Brownie Oxford and the Ashland Affair: Brownie Bk1

Chapter 1

Sigh.

Exactly how do I get myself into these situations? Sadly, a question I've been asking myself repeatedly for years. 'Remember what Swift said, Nie, ' I told myself, leaving behind the deeper quest for meaning. 'Stall and admit nothing.'

With Swift's oft repeated advice as back-up, I took a deep breath and looked around. We were in an old cemetery that at a guess had seen its last burial sometime before the Civil War. At least none of the headstones I could read had dates later than the 1850s. The weeds grew thick around the half tumbled stones, proving there were few visitors. Many of them had fallen flat, the grass rising around the horizontal stones as though they were small islands in the middle of the ocean; a limestone archipelago. I didn't know how long it had taken us to get here as I had been drugged and locked in the trunk for most of the ride.

When they took me out of the trunk, I could see the city skyline as a distant haze. I just hoped it was still my skyline and not that of another city. I didn't have time to look for manmade landmarks in the dark. After leaving the cars on the mostly vanished road, we spent a good half hour stumbling through grass on a path I couldn't see, before crossing the rusted iron fence surrounding the cemetery. Normally I would have complained about hiking through long grass in heels, but the exertion helped push the last of the drug induced fuzz away. The blister I could feel on my heel provided sharp bursts of pain to keep me focused and deny fear a chance to make me panic.

Luckily, when they took me, they hadn't bothered to take my charm bracelet. After my last kidnapping, although he and his cohorts refused to call it that, Swift gave me a small GPS tracker designed as a charm for my bracelet. For once I was actually wearing it and I pressed the sides of the small charm as we walked, holding them in until I felt the charm hum briefly. I let it go, knowing the hum would send a distress signal to Swift to let him know I was in trouble.

I hadn't planned on needing to use the emergency notification when I put on the bracelet. When dressing, I thought the silver charm bracelet went well with my new earrings. If it helped Swift find me, the fashion police could declare it a victory in coordinating accessories. The GPS was active and sending out its electronic signal, now I just had to give Swift time to get to me. The large men with guns looked disinclined to wait for his arrival. I doubted asking nicely would help.

Most of the men were big and burly. The smallest of them in fact had a neck the size of my waist. It seemed terribly unfair that the big men also had big guns. The fact that they wore the big guns casually gave me pause. They wore them as though they were accustomed to spending long periods with the strap on their shoulders. So long in fact that they could almost forget the guns were there. The last time I had seen men wear guns that casually; I was with Swift in a place I was told to forget existed.

I still had nightmares about it.

The three men in the center of the group were more normal sized and less well armed. If you saw them on the street, you would not immediately think 'Thug' as you would with the others. Snake was more their description. They looked like the brokers who would funnel your money into an untraceable off shore account and convince you that you had made a sound investment, all without losing a wink of sleep or letting their thousand-watt smile dim.

At the moment everyone around me was shadow and silver. Flashlights had been turned off once we reached the cemetery. The low light from the moon had turned the world into a black and white movie set. I half expected to see Bella Lugosi shamble from the shadows at the tree line.

The only light came from the full moon riding high in the sky. It seemed appropriate. These sorts of things always seemed to happen, to me anyway, on the full moon nights. Generations of superstitions were hard to break. I caught the flash of teeth as the man in the center, the one wearing the most expensive watch, smiled at me. It was a salesmen's grin; all teeth, no humor.

"You may begin any time you are ready, Ms. Oxford." He told me. Not knowing any of their names, I was somewhat at a disadvantage. I took a deep breath in an effort to steady my nerves. The scent of freshly turned earth filled my senses. I thought it strange, considering the age of the cemetery. The smell remained; newly turned earth in old burial ground. I glanced around again. Luckily, I didn't see a freshly disinterred corpse. Aside from not adding to my nightmares, it gave me a little more wiggle room for stalling tactics.

"I'm afraid I am a bit confused, " I said. "Why exactly are we here?"

"We already explained that to you Ms. Oxford." Mr. Salesman said. One of the goons took a step forward. He didn't even bother to shift his large gun from his shoulder and into his arms. Apparently, he didn't think he would need the gun to deal with little old me. Sadly, I could see his point. There was a reason the social workers who found me named me Brownie.

"Yes, I got that part. You want me to raise the dead. That came through loud and clear. It's just the rest I'm a little hazy on." I told him. Mr. Salesman raised his hand, made a sharp shooing motion and the goon stepped back into the half circle with his friends. I somehow doubted the beginning of a square dance was eminent.

"What is it you are hazy on Ms. Oxford?" he asked. He was still smiling, confident he could get his way. With so many factors on his side, I would be confident too if I were him. I tried to hold my fear and anger inside and speak calmly, as though this were some sort of rational business discussion. After all, I didn't have as much on my side. Just a slim hope Swift would come looking for me. Stall and admit nothing were the limits of my current plan for survival.

"Well, you seem to believe I am this all powerful, high mucky-muck, woo-woo necromancer person." I began.

"Which you are." He replied.

"I'm not saying I am, " I continued ignoring his confidence. "But if I were, then it seems to me there would be a couple of problems. You want me to make a zombie. Who do you want me to turn into a zombie?"

