Something About Harry(31)

“Do you think Daryl’s got some free time on his hands?”

Mara’s eyes widened as the thing identified as Carl, arms ramrod straight, his gait hindered by a limp, headed straight for Nina. “I’d even settle for Andrea right now. I know that sounds lame, because really her libido does most of the talking, but she was pretty righteous with a knife.”

“You watch The Walking Dead?” Harry yelled, sounding surprised as Carl broke tables and howled a pitiful wail in his effort to get across the room.

Who didn’t watch The Walking Dead? “Like it’s my religion!” she screamed back when Carl launched himself at Nina.

Where was Rick when you needed him?





CHAPTER

6





“Carl? When Auntie Nina says stop slobbering on her, knock it the fuck off. And dude, something has to be done about your death-breath.”

“We have a zombie,” Harry mumbled, obviously still dazed.

Mara clucked her tongue, rooting in her purse for the keys to her front door. “We do, in fact, have a bona fide sorta zombie.” Sorta because, well, there had been some glitch no one could explain when Carl became a zombie. A glitch Mara still wasn’t sure she understood, and instead, decided to accept at face value.

Nina, on the other hand, had dubbed Guido unfit to parent his massive mistake gone wrong. After Guido had explained Carl was mostly harmless, and the parts of his mind still in working order liked vegetables, not brains and flesh, she’d declared Carl unkempt and mismanaged and had all but snatched him from Guido, daring him in her colorfully, loud, frighteningly scary way to tell her she couldn’t have him.

Carl had latched onto Nina in much the way Fletcher and Mimi had, and when she’d tried to leave, he’d moaned and groaned loud enough to make Guido’s shack of witch doctoring tremble with his unhappy distress.

After seeing the state of the room Guido had tried without much success to contain him in, and the complete disarray of his appearance, Nina was convinced Carl was helpless, trapped in a body that, while not in tip-top physical condition, was still useful and worthy.

And that had been that. She’d loaded Carl into her SUV like he was Charlie and made Mara drive so she could sit in the back and bond with him.

Nina flicked Harry’s head with two fingers. “Look, Harry, I wasn’t going to leave him with that asshat Guido. If it weren’t for you, I’d be heading for a fucking bag of O neg and some shut-eye with my fam right now. You were the dipshit who thought you could be turned back into a human, which led us to poor Carl. Who, I might add, is a perfectly good half-assed zombie. He just needs a little fucking attention and some rules. Like all kids. So shut the fuck up and suck up your werewolf fate. ’Cus I’m tired of your pissy-ass whining.”

“You brought a zombie home,” Harry repeated, a mixture of horror and wonder in his voice. “Like you went to the pound and adopted a puppy.”

Nina flicked another finger at him again. “He’s not a full zombie, Harry. You heard Guido. He’s only three-quarters dead. When Guido found him on his doorstep, dead or some such shit, and tried to fix him, he performed one of his lame-ass spells, fucked it up, and only half turned him into a zombie. Carl’s just like you. Like me. An accident. Wanna sing ‘We Are The World’?” she asked on a cackle, slapping Harry’s back as they made their way along the winding, cobbled path of dormant rosebushes and various hedges leading to Mara’s beloved guesthouse-turned-cottage.

Mara unlocked her periwinkle blue front door, taking no pleasure or solace tonight in the calming color she’d spent two solid “will it be welcoming enough?” weeks deciding upon. She propped the door open, letting Nina lead Carl into her house with Harry right behind them.

After Guido had assured them what he’d said earlier was true and all he’d really given Harry was a mixture of coconut milk and herbs mashed up in a grape Capri Sun, and that his intention had been to merely bilk Harry out of two thousand dollars, Nina had read Guido’s mind to be sure the acrid scent they’d encountered when they’d arrived really was just a burnt grilled cheese sandwich.

Satisfied he was telling the truth, they’d driven home with Harry following close behind under Nina’s eagle eye—oh, and more than one threat that if he tried to make a break for it, she’d hunt him down and eat his testicles like foie gras on toast points.

Harry—large, painfully lost, and much tamer than he’d been back at Guido’s—stood in the middle of her living room, looking ridiculously out of place amongst the large planters stuffed full of silk blue, white, and purple hydrangeas.