The princess moved the fingers of one hand. “No dea?”

  “Not dead,” Ghorgeous agreed. “Merely living impaired. Sometimes people don’t die all the way. We don’t know why some become zombies. The Zombie Master used to animate the dead, but he’s not here. It seems to be random. Normally the zombies slowly deteriorate, rotting on their feet as it were, until there’s not enough of them left to get around. It’s an unpleasant fate. But here’s the thing: you don’t have to go that route. You can’t become alive again, but you can halt your decay. You can be most of the person you were in life. What you need is the sincere love of a living man who knows you for what you are. It is rare for a living person to love a zombie, but it can happen. It is an avenue you may be able to follow, if you choose.”

  Now she had the zombie’s full attention. “Haw?”

  “How?” the ghost echoed. “By going to a man who truly needs you and winning his love.”

  “Buh Im dhead!”

  “Freshly dead. You died yesterday. Your body hardly shows it. You remain a lovely young woman, and a princess.”

  “Yeth, buh—”

  “Yes, but you know of no ordinary man who would want a zombie, let alone a prince. But there may be one. Zoila, you have no future here in your own kingdom. They will give you a fine and tearful funeral, seal you into a crypt, and slowly forget about you.”

  “Yeth.” She tried again. “Yess.”

  “There is a live prince imprisoned in a zombie kingdom because he won’t marry an unattractive local princess. You don’t have that problem. You are highly attractive.”

  Zoila grimaced. “Buh dead.”

  “Yet because you are a fresh zombie, your body remains whole and your mind remains functional. You can act to secure what you have. But you must do so promptly, before the rot progresses too far.”

  “Haw?”

  “By traveling to the prince, freeing him from his cell, leading him back to his own land of the living, and winning his love. His love will preserve you as you are now. I don’t think you’ll be able to order a baby from the stork, because they ignore zombies, but you can go through the motions, which well may suffice. He is, after all, a man. They care mostly about those motions.”

  “A mahn,” the zombie agreed, understanding. “Buh—but how doo I ghet to him?”

  “A zombie dragon will take you. We’ll go out for it now.”

  “A drhagon!”

  “A tame one. They like carrying maidens. You’ll be safe enough.”

  Zoila considered. She took a conscious breath, and it worked. She was able to talk more normally. “Why am I dhead?”

  Ghorgeous paused a fair portion of a moment. “Why, I don’t know. Since there is no mark on your body, I suspect you were poisoned.”

  “Poishoned!”

  “It’s just a conjecture. Do you have enemies?”

  “Nho. Nhot that I khnow of. I was about to mhake my preshentation as a marriage prospect, and seek a good alliance for my khingdom.”

  “I’m sure you would have done well. Beauty, smarts, and royalty make you an ideal prospect.”

  The zombie frowned. “Until I died.”

  The ghost considered another portion of the moment. “Maybe we can find out. Do you have a magic mirror?”

  Zoila made an effort and sat up. “Yes. On the wall there.”

  Ghorgeous saw it. “I doubt it will answer me. But it should still answer you. Ask it.”

  “Yes.” The zombie got up unsteadily and made her way to the wall. She faced it. “You know me,” she told it. “Princess Zoila. I am dead. Who killed me, and why?”

  “You were the prettiest princess extant,” the mirror replied. “Other princesses knew that the moment you came on the scene, they would have no chance with the handsomest or most powerful princes. Even some kings had their eye on you. So your rivals conspired to take you out of the picture. They obtained poi-daughter and sent it to you as a gift, trusting that you would not recognize its nature.”

  The zombie was taken aback. “I thought it was play cookie dough, misspelled! I baked it and took a bite or three. It was delicious.”

  “So they were correct about your ignorance,” the mirror said, a generous trifle smugly. “You should have asked me before using it. Poi-son and poi-daughter, most effective on sons and daughters respectively. You are the king’s daughter. It took you out instantly.”

  “Ask who did it,” Ghorgeous prompted her.

  The mirror eyed her. “Wow! You’re as pretty as she is, ghost. You died for a vaguely similar reason, a jealous suitor. Bemused by your beauty, I will answer you. Here are the names.” It rattled off three names.

  The fair ghost turned to the fair zombie. “Do these mean anything to you?”

  “Yes! They are princesses in adjacent kingdoms. I thought they were my friends.”

  “So maybe you have a score to settle, in due course.”

  “Maybe I do.”

  “After you win your prince and gain power in the living realm.”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you, Mirror,” Gorgeous said. “This way to the dragon.”

  They made their way quietly out of the room and down to the ground floor, avoiding the palace servants. There was no point in shaking things up with the appearance of a ghost and a zombie, even if they were lovely. “Couldn’t I just have jumped out the window?” Zoila asked. “Since I’m already dead.”

