Life Sentence: Two Tales of the Living Dead by Kelley Armstrong Page B

If it worked, he wanted a new job—with Daniel’s corporation. That was fine. Wendell would make a good addition to the firm. Besides, if he had a stake in Daniel’s continued survival, he’d make damned sure he gave him every contact the Boyd Cabal had. Plus, if it worked, he’d be able to swoop in and snatch up the research from under the Cabal’s nose, in which case, Wendell wouldn’t have a job anyway . . . and might be in need of the immortality solution himself.
    Wendell got Daniel the names, and Shana started making the appointments. The first was with a whiz-kid half-demon who’d recently parted ways with a renowned researcher and had accidentally walked out with the man’s work, which he’d refined and was now prepared to sell.
    Daniel sat in the boardroom as the kid gave his spiel, Shana hurrying him along with reminders that Mr. Boyd was a very busy man.
    “Your time is valuable,” the kid said. “Especially now, huh?”
    He grinned. Daniel and Shana remained stone-faced.
    “I believe you brought a test subject?” Shana said. “One you have successfully transformed into a zombie.”
    “Right. Yes. He’s in the . . . Just hold on.”
    The kid hurried from the room and returned with another college-age kid. He walked a little slow and his face was paler than Daniel liked, but at this point, he wasn’t being fussy.
    “How long has it been since you turned him?” Shana asked.
    “Three months.”
    “Any side-effects?”
    “His reflexes are a little slow, but we’re working on that.”
    Shana motioned for the subject to turn. He did a one-eighty.
    “He’s breathing,” she said.
    The whiz kid smiled. “Yep. Breathing, got a pulse, eats, drinks, just like a living person.”
    “Impressive.”
    “Does he talk?” Daniel asked.
    “Sure,” the zombie said. “What do you want me to say?”
    “Recite the multiplication tables, starting at six.”
    As the zombie performed, Shana eased behind them and removed a gun from her purse. She hesitated, just a second, but at a look from Daniel she nodded and shot the zombie in the back. He fell, gasping and clutching his chest. The whiz kid stared, then dropped to his knees beside his subject, who was bleeding out on the floor, eyes glazing over.
    “Not a zombie,” Daniel said. “Next time, Shana?”
    “I’ll ask for a demonstration of resurrection.”
    “Thank you.”

    “Is the lighting adequate, sir?” Shana asked.
    She swept the camera around the dark cemetery. The image jittered as she shivered. November really wasn’t the best time for such things, but she hadn’t complained, of course.
    “Dr. Albright is—” she began.
    The shower turned on in his hotel suite’s adjoining bathroom, drowning her out. Daniel glowered, then scooped up the portable screen and moved into the sitting room. The girl in the bathroom called out, asking if he wanted to join her. He closed the door and settled onto the sofa, then asked Shana to repeat herself.
    “Dr. Albright is setting up at the gravesite. I’m heading there now.”
    A yelp, as she tripped over a half-buried gravestone.
    “Careful, Shana. That equipment is very expensive.”
    “Y-yes, sir,” she said through chattering teeth.
    “Get yourself a stiff drink when you finish,” he said. “That’ll warm you up. Bill the company.”
    “Thank you, sir.”
    He smiled. Little things, but crucial in employee relations. Even watching the screen made him chilly. He reached over and jacked up the heat on the gas fireplace, then poured himself a brandy.
    He turned up the sound as the girl in the bathroom yelled for the shampoo. He supposed she had a name, but he couldn’t remember it. Not as if he planned to. Just another young woman in a bar, who’d assessed the cut of his suit and spread her legs, a Pavlovian response to the smell of money.
    Shana finally found Albright. Along with two assistants, he’d begun digging up a recent grave. It was long, cold work, and partway through, Daniel had