Cocktails at Seven, Apocalypse at Eight: The Derby Cavendish Stories Page 13

  “Then why bother with the dye at all? Why not just curse people directly? If she did that, she could affect anyone, not just people who had consumed the dye.” Further stirring brought the embers of my suspicion to a red-hot glow. “Why use Tarik, for that matter? It can’t be just to distract me. If I hadn’t met Tarik, I would never have even suspected Bethany was up to something.”

  “Maybe she wanted to mess with you more than she already has?”

  “I’m sure she does. That can’t be the only reason, though.” I held the bottle of dye up to the window. Bright sunlight shone through its emerald depths. What was it about the green liquid that tied together Hermione, Tarik, and Bethany? There had to be something. Something more than Hermione’s fairy magic. Something more than Tarik pretending to be in love with me. Something more than Bethany taking her revenge by turning the gay village into a violent, crazed horde of mindless—

  “Oh, you bitch,” I said as the answer burst to flaming life in my mind. “You clever, evil, immortal bitch.” I spun back to the others. “We need to get back to my apartment.”

  “What?” asked Matt. “Why?”

  “Wait, Matthew. Just wait.” I said nothing more to the others as we left Cockles and Mussels and drove as fast I could to my apartment. Inside, I led them to the locked door on the upper floor. Matt’s eyes opened wide.

  “Your private sanctum, Derby?” he said.

  “Apparently not as private as I thought.” I put the key in the lock and turned it. If anyone had tried picking the lock or forcing the door, they would have felt like they’d grabbed hold of the business end of a cattle prod. All I felt was a mild tingle. I wondered if it had even startled Tarik when he went through. He would have had easy access to my keys and ample opportunity to enter while I was out or asleep.

  I opened the door. The room beyond was crowded with shelves piled high with books, boxes, and mounds of bundled papers, but I knew exactly what I was looking for. I gestured for the others to join me around the desk at the centre of the room and set a box in front of them. It was about a handspan wide and twice as long, with a black cord tied around it and sealed with silvery wax. When I looked closely at the seal, I could see that it had been carefully broken, then the wax re-melted. The box didn’t feel empty, though. There was something in it but I already knew it wasn’t what it was supposed to be.

  “Bethany didn’t just set Tarik up as my fake boyfriend to hurt me,” I told the others. “She wanted him to get close to me so he could steal something for her.” I flipped open the box.

  Inside, nestled amid folds of tissue paper, lay a big, shiny black dildo. Aaron raised an eyebrow. “Bethany knows she could just buy one of those for about twenty bucks, right?”

  “Not the dildo, Mitzy. Tarik would have left that so I wouldn’t notice the box was empty.”

  But Matt knew what was really missing. “Oh my God, Derby! It’s the hoohoo stick. He took the hoohoo stick!”

  “The who-what?” asked Aidan.

  “The huahua,” I said, correcting Matthew’s pronunciation. “An ancient artefact that Matthew and I encountered several years ago. The huahua was a fetish—”

  “Dildo,” said Matt.

  “—used by the Mesoamerican Ximec tribe in certain rites intended to bring—”

  “Fuck,” said Matt.

  “—the dead back to life.” I gave Matt an icy glare. “You’re making it sound nasty.”

  “It is nasty!” He plucked the black dildo from the box and waved it in front of Aidan and Aaron. “Imagine one of these, but made out of pottery with more bumps and ridges than a mutant cucumber. What would you call it?”

  “A good time,” said Aaron. He took the dildo away from Matt and dropped it back in the box. “Why would Bethany and Hermione want an antique dildo from your attic, Derby?”

  “Because the huahua is meant to bring the dead back to life, but it can do other things, too. When Matt and I first came across it, someone had accidentally used the huahua to make fruitcake that turned people who ate it into zombies.”

  Aaron caught on quickly. “So Bethany and Hermione used the huahua to make green dye for St. Patrick’s Day!” He frowned. “Except Hermione’s victims aren’t zombies.”

  “Aren’t they?” I asked. “They’re vicious, mindless, and practically unstoppable. Zombies turned by the huahua aren’t walking corpses, just living people under a spell. And the dye isn’t just huahua magic; it’s fairy magic, too. That’s why Bethany needs Hermione to activate the curse. We don’t need to destroy the dye. We don’t need to stop Hermione. We just need to get the huahua back. Once I have it—” I slapped the lid of the burgled box closed. “—I can undo the curse completely!”

