Chapter 72

“You’ll be the spitting image of the Blondella in the mural, the only version of her they have,” said I. “Though, of course, zombies don’t spit, but still.”

She rattled the back of the case, her smile going horizontal in an instant. “It’s locked.”

I shrugged. “Sure, to anyone without a key.”

“You have a key, Creature?”

“Nope.”

She groaned. “Please, not that again.”

“I mean nope, don’t need one,” I replied. I stood before the case, atoms burbling and bubbling and super-colliding, the heat inside enough to melt, if only temporarily, even the coldness of death. I jumped as the beam exploded from my eyes, concentrated, thin, the metal lock turning from silver to molten red before promptly falling to the ground in a soft clink. “There you go,” I then said, the beam just as quickly flicked off.

“That does come in handy,” Lola said with an appreciative whistle that sounded more like a dying engine.