-dollar shoes!”
Moira wrinkled her nose at Aerin’s ruined sole, then shrugged. “They looked like any old high-heeled shoes to me, and I didn’t see the ax lying there, or I’d have grabbed for it first. I wasn’t exactly thinking clearly on account of thezombie in the backyard.”
Aerin’s mouth dropped open. “Any…old…” That’s it, she was going to lose it. “These are Manolo Blahnik grey crocodile BB pumps.
Their stitching is worth more than one of your backwater pontoons—”
“That ain’t no crocodile skin,” Moira said skeptically. “I’d know.”
“It’s crocodileprint. People don’t wear crocodile skin anymore. It’s not in fashion to actually wear animals these days.”
Moira’s eyes darkened from aquamarine to blueberry. “Excuse me, Yankee, but where I come from we’re smarter’n to let some store with a name no one can pronounce talk us into spending a ridiculous amount of money for a shoe that looks like something you can buy at Payless.”
“Payless?” Aerin gasped, her head jerking like she’d been slapped as she hid the shoe behind her as though to protect it from one not worthy. “Take. That. Back.”
“And for your information, if you’re tough enough to skin a gator where I come from, you wear that shit any old way you want.” She looked Aerin up and down. “You wouldn’t last a minute.”
“I should have let him eat you,” Aerin bitched, turning to inspect the damage done to one of her favorite shoes. Breathing deep, she did her best to slow down the heart that hadn’t stopped racing since the moment Moira screamed. If anything had happened to her sister… well… She cleared suspicious weight out of her throat.
“Well, you didn’t…let him, that is.” Moira caught up to her, her bare toenails shimmering red against the green of the lush grass, the soiled ax swinging at her side. “I suppose I owe you for that and for the shoe... How ‘bout I make you a real gator purse to go with it by way of repayment?”
Aerin didn’t even have to think about it. “Make me chicken.”
“Say what?”
“Fried chicken.” Aerin’s mouth violently watered. It said something about her appetite that she still had one after what they’d just seen.
“With a crispy shell,” she quickly added.
“Chicken? Fried Chicken?” Moira was looking at her sideways.
“You heard me.”
“I make some damn good fried chicken, but I don’t know as anyone’s ever offered to pay me hundreds of dollars for it,” Moira said modestly.
“At this point, I will,” Aerin argued. “And I want it extra fatty.Extracrispy. If I have to eat one more of Tierra’s goddamned vegan wraps I’m going to punch all the soy on the planet and shave off every hipster beard in this city.”
Moira dropped the ax and scooped up Aerin into a spontaneous hug. Aerin froze. She knew her sister was prone to spastic outbursts of affection, but hugs were still something she was getting used to. “We really are sisters,” Moira sniffed.
Aerin gave her sister a hesitant pat on her braless back, wishing she’d learn the art of air kisses and handshakes. “Of course we are,” she said. And meant it.
