16. Zombie in the Attic
Zombie in the Attic
Miles
“ I ’m not ordering you.” Gabriel’s voice was a low, coaxing purr that usually made Miles’s knees go soft and other parts go hard. “I’m asking. Politely. As a friend who wants to make sure you don’t have any necrotic pests nesting in your upper cortex.”
Gabriel stood before the false bookshelf in Rookgate Manor’s office, stroking the spine of a leather-bound ledger like it was a lover’s jawline. The wood remained stubbornly flush with the wall.
The sheaf of paperwork Velma had spread across the desk blurred into a wall of nonsensical legalese.
A headache bloomed behind his eyes. Was this the new reality?
Every unlocked door a negotiation? Every open window a diplomatic summit?
It was an impossible tightrope. Gabriel was trying so hard to respect the manor’s agency, and the house, terrified and confused, was paralyzing itself in response.
“Tell it we’re taking the zombie out,” Genna snapped from the corner. She looked ready to dismantle the wall with a crowbar. “It’s got a rot-bag in its brain. It should want us up there.”
“I am trying not to trigger a flashback, Genna,” Gabriel shot back without looking at her. He turned back to the wood. “Darling, really. We promise we’ll be gentle.”
Miles rubbed the bridge of his nose and forced his focus back to the fine print.
Velma sat in the high-backed chair, hands folded over her satchel.
Genna had had to press hard for her to come, and she’d initially refused a second reading on the grounds that the cards had already had their say on Rookgate. Miles was looking for a loophole.
Gabriel’s delicate pleading and Genna’s snappish demands were not helping his concentration.
His finger traced Paragraph Three: The Stability of Fate , then jumped to Section Five: Post-Consultation Probability Fluctuations .
“Here,” Miles said, tapping the paper. “Your contract has an exception clause for ‘Significant Narrative Disruption.’ I believe the intent is to allow the subject of a reading to be repeated if external events have proceeded in such a way as to make the initial reading suspect.”
Velma didn’t blink. “Standard boilerplate, Mr. Beauchamp. To cover the shifting probabilities of fate as events proceed over a period of time, or sudden shifts in the geopolitical landscape.”
“And that doesn’t apply?” Miles asked, disbelief sharpening his tone.
“We conducted the reading the day before yesterday,” Velma droned, her voice flat as a leveled paving stone. “Fate is rarely so capricious in forty-eight hours. The trajectory established was quite firm. I find it hard to believe you’ve had a qualifying event during that period of time.”
Gabriel turned from the bookcase. He rested a hip against the desk, crossing his ankles, and leveled a look at the fortune teller that was equal parts incredulity and exhaustion.
“In the last forty-eight hours,” Gabriel said, counting off on his fingers with mock cheer, “we were ambushed by assassins, I used the proceeds from robbing a peer of the realm to defraud the tax office, we assaulted a fortified manor, Miles killed Lord Vellast with a desk, and we inadvertently inherited a refugee crisis.” He dropped his hand. “Oh, and I redecorated the ballroom.”
Velma paused. Her gaze drifted from Gabriel to Miles, then to the closed bookshelf. She adjusted her glasses. “That does seem like a qualifying series of events.”
“Right,” Miles said, seizing the opening.
“So, the probability has fluctuated. We need to know if there’s a way to separate the Lord from the Manor without enslaving the house to someone else.
We are interested in emancipation, perhaps to clarify if that was the transformation indicated in the first reading. ”
“This reading could be for me, if that matters,” Genna interjected, stepping forward. “Since I’m the one who will likely need to help if there’s magic involved. ”
Miles blinked, exchanging a baffled look with Gabriel. Why Genna? He was the certified mage here.
“No offense, Genna,” Miles said, “but this is high-level magic, perhaps experimental. And we’ve clearly identified there’s no haunting here.”
“You called me here in the first place for a reason,” Genna countered, arms crossed tight over her chest. “Haunt or not, my expertise may be more relevant.”
Gabriel let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “Oh, you mean that expertise where you detect zombies from a distance but refuse to explain how? That expertise?”
Genna flinched, her gaze dropping to the floor, though she held her ground. “Yes. Exactly that.”
Velma pulled a fresh intake form from her bag. “The query concerns the house’s emancipation. The subject is the house.”
“Exactly,” Genna said, “I want a reading about the house.”
Velma shook her head, a minute motion of absolute denial.