"Any body from one of the graves will do for a start. We need to see that you are capable before giving you specifics." He told me, still smiling and nodding as if asking a woman in a dress and heels to raise a zombie was an everyday thing for him.

Seriously, a zombie.

Either he was a complete wack-a-do, or he knew something I didn't, possibly both. With my luck, I was guessing both. I shook my head a little as though trying to clear it.

"Great, well, according to the movies, some zombies when you raise them go all crazy and start snacking on anyone nearby. That would be essentially us, as everyone else seems to be far, far away."

I paused and took a deep breath. I saw a couple of the goons exchange glances. Apparently, they weren't happy with the thought of becoming zombie snacks and weren't entirely trusting of the men in suits to stop the chow down. I was certain Swift would be pleased with my adding dissention in the ranks to the stall and admit nothing list of tactics. That gave me three things in my arsenal. Go me.

"That would only be if you lost control, Ms. Oxford. I have done my research." He assured me.

"True, " I said, wondering exactly where he had done his research. Perhaps there was a library I knew nothing about. Maybe he would give me the address if I asked nicely. I could always use more informative bedtime reading material.

He had a bit more conviction than I felt comfortable with, his certainty raising the little hairs on the back of my neck. Usually when people discuss zombie attacks it isn't with the utter belief that the person you were talking to could actually make a zombie rise from some handy-dandy grave. Even stoners tended to think of it a theoretical exercise. It was only after seeing the shambling dead that people began to believe, and even then all other rational options had to be explored before belief set in.

Mr. Salesman believed.

I took a deep breath and tried to smother my fear. "It could, in theory, be a killer if I lost control, but if I were controlling a killer zombie, why would I not turn it on the people forcing me to raise it in the first place?" I asked. "It isn't like my plans tonight included getting hit with a tranq and shoved into a trunk. I could tell the zombie to go after you."

My plans had actually involved a very attractive guy named Dave who I had met at the bank. I had even bought pretty new underwear for the occasion. Not that I was planning on letting him see it, I just wanted to feel pretty all the way down to my skin. Dressing up was a rare occurrence for me and I wanted to make the most of it. At the moment, I was grateful for the night's concealing shadows. If my favorite little black dress was ruined, I didn't want to know.

There was a shuffling of the feet and a shifting of weight among the goons. They were nervous. Progress, or so I hoped.

"Because we would shoot you, " he told me, still grinning.

Okay, not so good a plan. Shooting would be bad. I didn't know much about weapons; in fact I tried very hard not to know too much about weapons, but the guns they had looked as though they could shoot a lot of bullets in a very short period of time. I did not want the guns aimed at me. Hanging over the men's shoulders like bizarre fashion accessories suited me just fine.

"Shooting me would most definitely cause me to lose control, " I said quickly, trying not to panic. "Thus setting a killer zombie to lay waste among the available human population, which would be you, " I said indicating the group with a sweep of my hand. I saw one of the men flinch at the movement. I decided not to move much on the off chance they were nervous enough to shoot me before I could raise the theoretical killer zombie. I didn't want to get shot because of expansive hand gestures. The obituary would be mortifying.

"Why would you possibly want that?" I continued. "What use is a killer zombie running amuck in the middle of nowhere? There aren't any terrified citizens to run screaming through the streets. There aren't even any streets."

"It would not be a killer zombie, " he said. Even though he was still smiling his toothy grin, the words were harsh and clipped. He did not like my deviation from his set schedule of events. As he looked like someone who routinely got his way with a minimum of fuss, this had to be a new experience for him. Perhaps it would be broadening.

"Oh, " I said nodding and thinking fast. "So you are hoping for the other kind of zombie? The helpless slave kind that tamely does your bidding?" I nodded as though deep in thought, my mind whirling to pull together any trivia facts I could recall. "I see, that is a whole bunch of different movie scenarios."

If I made it through this I swore I would watch more zombie films so I could add more stalling information to my arsenal. I only had a few more Hollywood zombie facts left to use. I hoped Swift was on his way. I could feel cold sweat on my body and was surprised my wildly thumping heart couldn't be heard in the quiet cemetery. At the moment though, I didn't have time to worry about my heart. All of my energy was concentrated on keeping my voice calm and reasonable. My heart would have to fend for itself.

"But wouldn't the mind-controlled zombie then be under my control?" I mused out loud as though it were a philosophical debate. I hope they couldn't smell my fear. If Swift didn't hurry, I had the feeling I might die of fright before they actually got a chance to shoot me. "That would put us back into killer zombie territory, since I could then order it to defend me." I frowned as though concerned.

"And then there is the act of raising the zombie in the first place, " I told them. "Don't you need a chicken or a goat or something else to sacrifice in order to even raise a zombie in the first place? They always have them in the movies, unless they make zombies from some sort of disease. Of course, if you had a disease to create zombies, you wouldn't need a necromancer."

I made a show of slowly looking around, keeping my movements steady with no sudden sweeps. I saw several of the men swallow hard, their eyes widening in realization. One of them started tracing the strap of his gun with his fingers as though it were a talisman against the night. Who knows, maybe boogey men didn't like guns any more than I did. Or maybe at the moment, I was the boogey man, er woman.

"I don't see anything like that around here, " I said, "No chickens or goats, just you and your men."

