Page 24 of 10 Things I Hate About Zombies

Nova was ramming the butt of her hand against her eye socket. ‘Urgh, ice pick in my skull. The smoothie’s great, Zoey, but I’m a dweeb when it comes to cold things. Although my veneers are holding up like champs.’

‘Sorry. That’s why we call it Brain Freeze,’ said Zoey. ‘Everyone reacts like that. I’m not really sure why. It should pass.’

She hoped. Although now that she thought of it, she hadn’t seen Nestor today. Hopefully he hadn’t overdone it on his dumpster-diving haul. He had seemed quite addled. Zoey would have to ask Sascha about it the next time she came in.

‘Here. Take some bourbon.’ Opal passed her a flask. ‘Want some, Zoey? It’s horrible. My roommate has this still he got off Amazon that he’s been using to make liquor. We’re going through so much frozen corn. WinCo doesn’t know what hit them.’

‘Feeling any better, Nova?’ asked Zoey, when her throat had recovered from the horrific bourbon. Although calling it ‘bourbon’ was generous.

‘I think it’s passed. Oof, was feeling like Trotsky there for a minute.’

Nova shampooed Zoey’s hair, massaging in some high-end artisanal shampoo that was probably helping usher in the demise of the forests of Borneo.

Zoey settled in, enjoying the experience as much as one could when your skull was mashed up against a porcelain sink. Who designed hairdressers’ sinks, anyway? Someone with a particularly meaty neck? Someone with no neck? Sadists?

Zoey was meditating on this particular design question when she winced. Ouch. Nova’s fingernails had dug into the sensitive skin of her scalp. Was it normal to apply that much pressure to one’s scalp? As far as Zoey knew, she had a fairly healthy scalp. She bought the third-least expensive shampoo from Fred Meyer, which, while not a splurge, was quite admirable given her budget. She even washed her hair regularly. Frequently, if the Portland rain counted.

Ow! Perhaps Nova moonlighted as a phrenologist, because there was an astonishing amount of skull examination going on.

Zoey gritted her teeth, trying not to squirm. She was strong. She could get through this. Nova had been voted Hottest Hairstylist in PDX Snips Magazine, and ordinarily she had a waitlist that was six months long. Zoey had only managed to get in because she’d called in a favour via Ainsley, who’d dated Nova for a few months during one of her breaks with Celeste. (Ainsley’s superpower was leaving a slew of adoring yet platonic exes in her wake who wanted nothing more than to offer whatever niche services they happened to provide.)

Oh, ow. Was it possible to break through a skull using fingertips alone? Because Zoey was starting to have some concerns. This head massage was feeling positively chiropractic.

‘Braaaiinnns,’ whispered Nova in Zoey’s ear.

Zoey sat bolt upright.

This was the second time in recent history that someone had hissed ‘brains’ at her. It couldn’t be a coincidence, could it? It definitely seemed like something was going on.

‘Bad Brains?’ said Opal, flicking through the vinyl collection on the back wall. ‘You’ve got it, babe.’

Punk rock music blasted through the tiny salon. Zoey smiled uneasily. Right, that was all Nova had meant.

A coincidence, after all.

But then Nova staggered back, her hands knotting into claws. Probably because she’d been massaging Zoey as though she were a future Kobe beef steak. The hairdresser blinked rapidly, like she’d just completed ten Magic Eye puzzles in a row, each revealing more horrific imagery than the last.

She muttered something at Opal, pointing at her mouth, then at the door, then went lurching down the street, arms out to … greet someone, Zoey supposed. Although in slightly menacing fashion.

‘Ugh, she’s gone after Brix, the person she’s been in a situationship with,’ said Opal apologetically. ‘It’s been a whole borderline problematic thing. I really wouldn’t expect her back today. And if she does show up, she’ll be in no state to wield sharp implements. How about I cut your hair instead? Unless you don’t mind waiting another six months? Bourbon?’

‘Let’s do it.’

Zoey swigged the heinous frozen-corn bourbon and indicated that Opal should pull out his razors.

She just hoped that Nick didn’t mind a good shag.

The haircut, that was. Well, and maybe the other thing.

9

Zoey

As it turned out, Nick was up for both.

‘Sexy haircut,’ he said, when they reconvened in the Pearl district ready for the First Thursday art crawl. His dark gaze sent electricity through her. ‘Am I allowed to say that?’

She wasn’t imagining it, was she? He was definitely thinking about kissing her. In front of a clown sculpture made from pickles, which was the opposite of an aphrodisiac, and which only proved how strong the urge must actually be.