I say, “Thanks.”
“For what?”
“For sticking up for her. You’re not quite the asshole I remember.”
“Well, you are, so watch yourself.”
He heads back to the couch, where Allegra works on Candy.
I go into the bathroom, take off my shirt, and look myself over. I’m bleeding under the cling wrap, but the duct tape is holding me together pretty well. But my skin feels loose, like it might all fall off in one big sheet. My joints ache and feel stiff. The first signs of rigor mortis? I flex my arms and fingers to loosen them up.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” says Brigitte from the doorway.
“No. It’s funny, don’t you think? The two of us used to kill things like me.”
She leans against the door frame.
“You’re not a Drifter, Jimmy. I was the one who was almost a zombie, remember? I know what it feels like. You’re nothing like that.”
It’s true. Brigitte was bitten when we were out Drifter hunting. We found a fix for her, but it was a close call.
“Thanks. But I think Kasabian is right about one thing. I spend a lot of time getting my friends almost killed.”
“When did you force any of us to do anything? Everything we did we did because we wanted to.”
“Still. I get the distinct feeling that coming back was a bad idea. People were safer when I was gone.”
“Safer and better off aren’t the same thing,” says Brigitte. “Has it been quieter? Yes. Has it been as interesting? No.”
“Look at Candy. Look at Alessa. Look at Kasabian clanking around on that metal body. That might be too interesting for my taste anymore.”
Brigitte comes in and sits on the edge of the sink.
“What does that mean? Suicide? Exile?”
I flex my stiff knees.
“Is it too late to run away with the circus?”
She looks at the ceiling.
“You’re impossible when you’re like this. A maudlin child.”
“I’m joking. I’m not going anywhere but six feet in the ground. This body won’t last much longer and the hoodoo speed I took, I can feel wearing off.”
She brushes some dirt off my face.
“If you’ve already written your epitaph, why do anything?”
“Because I have to make sure all of you are safe. That means securing this place and me killing some people before I go.”
Brigitte looks at me.
“At least when you talk that way you sound alive. Now, how can I help?”
I point at the stuff from the medicine cabinet that I dumped in the sink.
“You can look through those bottles and see if I missed anything marked ‘energy’ or ‘restorative’ or ‘invigoration.’ Something like that.”