  Hope was rising in my heart and a plan taking shape in my mind. “Matt and Aidan, I need you to get in touch with Horse. We’re going to need some muscle to back us up. Horse has a beef with Bethany so I know he’ll help. Aaron, we’re going to need you, too. I hate to say it, but I think you should—”

  “—cancel tonight’s filming of Mitzy’s Big Year?” Aaron finished for me. ”Of course. We can fake a St. Patrick’s Day party performance later, but I’d rather lose the show than see one of my crew hurt.”

  “Thank you, Mitzy,” I said humbly. “Hermione will need to be in the village to complete the curse. I imagine Bethany will be there as well to enjoy the chaos first hand. She’ll probably have the huahua with her since it gives her some control over the zombies. The ones at Cockles and Mussels didn’t seem to like sunlight, so Hermione and Bethany will wait until at least dusk before they start. Maybe even later since they’ll want as many people partying as possible.”

  “People go out early on St. Patrick’s Day,” said Aaron. “Peak crowds are about eight to ten o’clock.”

  “Then we’ll meet back here for seven and have a drink to brace ourselves before we head to the village and track down Bethany.”

  “Wonderful,” said Matt. “Cocktails at seven, homo zombie apocalypse at eight. You’re never dull, Derby.”

  I patted his cheek. “Don’t change, Matthew. Now get going. We don’t have much time.”

  I tried to sound confident. Inside, I was anything but. We knew what Bethany was up to now, and we knew there was a way to stop her. What I hadn’t reminded my friends, however, was that to get the huahua, we’d have to go toe to toe with Bethany, her girls, Hermione, and most likely several hundred zombies. And, if Bethany was keeping him on a short leash, Tarik. For me, that last possibility was the most frightening of all.

  But I must have succeeded in projecting optimism, because all three of my friends smiled and took my hand before trooping downstairs. As soon as they were gone, I let out a slow breath, went over to the old cedar chest that stored my personal souvenirs, and took out a small box from a local jewellery shop long since out of business. Inside the box was a gaudy, glitter-enamelled shamrock pendant strung on a chain sized for a seven-year-old. I lifted it up and let it dangle in front of my face.

  “You want a nightmare?” I murmured to myself. “What do I wear to fight an undying sorceress?”

  ※

  Seven o’clock. We gathered in my apartment, our spirits high, our loins girded, and our cocktails cold. Aaron made a suitably dramatic entrance, of course, striding up the stairs from my front door in full regalia as Mitzy Knish with a vibrant red wig, stunning eyes, cheekbones for days, and an astounding kelly-green leather catsuit.

  “Good Lord, Mitzy,” I said as she turned for us.

  “I had it in the closet from my biker days,” said Mitzy. “You like it?”

  “You know we’ll likely be fighting?”

  “I wore practical shoes.” She kicked up a pair of calf-height wedge heel come-fuck-me boots. “Drag is my battle dress, Derby.”

  “You look fabulous.”

  “Good.” We air-kissed. “So do you.”


  “Thank you.” In the end, I’d followed the advice that had served me so well on that fateful St. Patrick’s Day many years ago: all black with one green accessory. I wore my best narrow pants, a freshly pressed black shirt, and a sharp, tailored jacket. Strung on a new gold chain, my old shamrock pendant hung around my neck. I’d had a nagging feeling that I looked like some kind of Irish Satanist, but Mitzy’s blessing erased that fear and gave me a new confidence. Maybe we would be able to pull this off after all.

  “So are we ready to go?” asked Matt.

  “Not quite. I called in one more person to help. We’re waiting for—” My doorbell chimed before I could finish. I trotted downstairs to let in the last member of our valiant band.

  The others blinked in unison when I returned with Bobby Gold.

  “Hi,” he said nervously.

  “Really, Derby?” said Matt.

  “Absolutely,” I said. “Bobby, introductions—” I went around the room with names, then again with the information that might not have been immediately obvious. “Mundane, mundane, werewolf, minotaur.” I ended back on Bobby. “Secret weapon.”

