PRAISE FOR
DEADTOWN
“Deadtown is fresh and funny, with a great new take on zombies.”
—Karen Chance, New York Times bestselling author of Death’s Mistress
“Part demon-busting tale, part political thriller, Holzner’s take on urban fantasy is exciting and fresh. Here’s to the future adventures of Vicky Vaughn!”
—Romantic Times
“Beginning with its first page, this exciting, gripping novel sustains its high-octane suspense throughout the narrative, keeping the reader guessing until the end.”
—Bitten by Books
“Fast, fun, and feisty, Holzner’s Deadtown is chock-full of supernatural action, danger, and creatures who do more than go bump in the night.”
—Devon Monk, author of Magic at the Gate
“Zombies, demons, and a sassy slayer. Deadtown sparks with an incredibly realized world and a cast of vivid characters. I can’t wait for the next book!”
—Chris Marie Green, author of Deep in the Woods
“Full of dangerous magic and populated with characters so realistic they almost jump off the page. I loved this book. Nancy Holzner is a master of characterization, and I’ll be buying her next book the moment it hits the shelf.”
—Ilona Andrews, New York Times bestselling author of Bayou Moon
“Deadtown is a perfect blend of mystery, fantasy, humor, and even modern-day social issues. It’s Boston as you’ve never seen it … where the shapes shift, the zombies gnaw, and the blood flows warm through the oh-so-delicious veins of the area known as Deadtown. Victory Vaughn gives evil a run for its money.”
—Anton Strout, author of Dead Matter
Ace Books by Nancy Holzner
DEADTOWN
HELLFORGED
To my daughter, Tamsen, with lots and lots of love
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Cameron Dufty saw the potential in Vicky’s story and gave me a chance, and I’ll always be grateful for that.
Tamsen Conner, librarian extraordinaire, educated me about how the Library of Congress classifies demon-related books. (If I got anything wrong, it’s entirely my mistake.)
My editor, Jessica Wade, offered encouragement and insight. She could also teach most saints a thing or two about patience. Thanks also to the other professionals who helped turn my manuscript into a book: cover artist Don Sipley, text designer Laura Corless, production editor Michelle Kasper, copy editor Erica Rose, and proofreader Valle Hansen.
Thanks to the Mostly Sundays writing group for reading parts of this book in draft form and taking my crazy fantasy world seriously: Emily Johnson, Pat Carlson, Jeanne Mackin, Nicola Morris, Linda Meyers, Doris Wright, Lisa Harris, and Janis Kelly.
I’m grateful for the support of my family and friends: my parents, Harold and Lois Brown, who fostered my love of books and always believed I could write; Michelle Brandwein for long-term friendship and all-around awesomeness; Karen Brandwein for fascinating insights into speculative fiction; Maria Giacoletto for inspiration; Margaret Strother for getting me out of the house once in a while; Carlos Thomas for stopping by Creature Comforts; my agent, Gina Panettieri, for her hard work on my behalf.
My husband, Steven Holzner, never minds helping me brain-storm, giving real thought to questions that begin, “If you were a zombie …” His unflagging love and support mean more to me than I can say.
Finally, thanks to all the readers who’ve ventured into Deadtown in search of a fun story. I hope you’re enjoying the ride!
1
THERE ARE FEW PLACES CREEPIER THAN A DESERTED COMPUTER lab in the middle of the night. And believe me, I know creepy.
Dozens of fans whirred, their white noise pressing like cotton into my ears and making me jumpy about what I wasn’t hearing. Eerie blue light half-lit the room; other lights blinked randomly on the machines. Although it was late January, fans blew in streams of frigid air. Even with my leather jacket over my sweater, I had goose bumps prickling both arms. I was alone with MIT’s new supercomputer, and that made this particular deserted computer lab supercreepy.
That, and the fact that I wasn’t really alone. In here with me, somewhere, was a demon.
That’s why I’d been called in, to exterminate a Glitch in the supercomputer. Supposedly the world’s third biggest, fastest, and smartest, lately this giant machine hadn’t done anything but spit out error messages. The MIT brainiacs tried everything they could think of to eliminate the Glitch, but none of their usual fixes worked. In desperation, they called me. I’m Victory Vaughn, Boston’s only professional demon exterminator. And I deal with Glitches the old-fashioned way: by killing them.
Fifty or sixty locker-sized cabinets, each holding multiple processors, lined up in rows like ghostly soldiers standing eternally at attention. I opened a cabinet, leaned in, and sniffed, checking for that characteristic Glitch smelclass="underline" a strong scent of ozone with an undertone of grape bubble gum mixed with sardine paste and rotten eggs.
Nothing. I’d been here half an hour with no luck. It was slow going. A supercomputer is basically a series of ultra-fast processors linked together to ramp up the computing power. All those processors in all those cabinets gave the Glitch hundreds of places to hole up in our little game of hide-and-seek.
I opened the next door. Come out, come out, wherever you are. Inside, a tangle of wires and cables snaked around stacks of circuit boards. Hard to believe a mess like that could perform billions of calculations at the speed of light. Except it couldn’t—not with the Glitch frying its circuits. I sniffed again, then tensed at the sharp smell of ozone. Beneath it, almost too faint to detect, was the stomach-churning odor of Glitch.
I pulled my rubber-lined electrician’s gloves from my belt and put them on. Clumsy, but a necessary precaution. A Glitch can take two forms. When the demon invades a machine, it’s pure magical energy that feeds off the electricity passing through its host. Outside its electronic nest, a Glitch has a physical body the size of a large teddy bear—but there’s nothing cuddly about its slimy purple skin, needle-sharp teeth, and inch-long claws. A shimmer of energy buzzes over its skin; touching one is like sticking your finger in an electric socket. That’s what the gloves were for.
To draw the Glitch out of the computer, I needed to force it into its physical form. So I’d brought Glitch Gone, an antistatic spray that won’t hurt the machine but forces the Glitch out. When that happens, the Glitch stays stuck in its physical form for a minute, maybe two, before it can turn back into energy and re-infest a machine.
I sprayed a light mist of Glitch Gone inside the cabinet, moving the can back and forth to make sure I didn’t miss a spot. Stepping back, I readied my bronze-headed ax, gripping it as best I could in the electrician’s gloves. With any luck, I’d split the Glitch in two before it attacked me.
Inside the cabinet, the processor lights began to blink faster. A spark shot out, then another. The Glitch stink intensified. Sparks, coming faster now, swirled into a pinwheel. The wheel spun faster, coalescing into a solid blur of light. I squinted against the brightness, trying to focus on the shape the light was taking. Then energy blasted out, a screech sliced the air, and the Glitch sprang.