Page 44 of Slayer Mom
“You left the hotel? Where are you?” He sounded sharper, and I winced, even though as far as I could tell, I had no wound anymore at all.
“Where did my side ache go?” I asked him, because that would be super normal. No, no it wouldn’t.
“Where are you?” he repeated, a hard edge to his voice that made me shivery and scared, and angry for being such a coward.
“I’m going to the store to get some salt.”
“The hotel has salt.”
“Not the right kind of salt. Also, I need some other things.”
“You should stay at the hotel when you aren’t slaying.”
I closed my eyes tight. “Sure. I just need to get a few things and I’ll be right back so I’m easier to control.”
“I have no problem controlling, if that’s what I want. From you, I want more than that. You are working for me. You won’t find better pay rates anywhere for what you do.”
“What is it I do again? Oh, right, put the people I love in danger.”
“That sounds like self-pity. Call someone who cares.” He hung up on me, leaving me with a lump in my throat.
“I didn’t call you,” I said to the dead phone before lowering it slowly to my lap.
He was right. That had been a weak, self-pitying thing to say. I had to be the mom who did the crap no one wanted to do, sometimes literal crap, sometimes cleaning up zombies, and all with a smile because I loved hard and completely. I was literally putting all of them in danger. That wasn’t part of the job. I wasn’t quitting; I was working.
When the car pulled up at the gate, I waved at Tim, who buzzed me in without talking much, because he didn’t know the driver. He looked suspicious while he wrote down the plate’s number.
The house was dark, enormous, empty looking. Hazen wasn’t here. I’d called, so I’d known that he wouldn’t be, but where was he?
“Can you wait?” I asked the driver.
“Sure. Five bucks for five minutes.”
I nodded, feeling tired and idiotic. First thing, I needed to get my passport out of the safety box, then I’d pack up all the necessities, snacks, toiletries, cash,and bank card. I went inside and got my passport and then went automatically to the kitchen to make sure the stove wasn’t on and that everything was how it should be.
“Good evening,” a man said as soon as I turned on the light.
I shrieked and grabbed the nearest weapon I could get my hands on, a cast-iron frying pan. It didn’t feel as heavy as usual, thanks to the antidote. “What are you doing in my kitchen?” I demanded while I studied him.
He wore a suit, pale, loose, like a rich man would wear on vacation. His sandy hair had relaxed waves down to his shoulders, and his features were fine, feminine almost. The only weird thing about him was the green cast to his skin.
He bowed casually. “I’m here to take you to the Queen. Congratulations on evading her filthy rabble. Most humans are not so lucky.”
I gripped the handle and held it up threateningly. “I’m not going to the zombie queen. I’m not interested in anything she has to offer me.”
“No? Then I suppose I’ll have to remove you by force.” He yawned. “Excuse me, but jetlag, you know how it is travelling to and from another world.”
“I really have no idea.”
“Do you want to know?”
“I want you to get out of my house!”
He cocked his head. “You aren’t at all curious? How practical. I would be curious if I were you. I would be very curious. Why is a strange man in my house? Why did the zombie queen take such a keen interest in such a boring woman? Why do I smell so strongly of nutmeg?”
“A random zombie marked me.”
“Not at all. You’ve been targeted for a very longtime. It was the first time you broke away from your careful routine, wasn’t it?”