Mr. Salesman's grin winked out like a dead light bulb as he closed his mouth. I could almost see the fear on the men around me, rising up in sickly waves. Apparently none of them had contemplated the sacrificial aspect of zombie raising when agreeing to take the job. I think that aspect even bypassed Mr. Salesman's thought processes. It made me feel better. Mr. Salesman may believe and more than likely had seen a zombie or two, but he had never actually seen a zombie being raised. He just knew it could be done. Still, Swift would not be happy. I think zombies were on his top ten list of things the general public shouldn't know could be done.

The men with guns started glancing towards one particular man with a gun. He nodded and stepped over to confer with the suits. I took a small step backwards. Perhaps I could make it to the tree line before they started shooting. I was small, wearing a black dress and could hide somewhere until they gave up looking.

As I had no more stalling tactics down, I thought it might be my only option. I wondered if I should try running in the heels or ditch them and run barefoot through the woods. Neither option sounded appealing. I took another step backwards deciding to leave the heels on. Again, no one noticed.

I heard a slight rustling sound coming from the trees and looked around, seeing nothing. All of the men with guns were concentrating on the low conversation between their leader and the men with the money. I hoped the rustling signified the arrival of Swift and whoever he brought as back-up rather than some nocturnal predator of the wild.

If I ended up being eaten by a mountain lion, I would not be pleased.

I took another cautious step back. All at once, the world exploded in blurs of motion. Before I could make out any details, I was tackled and pinned to the ground by someone much larger than me. I gave a small yip of surprise and saw stars as my head hit the edge of a fallen tombstone hidden in the grass. I struggled a bit under the weight, my mind still thinking mountain lion, but I quickly realized that the weight was human. It wasn't one of the goons as they had all been in front of me, and this man had tackled me from behind.

He smelled of Irish Spring soap.

I stopped struggling and he relaxed a little, letting me know he was just there as my human shield. It felt very odd to be lying in damp grass fully dressed with a strange man wearing bulky protective gear lying on top of me. It was weirdly intimate, yet strangely disconnected all at the same time. But as his presence signaled the arrival of the good guys, I was willing to put up with a little weird.

I heard the sounds of a scuffle and heard muffled yelling, but I couldn't see anything from under my soap scented human shield. The world quieted and the man on top of me slowly shifted his weight back. He pushed to his feet and offered me a hand to help me rise from the ground. The cool dew from the grass had been absorbed by my little black dress and one of my heels had been knocked off.

"Thanks, " I told him, still feeling a little shaky. The fear I had pushed to the bottom of my belly was beginning to rise and make me nauseous. It didn't help that the world was a little wobbly around the edges from my head's connection to the fallen tombstone. I turned to my rescuer. "Have you seen my shoe?"

Chapter 2

Three hours later I was still in the graveyard. The fear had settled now that there seemed to be no need for it, but I felt hollow and wrung out. A cool breeze kicked up letting me know that fall would soon be serious, September it seemed, had finally managed to kill the August heat. I shivered in my still dew damped dress. Flashlights were waving about the formerly abandoned cemetery like demented fireflies. It made me think of old fairy tales like the will'o-the-wisp sent to lead travelers astray.

I had found my shoe, taken the other one off and sat down barefoot and out of the way on a convenient headstone belonging to one William Frasier. I thought about asking him if he minded, as it seemed the polite thing to do, but given the current situation I decided I couldn't risk it. I hoped he understood.

The fat heads of the long grass tickled my swinging feet and legs as I tried to keep my feet off the ground in case Mr. Frasier objected. My head was throbbing and when I lifted a hand to check on it, the hand came away wet. I wiped my fingers on my torn skirt, trying not to look at the ruin my all purpose black dress had become. I had the feeling this would be its last night out.

A little later, I checked my head wound again and all of the blood seemed to have gone tacky or dried into stiff patches in my hair. Deciding that I wasn't likely to bleed to death, I watched the milling law enforcement. All of the bad guys, aka the ones who had kidnapped me, were handcuffed and seated on the ground. Mr. Salesman had complained about this as his suit was apparently quite expensive.

I decided if I was ever going to go out and do nefarious deeds, I would do so with second hand clothes from the thrift store, just in case I was unsuccessful. Not that I had anything in my closet worth as much as the value he claimed for his suit. In fact I was pretty sure the entire contents of my closet didn't amount to that much.

And the only deeds I did that might be considered nefarious were done with Swift. Usually he provided the clothes I was to wear while doing them. Surprisingly, Swift hadn't arrived with the cavalry although I was fairly certain he sent them. I scanned the crowd looking for his dirty blonde locks and long, loose-limbed stride. Nope, no Swift.

Every other law enforcement professional in the area who could manage an invitation to the party had arrived though. I saw city cops, state troopers, and at least two types of federal agents. None of them were even remotely familiar. I didn't think any of them worked with Swift. It wasn't because I didn't recognize them, I was certain there were lots of people who worked with Swift who I didn't know, a fact I was perfectly content with. Every time I met a new one, my world went a little more haywire. It was their reaction to me that clued me in. These folks didn't behave like the ones in Swift's department.

