wasn’t in the mood for the blues.”
“Yeah, let’s try and accentuate the positive.” Stoker sounds as if he’s having a hard time doing that himself. “Because this is just going to get worse, Jace.”
“You call that positive?” I shake my head. “We can’t just sit here and listen to music until we run out of gas and the battery dies. We have to do something.”
“Agreed. But what? We could wander forever in this fog and still never get anywhere.”
“You’re right. But I don’t think this place follows the same rules we’re used to. It’s a … a conceptual place.” I struggle to find the words to explain what I’m thinking. “Despair has an actual weight here, a physical presence. Other emotions might, too. The dead might not be able to feel much, but we still do. We can … we can…”
“We can what?” His voice is guarded.
“We can fight .”
“I’m not about to give up, Jace. But what are you suggesting, exactly?”
I slap him.
It’s the first time I’ve ever slapped anyone. I’ve hit people plenty of times; with my closed fist, the heel of my palm, my elbow, my knee, even my forehead—but never with my open hand. Now I know why: It hurts .
“Ow!” we both say at the same time.
Stoker pulls back—when did he get so close?—and looks at me with both shock and guilt. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry!”
I cradle my poor hand. Slapping Stoker is like smacking a lamppost. “Sorry? For what? I hit you, you idiot!”
“I know! I was there!”
“Then why are you apologizing?”
“Because—wait.” He rubs his cheek, which is turning a satisfying shade of red. “You hit me because…”
“When I said we can fight, I meant it literally. I thought I’d get the ball rolling, but apparently you don’t have any.” That’s low, but we’re not going to get anywhere by being nice here.
He blinks at me, then bursts into laughter. Okay, not the reaction I was going for, but any show of emotion at this point is a good thing. And it has the added effect of pissing me off, because I have no idea why me hitting him is so damn funny. Maybe I should have broken his nose, instead. “What?”
“I’ve been accused of many things, but never that. And considering what I thought you were proposing, it’s even funnier.”
It takes me a second to process that. And when I do, I get a very gratifying surge of anger in return. “ Proposing? With you? Here? Are you out of your sociopathic Neanderthal mind ?”
“No. But I could be out of my pants .”
I glare at him, and he stares steadily back. And I realize that what he’s suggesting—what he thought I was suggesting—isn’t that unthinkable. In fact, I did something similar to save Cassius’s life, not too long ago; and as primal as that experience was, what could be more elemental than committing the ultimate life-affirming act in the land of the dead?
Sure. Because the only thing better than boffing your boss is waiting until he disappears so you can jump in the sack with the first psycho that comes along. “Sorry—we were in Hell, we needed a little cheering up, you know how it is.”
“Not. Going. To happen,” I growl.
He yawns. Deliberately. “Sure it isn’t. You know that line, Not if you were the last man on Earth ? Well, we may not be on Earth—but I am the only man here.”
Now I’m sorry I didn’t break his nose. “Listen, you arrogant, homicidal sack of testosterone—”
And that’s when someone raps on my window.
“AHHH!” I spin around in my seat, scrabbling for my gun—
A gray face stares in at me. Her eyes look Asian, but it’s the only distinguishing feature about her. She’s dressed in some kind of formless gray shroud the exact color of her skin, and her hair is only slightly darker. She looks at me with the barest trace of interest on her colorless face.
We stare at each other. I feel like I’ve just been pulled over by a zombie traffic cop. “I’m going to need to see your
“Yeah, let’s try and accentuate the positive.” Stoker sounds as if he’s having a hard time doing that himself. “Because this is just going to get worse, Jace.”
“You call that positive?” I shake my head. “We can’t just sit here and listen to music until we run out of gas and the battery dies. We have to do something.”
“Agreed. But what? We could wander forever in this fog and still never get anywhere.”
“You’re right. But I don’t think this place follows the same rules we’re used to. It’s a … a conceptual place.” I struggle to find the words to explain what I’m thinking. “Despair has an actual weight here, a physical presence. Other emotions might, too. The dead might not be able to feel much, but we still do. We can … we can…”
“We can what?” His voice is guarded.
“We can fight .”
“I’m not about to give up, Jace. But what are you suggesting, exactly?”
I slap him.
It’s the first time I’ve ever slapped anyone. I’ve hit people plenty of times; with my closed fist, the heel of my palm, my elbow, my knee, even my forehead—but never with my open hand. Now I know why: It hurts .
“Ow!” we both say at the same time.
Stoker pulls back—when did he get so close?—and looks at me with both shock and guilt. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry!”
I cradle my poor hand. Slapping Stoker is like smacking a lamppost. “Sorry? For what? I hit you, you idiot!”
“I know! I was there!”
“Then why are you apologizing?”
“Because—wait.” He rubs his cheek, which is turning a satisfying shade of red. “You hit me because…”
“When I said we can fight, I meant it literally. I thought I’d get the ball rolling, but apparently you don’t have any.” That’s low, but we’re not going to get anywhere by being nice here.
He blinks at me, then bursts into laughter. Okay, not the reaction I was going for, but any show of emotion at this point is a good thing. And it has the added effect of pissing me off, because I have no idea why me hitting him is so damn funny. Maybe I should have broken his nose, instead. “What?”
“I’ve been accused of many things, but never that. And considering what I thought you were proposing, it’s even funnier.”
It takes me a second to process that. And when I do, I get a very gratifying surge of anger in return. “ Proposing? With you? Here? Are you out of your sociopathic Neanderthal mind ?”
“No. But I could be out of my pants .”
I glare at him, and he stares steadily back. And I realize that what he’s suggesting—what he thought I was suggesting—isn’t that unthinkable. In fact, I did something similar to save Cassius’s life, not too long ago; and as primal as that experience was, what could be more elemental than committing the ultimate life-affirming act in the land of the dead?
Sure. Because the only thing better than boffing your boss is waiting until he disappears so you can jump in the sack with the first psycho that comes along. “Sorry—we were in Hell, we needed a little cheering up, you know how it is.”
“Not. Going. To happen,” I growl.
He yawns. Deliberately. “Sure it isn’t. You know that line, Not if you were the last man on Earth ? Well, we may not be on Earth—but I am the only man here.”
Now I’m sorry I didn’t break his nose. “Listen, you arrogant, homicidal sack of testosterone—”
And that’s when someone raps on my window.
“AHHH!” I spin around in my seat, scrabbling for my gun—
A gray face stares in at me. Her eyes look Asian, but it’s the only distinguishing feature about her. She’s dressed in some kind of formless gray shroud the exact color of her skin, and her hair is only slightly darker. She looks at me with the barest trace of interest on her colorless face.
We stare at each other. I feel like I’ve just been pulled over by a zombie traffic cop. “I’m going to need to see your
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