“My contract with the Cards is explicit. Clause 12-A: Privacy Rights. I cannot perform a reading on a person without their express consent. And since the last reading, we have established that Rookgate Manor qualifies as a person capable of giving or withholding consent. Now that we know better, it cannot be the primary subject of a reading unless it is the client.”
A low rumble vibrated through the floorboards.
With a sound like a sigh, the hidden catch on the bookshelf clicked. The heavy unit swung inward, revealing the dark, spiraling throat of the staircase behind it.
Gabriel blinked, looking from the open passage to Velma. “Well. I think that counts at least as interest.”
“So, we go up?” Miles asked the room at large.
The gas sconce on the wall winked out, then flared bright amber. A definitive Yes .
Gabriel took the lead, stepping into the secret staircase.
He remembered their last ascent: the wailing darkness, the stone turning to a slick slide, the sheer terror of it.
But tonight, the manor was on its best behavior.
As Gabriel placed a boot on the first step, a gas jet hissed to life, casting a warm, apologetic glow.
Then the next, and the next, spiraling upward like a climbable constellation.
They emerged into the attic, a cavernous space where the ribs of the roof curved high above like the belly of a whale.
It smelled of dry rot, dust, and lingering ozone.
Before Miles could suggest clearing a spot, a heavy velvet armchair shimmied out from under a dust sheet.
Three crates scraped across the floorboards to join it, forming a polite, if dusty, conversational circle around a table from a pile of discarded furniture.
Their party exchanged glances and shrugged.
Velma took the armchair, smoothing her skirts with unruffled dignity, and began setting out her paperwork.
“Velma, how is the house supposed to sign?” Genna asked.
“I’m not signing for it,” Gabriel said sharply, hovering near the stairwell. “If I sign as its proxy, I’m asserting ownership. The whole point is to establish that it has the agency to reject a master.”
Miles nodded, appreciating the nuance. “He’s right. If he signs, he reinforces the bond we’re trying to remove.”
Velma adjusted her glasses. “Valid. We shall proceed with visual confirmation. I will read the terms. The structure will indicate assent. I will record its choices.”
“One blink for yes,” Miles supplied.
Velma nodded and began to read in a voice as dry as the dust bunnies in the corners. “Clause One: The Client acknowledges that in receiving prophecy as a service, the Client has the following rights, responsibilities, limitations, and guarantees...”
The gaslight overhead dimmed and flared again. The house was listening.
“Riveting,” Gabriel murmured, drifting away from the legal proceedings.
Miles joined him and Genna near the center of the space. The attic split here, dissolving into two dark, arterial hallways running the length of the manor.
“This is going to take a while. We can explore while Velma reads.” Genna pointed toward the left-hand passage. Her expression was tight, her nose wrinkling. “That way.”
“You’re sure?” Miles asked, peering into the gloom.
“Yes, I’m sure,” she said. “The zombie is that way.”
The air in the hallway became colder and heavier as they explored. Velma’s droning recitation of liability clauses faded into a rhythmic murmur behind them.
Gabriel took the lead, and Miles trailed them, thumbing the rune on his cold-light stone until it washed the corridor in pale blue. The light revealed six doors, three on each side. They weren’t proper rooms. They were cells—narrow closets fronted by heavy barred doors .
“Delightful guest accommodations,” Gabriel muttered, though his usual levity sounded thin, stretched tight over a drum of anxiety. He repeatedly dropped a dagger from his sleeve, flourished it, and then stowed it again.
Miles took another step forward, and the air pressure spiked, popping his ears. Velma’s droning murmur vanished abruptly. He stepped back, and Velma’s voice returned. He stepped forward again. Nothing but the sound of Gabriel’s footsteps.
“What is it? What are you doing?” Gabriel turned to ask, noticing he’d left Miles behind. Then his eyes flicked over Miles’s shoulder. “Genna?”
Miles turned. Genna’s lips were moving, but neither he nor Gabriel could hear her until she stepped close. “—going on?” Her eyebrows rose, and her eyes flicked back down the hallway.
Miles scanned the walls and ceiling of the hallway and then crouched. There—carved into the floorboards—a complex glyph, faint silvered lines scored into the wood.
“Silencing ward,” Miles said. His throat felt tight. “The boundary of a dome that starts at this edge. Anything that happens past this line...” He gestured at the cells. “…or below the floor on which it’s scribed. The rest of the house couldn’t hear it.”
Gabriel went very still. Then he shivered, a full-body flinch. “Horrors above,” he whispered. “Horrors below.”
Miles straightened and caught Gabriel’s elbow. Gabriel leaned in.