Swift's people were not overly friendly or even mildly companionable for the most part, but if they had been there, they would have checked on me. I was considered an asset, a resource, and they would want to make sure I wasn't damaged or compromised. They would order me checked out by a doctor they approved, smile false smiles that were little more than the twitching of the muscles around their mouths and offer insincere apologies for any discomfort I may have suffered. Then they would give me the standard warning about keeping anything I had seen locked inside my brain instead of sharing it with others. Usually the warning came with some vague sort of threat. No matter how nice they were pretending to be, they just couldn't help themselves when it came to the threat. They just had to add it on the end. I tried not to take it personally.

These people were ignoring me as inconsequential. There was no false concern, no warnings, and no threats. These were nice cops and I was just the innocent civilian. Now that they had the threat to my well-being contained, they could focus their attention elsewhere. Sadly, I found their disregard comforting. It had been a long time since I had been considered one of the innocent civilians.

At the moment, the various milling cops were having a polite disagreement about the current situation. I imagined it was due to jurisdiction. The handcuffed men were apparently on someone's most wanted list and they all wanted the credit for their capture. Not that they put it that way, exactly. There were however many shiny eyes and smiles and it was clear they all wanted the big present Santa left under the tree this year.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a man glide out of the shadows. He looked like a praying mantis masquerading as a surfer; long legs and an easy grin mixed with a slight air of menace. Swift had arrived. The moving lights caught the blonde strands of hair and made them look like gold. I watched as he quickly surveyed the scene and I could see him dismiss the tensely polite discussion as irrelevant. He turned his steps towards me. No one else seemed to notice him as he moved through the scene like the ghost his superiors named him.

I looked up as Swift came to a stop in front of me. His prominent cheekbones left his blue eyes in shadow making his head more skull-like than usual. From where I sat, he stretched impossibly far into the night sky. The moon was behind his head and gave him a sort of glow, as though he were some sort of avenging angel. Certainly no one would call him beatific. Smiting was more his line of work and it showed.

"Are you injured?" he asked. His voice was washed of all accent and inflection. It was a statement rather than a question and I knew the accent and tone could change in a flash. It was a blank canvas that could be altered the way other people changed their clothing. He could pour emotion into his words as well as change the accent and become a man from almost anywhere who cared about almost anything. He knew it gave me the creeps, so he generally kept his tone flat with me, which I appreciated. If I couldn't trust the emotion, I'd rather not hear it.

"Head got hit against one of the stones, " I told him.

"Where?" I lifted a hand to the area of my head. He stepped behind me and I winced as his long fingers lightly touched the matted black curls around the wound.

"It's stopped bleeding, but I still want it checked out." He took his hands away. "How's the vision?"

"Fine." I didn't add that it had been a little wobbly right after, but had steadied while I waited for someone to be declared king of the crime scene. I wondered if they would plant a small victory flag on Mr. Salesman.

"What did they hit you with?" he asked.

"They didn't. I fell against a fallen headstone when I was rescued."

"Sloppy." I could see him frown and almost smiled at his disapproval. Swift liked to keep things neat. His desk looked like a catalog display. I had never seen his home, but I imagined it too, was like a catalog cut out. It was just Swift's way.

"Hey, " someone called out noticing Swift's arrival. "You there." Swift turned, realizing he was being addressed by some flavor of officialdom. I thought it might be a state policeman from the uniform.

"Stay here until I come for you." He told me emphasizing the I, before wading into the sea of red tape and delicate toes. I didn't have time to answer, but I could feel my body relax. Swift and his people often treated me as merely a tool in their kit which was often quite annoying, but I knew they took good care of their tools. I was his and I was more than ready for a little care.

It took very little time for Swift to arrange things and soon he returned. "We are leaving, " he told me. I nodded and slipped my shoes on my feet. I let out a soft hiss of pain as the shoe came in contact with the raw skin of the abraded blister on my heel.

"I thought just your head hurt." Swift snapped, his attention focused on me like a laser beam.

"Broken blister, " I told him. "These shoes weren't meant for hiking." He nodded, confident that the blister would not kill me before I could get back to the car. Swift shortened his stride for my considerably shorter legs as he led me away from the cemetery.

"How come they let you take me?" I asked, more to distract myself from my feet than because I expected an answer.

"Because you are an asset to the NCS, " he told me.

"And they just let me leave a crime scene with no problems?" My head had started to throb in time with the blister and I felt a little fuzzy, so I channeled the fear of the evening into my most sarcastic tone of voice.

Usually when I was busy being an asset to the National Clandestine Service they made certain no one else official was around, thus avoiding these sorts of issues. This was my first clash of the law titans. It was almost disappointing not to be fought over. Clearly, I wasn't as important as Mr. Salesman and his merry band of moneyed thugs.

I heard Swift chuckle. "I told them we would expect no credit for the bust, " he added.

I snorted. National Clandestine Services or NCS never officially took credit for anything, even the things they officially did. At least that was how it always seemed to me. Perhaps when no one was looking they held a party for themselves and confessed their actions to each other over sheet cake and fruit punch.

It was an amusing image, but even in my head it sounded like fiction. I doubted they would even own up to their actions amongst themselves, even if I could see them devouring a sheet cake. They were the shadows behind the already shadowy CIA. I liked to think that somewhere there was a file so someone, somewhere, somehow knew what was going on. I had the suspicion though that the file had been gone over repeatedly with a heavy handed sharpie leaving little that was not redacted. And that the person who redacted the file would be blinded in the name of national security.