  Mitzy’s eyebrows rose. “In good time, Mitz,” I said, then lifted my glass in a final toast. “Luck of the Irish!”

  The others echoed me. I tossed back the last of my cocktail and set the glass down. “Now,” I said, “let’s kick Bethany’s pert little tushy.”

  The village was crowded when we got there. Lesbians and gays of every stripe—along with party-loving representatives of every other letter in the alphabet soup of queerness—crowded the sidewalks. Every conceivable watering hole was filled to capacity, which meant long lines of people waiting to get in. The street hadn’t been formally closed to traffic, but so many people were walking on the road that police and drivers seemed to have just given up in frustration.

  “This is busier than I’ve ever seen it on St. Patrick’s Day,” said Mitzy.

  “I think Bethany and Hermione encouraged it.” Aidan picked a battered postcard off the ground. st. patrick’s day in the village, it read. show your pride. show your love. the party to end all parties. free show by burlesque superstar hermione frisson.

  “It gets worse,” Matt said and pointed.

  On a street corner nearby, a young woman in a t-shirt sporting the logo of a well-known chewing gum company was handing out samples. “Free super mints,” she said in a droning, mindless chant. “Free super mints. Super green, super fresh. Free super mints . . .”

  The samples she was passing out were in clear packets that carried no logo at all. Even from a distance, I recognized the shimmering green of the cursed dye in the mints and the blank expression of someone under a fairy enchantment. Bethany and Hermione had even found a way to get the dye into people who weren’t drinking! “Damn it!” I cursed and strode over to the young woman. She tried to hand me a mint.

  “Free super mint—”

  “No!” I had filled one pocket of my jacket with salt in case I needed to break one of Hermione’s spells. I flicked some at the young woman. “Be undone!”

  She staggered and blinked, looking around in confusion. I walked on—she’d come up with her own rational-seeming explanation for whatever missing time she’d spent under Hermione’s charm. Judging from the number of wrappers littering the street, it had been a while. And she likely hadn’t been the only one.

  “We need to split up to look for Hermione and Bethany,” I said. “Matt, Aidan, and Horse: take the far side of the street. We’ll take this side. Check everywhere. Ask door security if they’ve seen them. Don’t get too far apart. If you see anything, call for help.”

  Our group divided. Mitzy, Bobby, and I slowly made our way up our side of the street. The spread of the huahua-tainted dye was frightening. Through the windows of every bar, I could see people drinking mugs of green beer. In the queues outside every door, people were popping the free mints. My favourite hole-in-the-wall sushi place was serving up green rice and somehow the dancers at the village strip club, Hang-Out, had discovered the dye made a fine body paint. They loitered shirtless outside the club, green designs drawn on their naked abs and pecs, and invited customers in for free lessons in art appreciation. Bobby, still discovering the wonders of gay life, was drawn to them like a moth to cashmere. I drew him back again. “Focus, Bobby!”

  There were no signs of Bethany or Hermione. I asked the door security at every bar if they’d seen them. Mitzy asked everyone we saw that she knew—which was a lot of people. No one had seen them, but everyone was looking forward to Hermione’s show.

  “Do you even know who she is?” Mitzy demanded of someone just outside the Lumber Yard.

  “No, but I want to see her!”

  Mitzy snorted. “Fairy magic,” she whispered to me. “It has to be.”

  “Hey, Derby!” One of the bartenders from the Lumber Yard, outside having a smoke break, waved me over. “Where’s Tarik? He was scheduled to work tonight but he didn’t show up. The boss is pissed.”

  I met the question with as much grace as I could muster. “I don’t know where he is. We broke up today. He did something unforgivable.”

  “What? No! Not Tarik—not to you. He was head over heels.”

  He actually seemed to believe it. “He lied,” I said. “He betrayed me.”

  “He cheated? No way. Do you know how many guys threw themselves at him every shift he worked? Tarik turned them all down.”

  “He didn’t cheat on me.” The conversation was starting to annoy me. I knew I should just walk away and keep looking for Bethany and Hermione, but the idea that someone—anyone—could defend Tarik made me angry. “He stole something from me.”

