“Where has he gone?” Scapegrace asked.

“Where has who gone?”

“Doctor Nye.”

“Doctor Nye isn’t a he. Doctor Nye is an it. I found a note that said it’s got a job in the Sanctuary. Can you imagine that? Doctor Nye, working in the Sanctuary. Weirder things have happened, I suppose. Like Belgium.”

Scapegrace frowned. “What about Belgium?”

“That’s pretty weird, isn’t it? If Belgium happened, why should I be surprised that Doctor Nye is working for the Sanctuary? It’s all relative, isn’t it? It all depends on where you’re standing. And where you’ve stood.”

Wherever Scapegrace was standing in relation to the crazy girl, he was pretty sure he was lost.

“I came here looking for a job,” she answered, even though no one had asked. “I had to leave my old job. I killed my boss. I didn’t mean to do it, and it wasn’t actually me who did it, but I still killed him. So now I need a new job. I dyed my hair. Do you like it?”

“I know you,” Scapegrace said. “Do you?”

“You worked for the old man. Professor Grouse.”

“I did. I don’t any more. I don’t like to talk about it. He took care of me. He thought I needed taking care of. I let him think that. I think he needed to think that. He needed to take care of someone, so I let him take care of me. I don’t like to talk about it. You’re a zombie.”

“He is the Zombie King!” Thrasher announced with too much enthusiasm.

“That’s cool,” said Clarabelle with the crazy blue hair. “And who are you?”

Thrasher faltered. “Me?”

“If he’s the Zombie King, who are you? The Zombie Queen?”

“He’s not the Zombie Queen,” Scapegrace said quickly.

“The Zombie Prince, then?”

“He’s Thrasher. That’s all he is. Just Thrasher. I’m Vaurien Scapegrace.”

Clarabelle nodded. “The Killer Supreme.”

Scapegrace stared. “You’ve heard of me?”

“Of course. Do you like my hair?”

“It’s very blue,” said Thrasher.

“I dyed it and cut it. I think it was an attempt to leave that part of my life behind me, to start anew. I’m sure that’s what it was. It’s not just a fashion thing. Is blue hair in this year?”

Scapegrace frowned. “Is it in any year?”

“Is it not?” Clarabelle asked, looking genuinely worried.

“I don’t know,” Scapegrace confessed. “I don’t know much about fashion. You’ve heard of me, then? The Killer Supreme?”

“Yes. You’re a feared assassin.”

“But he hasn’t actually killed anyone,” Thrasher said.

“I killed you,” Scapegrace snapped. “That not enough for you? I killed the others too, made them into zombies.”

“But we all came back to life,” Thrasher pointed out, “so it can’t really be counted, can it?”