Perhaps the blinding was the annual event that caused the sheet cake and fruit punch office party.

"Is there a file cabinet with un-redacted files somewhere, just in case someone needs to check on things at a later date?" I asked.

I didn't expect an answer and was not surprised when I didn't receive one. Swift didn't even look surprised by my change of topics, as he had long since gotten used to the way I processed things. He often told new people that my train of thought had too few active stations so folks just had to jump on where they could when they complained about me.

I sighed with relief when the road came into sight, knowing the walk was almost over. When I last saw the road, it contained only three vehicles, all rental cars, one with a trunk roomy enough to fit me. I doubted that is how they phrased their request at the rental agency. I think even a bored clerk would take notice if someone requested a vehicle with a trunk large enough to carry a small woman. Now, the road contained much more variety. A few were official vehicles with seals and standard looking decals decorating them. Most were black and non-descript.

They were non-descript in a way that practically screamed federal agent, which seemed anything but clandestine to me. I supposed it would look odd for a federal officer to arrive in a yellow Prius, but the big black SUVs were not exactly subtle. A part of me wanted to slap a flame decal on the side of one just to see what would happen. Were CIA agents allowed to have an attack of the vapors or was that against company policy?

Swift led me towards the tail end of the official looking car lot and unlocked the door to a silver Ford Fusion.

"Trying not to blend, Swift? Don't you like playing with the others?" I asked, tilting my head towards the sea of standard issue vehicles. The corner of Swift's mouth turned up, but he didn't comment. He just unlocked the doors and watched as I settled myself.

"Seatbelt, " he said as he closed the door. I fastened my seatbelt as he walked around to the driver's side and slid behind the wheel. I sighed with relief as we pulled away from the road and headed back towards town. I was safe, officially.

No one was pointing a gun at me and if they did, Swift would point one right back. I shivered a little. I was chilled to the bone, but unsure if it was the fault of the night, the damp dress or reaction. I had the feeling I would be adding a new scenario to my nightmares. Trial and error had taught me that the situations that I didn't react to until they were over had a tendency to attack my subconscious. It was only in dreams that my brain seemed to realize what could have happened if Swift didn't make it on time.

I wrapped my arms around myself and tried to steady my breath. I just needed to hold everything together until the doctor checked me out and Swift sent me home to sleep. Once I was home, I could fall apart. The promise settled me a little and I felt a bit better.

"Tell me what happened, " Swift said. I realized that he had been monitoring me and had waited for me to settle before he asked the question.

"I had a date, " I began familiar with how Swift preferred his information. The routine of it felt comforting. "He met me in my building's lobby and we went outside to the street. We were walking to his car when I felt a sting in my shoulder. I blacked out." I clenched my jaw and felt my teeth fairly groan at the pressure. Someone had kidnapped me. Someone had taken me off the street while I was on a date. Warm anger pushed the cold fear away. I stopped shivering.

"Is my date okay?" I asked. "I didn't see what happened to him.

"Dave is fine, " Swift said tersely. I lifted an eyebrow. I wasn't surprised that Swift knew the name of my date, but the tone was unexpected.

"Was he involved?" I asked. He had seemed like such a nice guy. Usually my personal radar wasn't that far off. Working with Swift for so long had sharpened my paranoid edges, but I had suspected nothing duplicitous about Dave.

"Not that we are aware of at this time." Swift told me. His tone softened a little.

"Do you not like him?" I asked.

"I have not met him. Please continue."

"Okay, " I said slowly. "When we got to the road, they opened the trunk and helped me to climb out. Mr. Salesman told me I would be raising a zombie." I blinked as I thought about it, even as I saw Swift smile at my nickname of the head honcho.

"No, " I said knowing exact details were needed. Wording could be very important. I shook my head and instantly wished I hadn't as the night suddenly had a few multi-colored ribbons dancing across it. "He told the other two suits that I would be the one raising the zombie." I blinked, still trying to stop the dancing lights. "They seemed a little surprised to see me, like they were expecting someone else."

"Then we climbed the hill to the cemetery. When we got there, he ordered me to raise the zombie and I stalled as long as I could." I concluded.

"How did you stall?" he asked. The question was asked in a quiet voice and I wondered if Swift thought I had given my secrets away.

"I used zombie movie factoids to stall them. I talked about killer zombies eating people and asked what they wanted me to use as a sacrifice, " I told Swift. "They seemed concerned that there were no goats or chickens around for me to slaughter. No one wanted to fill the void."

Swift chuckled, his suspicion fading as his body shook with laughter. "That I would have liked to see."

"Well the guys with guns were having a confab with the men in suits when the law pounced, " I told him, unable to resist a small smile. "Good thing too as I was running out of zombie trivia. Pretty soon I would have been reduced to discussing the validity of virgin sacrifices."

"Did they say who they wanted you to raise?" He asked.

"No, " I told him, resisting the urge to shake my head. "But there was something strange about it. They didn't point to any one tombstone. They didn't show me who they wanted raised, they just ordered me to get to it. I think the first zombie was supposed to be a test."

"That is odd, even for you."

"I could smell freshly turned earth, as though someone had been buried recently."

"It's an old cemetery."

"I know, " I told him. "1850s and earlier, at least in the section we went through."

"But you didn't see a body?"

