"Simmons,.Wm.Mark.-.3.-.Habeas.Corpses.v1.1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Simmons William Mark)

"For Akela's sake!" Lupщ swore. "Don't encourage him!"
There were two mindsets when the topic of my dead wife arose. One was that her ghost really did "haunt" me from time to time. The other was that I hallucinated Jennifer out of some Freudian, psychosexual guilt complex, kicked up a notch by the necrotic virus that was mutating my brain chemistry. Deirdre bought into the former theory, Lupщ was a firm adherent of the latter.
I wasn't always sure what I believed.
J.D. got me off the hook with: "I just wanted some advice on how to get dizzy with a dame."
They both turned to stare at him.
"You know," he said, further obfuscating the explanation; "advice on bumpin' the gums, pitchin' woo . . ."
Lupщ fought a smile. "Woo?"
Deirdre waggled her eyebrows. "Woo woo!"
"Aw, now see? That's why I wanted to keep this on the Q.T. I knew youse would put the screws on!"
The girls tried on sober expressions. They almost fit.
"I think she's human," my ghostly ex murmured.
"Human?"
The Kid turned and glared at me.
I raised my hands. "Jenny's opinion, not mine."
His shoulders slumped. "Yeah," he finally admitted. "She's still alive."
Deirdre perked up. "A vampire and a human? Dating? You want advice!"
Lupщ nodded thoughtfully.
"I mean," The Kid added, "it's not like there's anything in Cosmo or Dear Abby or nothin'."
"There's Buffy," my sig said.
"Huh?" The Kid and I both responded.
"The Vampire Slayer," Lupщ explained without really explaining.
"Are we talking Spike or Angel?" Deirdre asked.
"Angel, of course."
The redhead shook her head. "Nah. 'Spike moves' is what J.D. would be wanting."
Lupщ seemed taken aback. "What? Are you a sixth season 'shipper? That was sick and disgusting!"
The Kid looked at me. "What are they talking about?"
I shrugged. "I dunno. But sick and disgusting sounds right up your alley."
"Hey!"
"Maybe The Executioner is more to J.D.'s liking," Jenny whispered.
"The Executioner?" I asked.
"Who?" The Kid asked.
"Anita Blake," Deirdre answered.
"Oh, please," Lupщ sniffed. "She's worse than Buffy, season six."
"I suppose you're a Giles groupie."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
J.D. and I looked at each other. We both took a step back.
"Hey! Buffy may be The Slayer but Anita's The Executioner!"
"Buffy Summers would kick Anita Blake's ass!"
The Kid and I both fled to the den.
* * *
Eventually there was violence.
Growling, screaming, anger, pain, and death. Strangulation, drowning, and presumed immolation as the windmill blazed and the Frankenstein monster disappeared behind a curtain of flame.
As the final credits rolled, Lupщ leaned against me and murmured, "They're heeeeere . . ."
I looked over at Deirdre, ensconced in a disheveled beanbag chair. She was tossing single kernels of popcorn high into the air and catching them with her mouth.
She was very good at it.
J.D. lay with his back on the hardwood floor and his legs sprawled across the seat of the rocking chair. He sipped from a bottle of Tabasco sauce as he perused the liner notes on the next DVD.
I looked back at Lupщ with my oh-so-familiar I don't get it expression.
"We've got company," she offered.
"Company?"
She nodded her head toward the window behind us. "Someone left the gate open."