Page 99 of Secondhand Soul

We didn’t tell them about our problems. They don’t need that.

“How are they?” I finish the last stroke of my eyebrow pencil and brush a little blue and green eyeshadow at the edges to give it the appearance of decaying skin. (Thank you, online Halloween makeup tutorial.)

“Stressed, but in their element of protecting Hannah,” he gives me a tight grin before his face closes over. “Ready?” Lazarus doesn’t sound ready.

I’m not, but I nod. “Ready.”

Outside in the frigid night air, my skin looks dead white. I walk towards Lazarus woodenly, no expression on my face, eyes mostly closed. I hear the click and snap of the camera, the beep when recordings are done.

“You sure you know his number?” Laz holds out his phone. “I mean, it was part of my ‘training’ to know it, but it could have changed.”

“I know it,” I whisper. When someone can kill you with a phone call, you learn their number fast. I punch it in for Lazarus, and he sends the picture. Then the video clip, just two seconds. One word.

Lazarus: Trade?

The phone rings almost at once, and I feel like I touched an electric fence. I have to smother a scream when it buzzes in Lazarus’ hand, but Lazarus... Lazarus slips into something sinister, just like he did the last time he talked to his “creator.” His smile becomes shark-like, his features harden, and his voice sounds arrogantly pleased when he picks up.

“I thought you’d like that,” he oozes.

For a second, I’m genuinely scared Lazarus might have been acting this whole time, that a man who looks like that and talks like that is a man who would play with me and sell me out.

“What the hell is this?” Pazcuso’s voice is even, but I can hear the way he’s breathing.

Excited. Eager.

“I heard you wanted me back. I can’t figure out why, Pazzy. I don’t play nice with your toys. I break your little wooden soldiers. I break your equipment. I don’t take orders. Let’s face it, Lazenby was a hack who made a hack. You annoy me. I want to be left alone. You want a trade?”

“Trade? What exactly?”

“You want an undead killing machine? Have one. My model is much improved. Oh, sure, she walks a little clumsy, but she’s in one piece, not a bunch of them. Solid construction, super obedient, and with enough lube, she still feels like the real thing.” Lazarus’ voice turns positively lecherous. “I call it a perk. I like her. I wouldn’t let her go, but I’m not fond of being on the menu, either.” Lazarus polishes his nails on his shirt as if he’s bored, and the nonchalance carries into his voice. “You’re a smart guy. You’re not going to stop until you get what you want or better. Why? Because you’re a smart man, with a reputation. I know you’re not going to leave me alone until you win. So... Let’s both win, and no one even has to know it was my idea,” Lazarus chuckles, a dark, low sound that makes my skin prickle.

“How, though? How’d you do it? I heard only very special kinds of sorcerers can pull this off, the guys that are heavy into the dark arts.”

“Nah. Just need a couple good necromancers if you do it quick enough. That was your problem, I think. You were sloppy with your parts. I wasn’t too rough on her. Of course...I can be as rough on her as I want now. She doesn’t mind. Can’t break.”

As I watch Lazarus say these things, my face hardens. My insides harden, even though they’re words I coached him to say. It sounds so easy for him, and the prickle of unease spreads, reaching my heart.

I love him. I trust him.

I keep watching. See how Lazarus’ shoulders are stiff as boards. How his free hand, the one not around the phone, is shaking.

“How do I know she works?”

“You got someone annoying you, Pazzy? Bring him along and have her end him. Come on, you trusted her when she was alive, and me when I was undead. I think you’re being sexist.”

“What are you charging?”

“Charging?” Lazarus sounds surprised, his eyebrows skyrocketing up his brow. “Nothing. Clean trade. My life for hers. You take her back to California and let her be your indestructible muscle and your reward system. Killer and fuck toy. What more do you want?”

“I want you! I made you.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t, though,” Lazarus argues. “You had someone else make me, and they screwed up. Left out the ‘obeying chip,’ I guess. Victoria’s already a voluntary killer. She came pre-programmed for fucking and fighting. You know, the more I talk, the dumber this seems. She’s gorgeous and good at what I need her to do. I could run this town, this state—”

“Wait, wait, I’m listening.”

“Stop listening. Start acting. If you’re in the area—and I know you’re on the coast, Vince—then I could just kill you. I’m offering Victoria up because I don’t want more hassle.”

“How’d you know?” Pazcuso asks, his voice heavy with suspicion.