"No. No scent of decay either. So if they dug into the ground then the body was just a skeleton or they put someone in rather than taking them up."

"Interesting." He said. I could see Swift was turning my words over in his mind.

"The head guy, " I began.

"Mr. Salesman?" I heard the amusement in his tone and frowned.

"It's not like they were wearing name tags, " I reminded him.

"Of course, I just wanted to make sure I had the people straight."

"Anyway, he believed I could raise a zombie. Truly believed. I'm pretty sure he had seen a couple of zombies before tonight, but I doubt he had seen the process of raising them."

"Why?"

"It takes a few times to actually believe in something like that. You have to discredit hallucinations and animatronics..."

"Why do you think he hadn't seen the actual raising?" Swift clarified.

"Oh, well he was really surprised when I mentioned the sacrifice. As though he knew it could be done, but hadn't thought through the actual raising part. The others were the same way. At least no one looked as though they found his suggestion that I raise the zombie ridiculous. They could just have really good poker faces."

"Hmm, " Swift said to himself. For a while we sat in silence, the car sliding through the dark night. Whatever road we were on had no streetlights and clouds had covered the moon. The only lights were from Swift's headlights and the various gages in the car's dashboard. The instruments gave off a slightly yellow-green glow.

"Can you raise a zombie?" Swift asked softly. The question felt intimate. We were alone in the dark with no one there to hear and his voice was warm and gentle. It was just the two of us, but I knew Swift. Any answer I gave would be added to my file.

I took a deep breath, shaking a little inside. "No, I can't. You know that. You've seen what I can do." Admittedly he hadn't seen all of what I could do, but I had no desire to expand my role as an asset. The one I had was uncomfortable enough.

"True, " he said nodding. "It would have come out during testing if you could. I wonder why they thought you could?"

"I wonder how they knew about me at all, " I countered. "And if they knew someone who could raise zombies, why didn't they go back to them instead of kidnapping me?"

"Very good questions, " Swift said. "We'll have to see what we can do about answers."

Chapter 3

I winced as the doctor cleaned the dried blood from my scalp. The sharply astringent odor made my nose itch and the doctor made an odd humming sound under his breath as he worked. Every now and again I thought I could detect a tune, but then he would shift and I would lose the thread. Either his humming was random or he only half knew the song he was trying to replicate.

"I think we can do without stitches, " he told me, abandoning his humming. Actually, the words were addressed to Swift instead of me. I felt a bit like a puppy being taken to the vet; a familiar feeling, in this office sadly. Dr. Harding knew who Swift was and had treated me for pretty much every injury I sustained while consulting for the Company. Hell, he had even treated me for strep throat and chicken pox. Never once had he managed to address me directly. Since he was officially a coroner, no one but me complained of his bedside manner. Like the official record, I had learned to simply accept him as part of my reality.

"Did she lose consciousness?" Dr. Harding asked.

"No, " Swift replied.

"Was she dazed for more than twenty minutes?"

Swift glanced at me. "No, " I told him. Dr. Harding nodded, but continued to address Swift.

"Then I doubt she had anything more than a Grade 1 concussion. She should be fine. Let me know if she gets dizzy or confused." Dr. Harding turned away, took his surgical gloves off and placed them into the trashcan.

"Will do Doc, thanks, " Swift said. I slid off the exam table and followed Swift out of the room. I was always happy to leave the discrete medical practice of Dr. Harding. The building may have looked like an off-shoot of a strip mall outside, but inside it smelled of pain and secrets. The air was heavy and nauseating. Sometimes I wondered what it would be like to be treated by a doctor who at least pretended to care about his patient's comfort.

As Swift pulled out of the parking lot, I frowned. I had been to and from Dr. Harding's place enough to know how to get home. We weren't heading towards my apartment.

"Um, Swift where are we going?" I asked.

"You are going to a hotel." He told me.

"A hotel?"

"Yes, " Swift replied. His face was set into grim lines. "You were taken outside your apartment, which means someone knows where to find you. Until we figure out who and how much they know, you will stay at the hotel."

I sighed. The look Swift wore was one I was intimately familiar with. Its appearance meant that there was little point in arguing. I also knew there was little point in asking how long I would be at the hotel as the answer would be 'as long as needed'. Like stall and admit nothing, as long as needed was one of his stock phrases.

"I'll have to call work, " I said, knowing that calling in and telling Mr. Hanson I would not be in, but I couldn't say how long I would be out would result in yet another firing. I sighed heavily. I had enjoyed working in the flower shop. But then again I had also enjoyed working in the jewelry store, the three bookstores, and the Putt-Putt Palace before landing the job at the flower shop. Serving as Swift's asset tended to wreak havoc on my ability to hold a normal job.

"I'll call, " Swift said.

"I will need to call Dave too and let him know I made it back safely since he saw the whole kidnapping thing."

"I will deal with Dave as well, " Swift told me. "Until he is cleared of involvement, you will have no contact with him."

I sighed again, but restrained myself from comment as we drove. I should have known better than to try and have a life.

We got to the hotel. It was not high end, as expense accounts were always tight, but it wasn't a low rent motel either as those were known for their shoddy security. The hotel Swift chose was comfortably in the middle. It looked like the sort of place someone rolling through town on business would stay for the night and had security that made anyone from middle class America feel safe and protected. I had my doubts, but Swift approved.

