26. HUNTERS AND COLLECTORS

— MINERVA-

The smelly angels took us all away.

I tried to explain to them that I was fine—had been for weeks—and that Zahler, Pearl, and Alana Ray weren’t even infected. But one look at sweaty, frothing, guitar-smashing Mozzy convinced them we were all insane.

That was the angels’ big problem: they thought they knew everything.

I could have run. I was as fast and strong as them now—I could shatter bedroom doors with a single blow, after all. With the angels busy protecting a thousand bystanders and catching Astor Michaels and killing the giant worm that I’d called up (okay… oops), disappearing would have been a cinch.

But that would have meant leaving Moz and the others behind, and we really were a band now; I couldn’t let them be kidnapped without me. So I let the angels stick me with their stupid needles…

And woke up all the way across the river in New Jersey. They’d put me in a locked room, a cross between a cheap hotel and a mental hospital. Nothing to do but watch the world fall apart on TV.

Smelly angels.

“We’re very interested in you, Minerva.”

“Really, Cal?” I batted my eyelashes. He was kind of handsome—in a boring, clean-cut way—and had a cute southern accent. Not as yummy as Mozzy, of course, but I liked how Cal turned pink when you flirted with him. “Then why don’t you let me out of here? It’s not like I’m dangerous, after all.”

His eyes narrowed. Cal never wore sunglasses, like the other angels did. They were all infected, of course, and only sane because they took their meds. The angels had a big pill factory out here. No skulls or crucifixes on the walls, though—they were very scientific.

But Cal was different. He didn’t need pills and smelled a little bit like Astor Michaels. Fellow freaks of nature.

“We can’t let you go because we don’t know what you are,” Cal’s girlfriend said.

I glared at her. Her name was Lace-short-for-Lacey, and she’d stuck Mozzy with her needle.

“But I’m cured. You can see that.” They’d tried to give me their smelly angel medicine, but I was refusing it. Fresh garlic was enough for me now.

Cal scratched his head. “Yeah, you told us about your esoterica already. We’re checking her out.”

“You be nice to Luz,” I warned. “She knows things.”

“We know things too,” he said.

Lace got all bossy then, hands on hips and voice too loud. “We’ve been around for centuries, cured a lot more peeps than Luz ever will. Your friend might know a few folk remedies, but the Watch has this stuff down to a science.”

“Science, huh?” I ran one finger down the side of my neck, making Cal all squirmy. “So what am I, then?”

Lace frowned. “What you are is freaky.”

“We’ve been watching Astor Michaels for a while now,” Cal said. “We knew he was spreading the parasite, but this whole singing thing… It kind of caught us by surprise.”

I didn’t say how the worm had caught me by surprise too. I’d always felt it rumbling when we played, but I’d never thought it would come visit.

Even humming made me nervous now. Smelly underground monsters.

I shrugged. “Why don’t you ask Astor Michaels about it, then?”

“He doesn’t know any more than we do,” Lace said. “He’s just some record producer, trying to find the Next Big Thing. He’s immune to the parasite’s worst effects, but that’s more common than you’d think.”

“I’m a carrier myself.” Cal smiled, all proud of himself. He’d already come by my room to explain how he was naturally immune and how he’d been a badass vampire-hunter even before the crisis. Now he worked for something called the Night Watch, which was run by someone called the Night Mayor. Oooh! Spooky.

I batted my eyes again. “Did you get up to tricks like Astor Michaels did, Cal? Were you bad?”

“No.” He swallowed, then Lace gave him a look. “Well, not on that scale. And never on purpose…”

“Did you infect her?” I asked, pointing at Lace-short-for-Lacey. I’d seen them being all kissy through the bars of my window.

“No,” he said in a tiny voice. “My cat did.”

“Your cat?” I blinked. “Kitties can do that?”

“Felines are the major vector,” Cal said. “The parasite hid in the deep-dwelling rat population for centuries, until the worms drove them up to the surface…”

As Cal went on with his parasite-geek lecture, which he loved to do, I remembered back to before I got sick. As the sanitation crisis had settled over our street, Zombie started spending a lot of time outside. And every night he’d come home and sleep on my chest, breathing his cat-food breath into my face.

That was how I’d gotten sick? From Zombie?

That meant that Mark wasn’t such a dirty dog after all. He hadn’t given the nasty to me; I’d given it to him…

“Oops,” I said softly.

I wondered where Zombie was now. I always left the apartment window open so he could visit his little friends, but Manhattan looked pretty bad on TV. The whole island had been sealed off by Homeland Security, like that was going to keep the parasite from spreading.

Cal had explained to me how clever the parasite was: it turned infected people horny, hungry, bitey—anything to pass on its spores—and made them despise everything they’d loved before. That’s why I’d thrown away Mark and my dolls and my music, why Moz had smashed his Stratocaster to bits. The anathema, as Cal called it, pushed infected people to run away from home and head to the next town over, and the next town after that…

It wouldn’t be long before the whole world had it.

There were full-scale riots in most big cities now, blood-thirsty maniacs running around doing vile things—and not all of them were infected, you could totally tell. Schools were shutting down, the roads were choked with refugees, and the president kept making speeches telling everyone to pray.

No shit.

But the news never mentioned cat food supplies, not that I ever saw. So what was Zombie eating now? He didn’t mind birds and mousies, but he always puked them up.

“Anyway,” Lace said, noticing I wasn’t listening. “We don’t really care how you got the disease or how your voodoo friend cured you. This is about your songs.”

I smiled. “They make the ground rumble. Want me to sing one for you?”

“Um, not really,” Cal said, then he frowned. “That worm was probably just a coincidence anyway. But certain people around here are interested. They’ve been listening to recordings from that night, and they want to know where you got those lyrics.”

“You need my help? But I thought you had this stuff down to a science.”

Lace took a slow breath. “Maybe what happened that night wasn’t strictly science.”

Cal turned to her. “What do you mean by that?”

“Dude! You saw what happened! That shit was…” Her voice faded.

“Paranormal?” I looked down at my fingernails, which needed a manicure. They were still growing faster every day, even though I was cured. “Okay. I’ll tell you everything I know… if you let me see Mozzy and the others. I want us to be together. We’re a band, you know.”

“But the other three tested parasite-negative,” Cal said.

“I told you they would.”

He frowned. “Yeah, I guess you did. But if we let you see them, you can’t do anything that would compromise their health.”

“Eww! I wouldn’t kiss any of them.”

“Kissing’s not the only vector.”

I tried not to roll my eyes. Anything to get out of this smelly room. “Okay, I promise not to share my ice cream.”

“Cal,” Lace said. “If she really wanted to infect them, she could have already.” She turned to me. “But Moz is still dangerous.”

“I can handle Mozzy. He just needs his tea.”