  The bartender looked surprised and a little crestfallen. “Oh. Well, I guess that would explain . . .” He hesitated, then added, “A bit more than a month ago, Tarik came in looking really down. He didn’t want to talk about it or you. I figured you’d maybe had a fight. It took a week before he was himself again. Whatever happened, he felt like shit about it.” He took a final drag on his cigarette, then crushed the butt under his foot. “I’ve got to go back in, but listen, you have to talk to him about this. You have to give him another chance. He loves you.”

  And he walked away as if he hadn’t just delivered the second biggest gut punch of my day.

  “Derby . . .” said Mitzy.

  I held up my hand to stop her, then took a deep a breath and let it out slowly. “I’m okay,” I said after a moment. “Let’s find Bethany.”

  But Matt found her first.

  We were just past Squeal when my phone rang. The caller ID showed Matt’s name but I didn’t even have a chance to say hello before he was screaming, “She’s behind us! She’s behind us!”

  I spun around, phone still to my ear. Down at the south end of the village, close to where we’d started our search, a hazy light had sprung up in the middle of the road. No, I realized, not hazy. It was actually bright and sharp, like a portable spotlight. The haze came from the green dust spreading in a cloud around it.

  “We’ll meet you there!” I said, and we were off back the way we had come. The light and cloud were part of a small procession that led a dancing, cheering mob. Matt and the others found us and we made our way through the growing crowd.

  It was them, of course. Hermione strutted at the head of the procession in a sexy little mini-kimono and silk stockings that had nothing to do with St. Patrick’s Day other than being green. She was tossing out handfuls of fairy dust pulled from an open sack carried by a half-naked young man in green tights who watched her every move with slavish devotion. A second enchanted slave lugged the spotlight that flashed back and forth in the sparkling green cloud. A third slave held a powerful little portable stereo that boomed out “Applause” by Lady Gaga.

  “Tacky,” said Mitzy, but I barely heard her. Immediately behind Hermione and her slaves walked Bethany,
her girls, and—I sucked in my breath in spite of myself—Tarik.

  I felt Matt grab my hand.

  Bethany walked as if she didn’t have a care in the world. Sara, Rani, and Cleo, on the other hand, prowled like animals, their eyes darting back and forth through the crowd that danced around them. Tarik was scanning the crowd, too, except he didn’t look predatory. He looked, I realized, scared.

  “What do we do, Derby?” Matt shouted in my ear.

  I clenched my jaw. “We take the offensive,” I said and pushed right up to the front of the crowd. “Bethany!” I bellowed above the music. “Give up the huahua!”

  For a moment, the procession froze. Bethany stiffened in surprise—clearly she hadn’t been expecting I’d figure it out—and shot an accusatory glance at Tarik. But Tarik was staring at me with a wild, desperate look in his eyes.

  “I’m sorry, Derby!” he blurted—then leaped at the slave boy carrying the sack of fairy dust, tore it from him, and raised it high, ready to hurl it away.

  Quick as thought, Hermione spun around and blew a puff of dust straight in his face.

  Tarik blinked once before his expression went completely blank.

  “Hermione, go! Get to the intersection. Girls, stop them!” Bethany shouted, but Sara, Rani, and Cleo were already charging us. Rani, screaming like some kind of great cat, clipped the young man with the stereo as she passed. He went down. The stereo crashed to the pavement and the music stopped.

  The crowd didn’t stop dancing, though. Or rather they didn’t stop twisting and writhing as the green stain spread across their skin. The curse of the huahua was taking hold!

  I caught a glimpse of Hermione dragging Tarik off into the crowd, trying to get around us and farther up the street, then Rani, Cleo, and Sara were on us. I always knew that Bethany’s girls were something more than human but this was the first time I’d really seen them in action. Horse confronted Rani and took a swing at her. If he’d connected, the blow probably would have lifted her clear off the ground, but Rani ducked under the punch with an easy grace. She swiped at Horse with fingers that suddenly bore sharp claws. He pulled back to avoid her, but not quite fast enough. Four big slashes opened up across the front of his shirt. Meanwhile, Mitzy gave Cleo a high, sweeping kick. Cleo blocked it with a raised arm. Mitzy might as well have been kicking an old heavy training bag; all the impact did was raise a puff of grey dust from Cleo’s arm. Cleo grinned, showing teeth and black gums, and grabbed for the raised leg, but Mitzy hopped back and Cleo’s fingers closed on air.