Swift got me checked in and walked me to my room. Like the economic range of the hotel, the room was located more or less in the middle. It was on the third floor of the six storey hotel and located equal distance from both the elevator and the stairwell. It was Swift's preferred location.

I had once asked him why he didn't get a ground floor room nearest to an exit since to me that seemed like a better option. He told me that his choice not only gave him more options in dealing with the situation, but that the room I suggested would be the first suspected and therefore the first target. He then told me that he always paid for the obvious room as well as the one he actually used. The obvious room served as an early warning system. I then received a lesson in the type of surveillance equipment he placed in that room. While the conversation had been an informative lesson in how Swift's mind worked, I decided there were some things it was best not to question in the future.

I made note of the nook containing the soda, snack and ice machines as we passed. Swift opened the hotel door and motioned me inside. It was a relief to be inside the privacy of the room. The desk clerk had failed to hide his surprise at my appearance.

"Um Swift?" I said as he turned to go.

"Yes?"

"I'm going to need a change of clothes, and some pajamas or something. I can't wander around in a torn dress until you clear my apartment." Swift blinked and let his eyes scan me from head to toe.

"Make a list."

I nodded and walked to the small desk provided for hotel customers with laptops. In the small drawer I found a pen and a square notepad emblazoned with the hotel logo. I sat down and jotted down the basics; clothes, toothbrush, deodorant and my prescribed vitamins.

Hoping Swift was in a decent mood when he picked up my stuff, I added exercise clothes and sneakers since I had seen signs for a fitness center as we came in. Swift may want me holed up in the hotel room while he sorted things out, but I doubted I could stare at the four walls for very long without some sort of break. Besides, the hotel's cleaning staff would need access to the room at some point.

I added band aids and ointment for my blisters and crossed my fingers as I put my laptop bag with its current contents on the list. I handed the list to Swift and watched his eyes scan down the items.

"Laptop?"

"My laptop bag has my e-reader and my i-pod as well as my laptop. I won't go on-line until you tell me it is safe, " I told him, figuring that was what he would object to the most.

"Is your phone in there too?"

"No, " I said and then swore. "My phone was in my purse, which I was carrying when they grabbed me. My wallet is in there too. I'll need to call the bank and credit card companies."

"I think your purse was recovered at the scene. I'll check." Swift folded the paper and tucked it into a pocket. "I'll be back in an hour. Don't leave the room."

I snorted. My dress was torn, my hair matted with dried blood and my feet were killing me; I wasn't going anywhere. My stomach rumbled and Swift shook his head.

"I'll pick up something for you to eat as well."

"Thanks, " I said.

Swift waved away my thanks and let himself out of the room. I heard the door snick shut, but went to check the knob anyway, putting the chain on for an extra measure of security. With Swift only planning to be gone an hour and nothing to change into, I wasn't quite ready to take a shower. I was however more than ready to lose the shoes. I took the shoes off and sighed with pleasure as my feet sunk into the soft carpet. The room had two queen sized beds and I picked up the television remote, settling myself delicately on the edge of one of the beds.

I flipped through channels, figuring I would get my bathroom shocker done in one fell swoop after Swift brought me my clothes. That way I could strip off the dress, bathe, assess and deal with the damage all at once. I could already feel what was sure to be a bruise along my ribs and I wondered if I had the imprint of a tire iron, a jack or whatever else was stashed in the trunk with me on my flesh.

I stopped the channel flipping when an old Looney Toons cartoon flashed on screen. I set the remote to the side as Daffy and Buggs engaged in a battle of wits. The shaking started in my hands and seemed to sink deep into my bones. It was as if my very bones were vibrating as I finally let myself think about how wrong things could have gone.

I tried to take deep calming breaths as my body shuddered uncontrollably and my mind told me soothing rational statements to calm the rising panic. Swift would figure out what was going on. He would figure out who knew about me and what they wanted. And then my life would go back to normal. I let out a short bark of laughter that echoed in the clean smelling hotel room and sounded slightly hysterical. My life hadn't been normal in a long time, if it ever had been.

They guessed my age at about six months when they found me. I had been placed in a plastic basket, the kind used at grocery stores when you only need a few items and didn't want to bother with a cart. I had been swaddled in a dove gray blanket with red trim. To keep me steady or perhaps warm, paper had been stuffed around me. The paper turned out to be pages torn from the Oxford English Dictionary. The title page had been clutched in my fist as I slept, unaware of the change in the world around me.

The paper had been searched for a note, but none was found. There was no secret code in the pages either. The pages bundled around me had included the front piece, which I clutched, the pronunciation guide and list of symbols used, a blurb about the creation of the Oxford English Dictionary or OED and a substantial chunk of the A section. It was as though someone started at the front and continued ripping until enough pages had been added to serve as adequate insulation against the world.

The social worker who was the first to take charge of me saw my small size and pallid, slightly jaundiced skin and had been reminded of fairy tales her Irish-born grandmother had told her about changelings. Since changeling was not an acceptable name, Brownie had been used.

Even though the doctor pronounced me healthy, my small size and somewhat sickly appearance turned prospective parents off. After all, if you were going to handpick a child, would you go for the one who didn't look long for this world? Time after time, I was cleaned up, trotted out and then sent back to the group home, rejected like a bruised peach tossed back in the bin.

