Invasion of the Blanche (Strange Totems Book 2) by Corey Mariani (book recommendations based on other books txt) 📗

the parking lot. I ignored the looks of the patrons coming and going, and I politely laughed at the two zombie-apocalypse jokes I heard. When I was confident in the job I’d done, I drove back up north to McKinleyville, to the apartment I’d once practically lived in with Naomi.

When I saw her Prius was in the parking lot, my heart quickened. I could’ve stayed in the car and waited for her to leave, but I wanted to see her, to meet the person behind the mask. I wanted to know if I’d truly loved her, if I still loved her, or if our entire relationship had been a manipulation.

I checked the suit once more to make sure it was airtight before climbing the outer stairs on the face of the apartment building. The suit was clammy where it touched my skin, and the sound of my breath was augmented by the apparatus.

The nosiest neighbor I’d ever known was in his usual spot by the window. He’d heard me coming and was peeking through the blinds. I had no doubt he knew exactly how long I’d been gone, no doubt he’d gossiped about my absence to the other neighbors and pestered Naomi for an explanation.

“Hi Bill,” I said, and waved pleasantly.

He pulled up the blinds to get a better look. Watching confusion, recognition, then fear dance across his face gave me a satisfaction that was cathartic in a small way. Constantly keeping track of my comings and goings finally had a consequence for Bill. Now he could sit there and ponder whether or not his home was ground zero for some new and deadly disease outbreak, or if I’d lost my mind and was about to go on some kind of anthrax rampage. I knew he’d call the police because he called them almost every week for something, and they’d send a car as they always did, but the car would just roll right by because they knew the call had come from him.

So, in a somewhat lighter mood, I knocked on Naomi’s door. She opened it and smiled when she saw what I was wearing. “You think you’re smart, don’t you?”

I showed her my sister’s pepper spray. “Don’t try anything.”

She put up her hands. “I won’t. I promise.” Then she stepped aside. “Come in. I was hoping I’d get to see you. You haven’t returned my calls.”

All of the furniture was gone. The walls were bare. Boxes labeled with black markers were stacked by the door, and cleaning supplies were scattered throughout the living room. A man I didn’t recognize made squeegee sounds with a newspaper as he wiped a window and ignored my presence.

As I looked around, I felt loss. This was once a loving home, even if it had all been a sham, even if it had only been for a couple of months. “You messed with my head,” I said, the words coming out more forlorn than I’d hoped.

Her face expressed . . . pity? Sorrow? Regret? “Not the whole time,” she said. “You would’ve fallen in love with me eventually. I just didn’t want to wait. Is that a crime?”

“It’s a crime against me.”

She came toward me with outstretched arms, and I hopped backward and held up my pepper spray. Her arms dropped to her sides, and her face contorted as she looked into my eyes and struggled to hold back tears. “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice cracking.

I pointed to the man cleaning the windows. “Is he . . . ?”

“A mummer?” she said, regaining some composure. “Yes, but so much more. He’s one of my lovers.”

I shuddered looking at him. That could’ve been me, pieced-together scraps of a self inside a mummer’s body—an abomination.

“Wandas live a very long time,” Naomi said. “We have many lovers. This is a way of preserving them, their memory, of lessening our grief. It’s natural.”

I snorted and shook my head. “If by natural you mean a praying mantis eating the head of their mate mid-coitus, then yes, this is natural. Don’t you see that? I thought we were going to spend the rest of our lives together, and you tried to eat my head.”

Naomi’s stance widened, and her face became indignant. “I tried to save you. I would have loved nothing more than for you to remain in your body until you were an old man, but you were in danger, and still are. The Friends of Blanche Duluth are after you, and you don’t understand how dire that is. We can still do this, Charlie. You can spend many lives with me.”

“What does Blanche want from me?”

“I only know that she wants you, and that she’s a very powerful mobiak who refuses to die. She blackmailed me, but that is over now. I cut off my arm for you, to betray her, and I will live with that. Come with me. You will be safe. I promise.”

“How do I know you’re not still working for Blanche? How do I know anything?” Without turning my back on her or the abomination cleaning windows, I went to the kitchen and opened the fridge. The shelves were empty and clean. I hung my head.

“Relax, Charlie,” Naomi said, leaning against the kitchen threshold. “Your sourdough’s alive. I’ve been feeding it.”

“Where is it?”

“I’m not telling, but if you do something for me, I will give it to you.”

“What?”

She stacked her hands over her heart. “Bring my Bruce and Pam back to me.”

“I can’t. They’re in Arampom.”

“In the mummer prison camps? How did that happen? They were just trying to help you.”

“I don’t know.”

“Well figure it out, sweetheart. Bring me Bruce and Pam or your precious sourdough dies.” She pulled out two vials of clear liquid from her pocket and placed them in my gloved hand. “If they’re not themselves, gives them this. It will bring them back. They’ll know where to find me.”

Her hand lingered in mine. She said nothing, but her eyes, sad and imploring, said she wanted me back. And