It wasn't until much later that the doctors, namely Dr. Harding, reached the conclusion that my appearance was due to a fluctuating chemical imbalance. After three months of specialized vitamins, I looked as healthy as any other child. Of course by then I had passed my adoption expiration date. Most people wanted children younger than me.

After a childhood of foster home bouncing, long stays at the Riverdale Girl's Home and rejection at every turn, it had seemed like a miracle when Swift and his people wanted me. I was sixteen when Swift discovered me and my special abilities.

I had once again been returned to Riverdale like an overdue library book. The family I was staying with had broken up due to a barely hidden affair and a growing inability to hide a prescription drug addiction. Swift found me in the cemetery talking to the shadowy form of Mrs. Ellison.

Mrs. Ellison had been high society in her day, which had ended with a bout of yellow fever August 18th, 1793, and loved when I brought her gossip. While she distained the lurid tales of the Hollywood crowd, Mrs. Ellison loved hearing about visiting foreign diplomats, university scandals and civic celebrations. Riverdale luckily had been gifted with several magazine subscriptions designed to improve our minds and social consciousness. As they were never as popular as the other magazines, I was easily able to search them to ferret out details for her fairly easily.

A few days earlier, I had happened on an article about the current White House Chef which thrilled Mrs. Ellison to no end. She had nodded her approval of the listed menu for a recent dinner for visiting dignitaries and was in the process of regaling me with tales from her own long ago dinner parties, as well as tips for managing kitchen staff during formal events, when Swift put in his first appearance. I never did learn why he was in the cemetery that day. Once he accepted that I could call the spirit of a person from the grave and speak with it as though it were a live person, it didn't take him long to think of a million ways for my skill to be useful.

I never found out who he called or what strings he pulled, but Swift managed to get a ruling that kept me at the Riverdale until I turned eighteen instead of sending me out to yet another foster home. While Riverdale was not an ideal place to live, it was familiar. I knew the rules and the temperaments of those who ran it. I was familiar with what was allowed and could avoid trouble. Staying also eliminated the fear and worry that came from being placed in yet another new home. While some of the homes had been good, some had been bad and each had their own separate rules that had to be learned. Swift's ruling melted a lot of that worry and uncertainty away, for which I was grateful.

Swift couldn't ask me to assist with anything until I turned eighteen, so for the next two years, he and various others tested my abilities determining their range, strength and reliability. The others at the home were told I had a part time job and I was even paid a small stipend so it would seem credible. Even at the beginning, Swift wanted to keep my abilities and involvement a secret.

He was relieved that I had never told anyone what I could do. I never pointed out that since my most consistent friends were ghosts and more or less in on the secret, there was no need to confess anything to anyone. Besides, telling people that you can raise the spirits of the dead either gets you your own television show or a trip to the shrink's office. I doubted Riverdale had the authority to sponsor a television series, but I knew quite well they had a shrink waiting in the wings. Dr. Ferriday and I had already had several run-ins. He thought of me as difficult.

Two days after my eighteenth birthday, I received my high school diploma and moved into a small loft apartment. Swift got me a job as a waitress and listed me as an asset who would consult on an as needed basis. Each consult would result in a fee being transferred into my bank account. In all fairness to Swift, he may have seen the usefulness of my skills, but I don't think he envisioned using my abilities more than once or twice a year and tried to set me on the path to a normal life.

Mrs. Ellison and her love of gossip took a backseat as I was forced to converse with host of dead and mostly unsavory characters. Con men and thieves were the best of the lot. They left me feeling greasy and in need of a bath when the inter-dimensional interview was over. The human traffickers, murders and rapists made me physically ill and unable to assist with anything else for a few days.

The occasional victims left me heartsick and increased my range of nightmares dramatically. Sometimes it was hard to remember that there were good people in the world, and that all of the good people who did exist weren't fated to become victims. Swift's plan of one or two consults a year became lost. It seemed there were a lot of dead that needed to be questioned.

A knock on my door startled me from my memories and I looked through the peep hole to see Swift returning from his gathering expedition. I unchained the door and let him inside.

He handed me my laptop bag and tossed a large duffle on one of the beds. I set the laptop bag down and sniffed appreciatively at the scent of fast food wafting from the paper sack. I rarely indulged in take out as the repercussions weren't worth it, but tonight seemed like a good night to indulge. The sickly, slightly jaundiced look that turned off prospective parents when I was a child, was mitigated by both the vitamins and the self-imposed dietary restrictions.

Both the Riverdale doctor and Dr. Harding were big proponents of chemicals and drugs to solve medical problems. Any problem could be fixed with a pill. However, since I had been on my own, I noticed certain foods helped me take fewer pills and I had been keeping track. I had also noticed that the more I used my gift, the more important the pills became. It wasn't something Swift and I ever talked about, but I was certain that Dr. Harding had some suspicions and that any suspicions would be passed to Swift.

Confident that I was settled for the night, Swift left me with my illicit hamburger and fries. Figuring the fast food would be better hot, I sat down and ate while Elmer tried to decide if it was rabbit or duck season. The light headed and vaguely nauseated feeling dwindled and I felt a little better. I dug out the toiletry bag from the duffle along with a faded t-shirt, yoga pants and clean underwear. Thus armed, I walked into the bathroom.