  “Yes. But you might have broken some bones, making progress difficult. Certainly you would have mussed your hair.”

  “Mussed my hair!” the zombie repeated, horrified.

  The dragon was waiting, a large female. “Hello, dragon lady,” Ghorgeous said. “This is Zoila Zombie, a princess on her way to meet a living prince. You have the address.”

  The dragon nodded. The zombie climbed on and sat between the wings. Soon they took off.

  “Now, let me give you some pointers on drawing in a man, even when you’re dead,” Ghorgeous said. “And on the devious route you must take as you lead him back to his kingdom. You have to engage him long enough for him to be sufficiently attracted to you. It’s like reeling in a fish on the line, when the fish could readily break the line if it caught on. Victory is when it no longer wants to escape. It’s an art.”

  “An art,” Zoila agreed.

  “Beginning with your breathing. You don’t need to do it now, except to talk, but you will make a man nervous if you don’t do it regularly. You need especially to inhale when he is looking at your chest; that emphasizes your bosom.”

  “Inhale,” the zombie agreed, doing it.

  The scene dissolved. “And she is now on the verge of introducing herself to him,” Ghorgeous Ghost concluded. “Time for Baton to take over.”

  “I present Prince Morose, Protagonist,” Batoness printed. The picture appeared. Apoca stroked Nolan’s head as he watched from her lap, keeping him pacified.

  “Hello, Prince Morose.”

  The prince sat up on his bunk. “What?”

  The dulcet voice came again from the darkness of the shadow beyond the cell. “Hello, Prince Morose. I am Princess Zoila.”

  He got up and approached that corner, peering into the gloom. He saw an extremely lovely figure. “Is this a joke? I am not allowed visitors, apart from the jail master and his servant who brings my daily gruel and replaces my filled potty. And stray zombies, whom I refuse to count. Especially not permitted are pretty foreign princesses.” Then he amended himself. “Actually I did have a visit, but that was a naga prince just wandering through. He got rid of the rats for me. But he would have been in trouble if they had caught him.”

  “This is not a joke. I am here to rescue you, in more than one sense.”

  He remained suspicious. “Are you an apparition? A will-o’-the-wisp sent to tempt me into doom? It won’t work because I can’t get out of this cell alive.”

  “I am no apparition, though I am not exactly what I appear.” She stepped gracefully forward. She was clearly a princess, because she wore a delicate silver crown and an elegant royal-purple robe that showed off the finest slender figure he had seen. Her hair was a rich gray, not that of age, and her eyes matched.

  “You are lovely!” he exclaimed. “So is this illusion, and your real appearance is ugly?”

  “No, this is my proper aspect. I am, however, two weeks under the age of eighteen.”

  He laughed. “That will soon abate.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Then what’s the catch? You said you are not what you appear.”

  “I am a zombie.”

  He froze. This was zombie country! How could he have forgotten that detail? “Bleep! I hate zombies.”

  “So I understand. I am nevertheless here to rescue you, as I said.”

  “In more than one sense,” he agreed. “I presume one sense is physical, somehow getting me out of this cell. I do want that. What is the other?”

  “I want to marry you, so that you can assume your rightful place in your society, and eventually become king of Modicum, no pariah anymore, and I will be your queen.”

  “No offense intended, but I can hardly think of a female I less want to touch, let alone marry, than a zombie.”

  “No offense taken. I hope to persuade you to change your mind.”

  He gazed at her. Bleep, she was beautiful! “So the parameters have been established. You offer me escape and recognition. I must say, you don’t appear to be rotten.”

  “I am quite fresh, though I am cold. I have been told that the love of a living man can sustain me in my present condition indefinitely. I hope to win your love, not entirely for that purpose.”

  “Even if you succeeded, you could not bring me an heir.”

  “Unless the storks decide to recognize our signal. They might make an exception to their policy of ignoring zombies if the signal were forceful enough.”

  He declined to argue that case. “So whatever rot you suffer is not visible outside your clothing.”

  “I have no rot anywhere on my body as yet. I will show you. Forgive my immodesty, but I know no other way to make my case.” She stripped away her robe, which was all she wore, and stood naked, a perfect figure of a woman. She turned around so that he could see every delightful part of her. “Do you wish to see more?”

  He had nearly freaked out. What a sight, even without bra or panties! She was perfect in every detail. “No. So the rot must be internal.”

  “Not there either, yet. Not ever, if I win your love. I have an almost completely functional body.” She put her robe back on.

  His feelings were mixed. He was severely tempted. But she was a zombie!

  “I see you hesitate. Do you wish to touch me?”

  “No!” But he realized as he spoke it was a lie. One part of him wanted to take her in his arms, stroke her, and kiss her. Yet his mind remained repelled. “Or maybe just your hand. But the bars are magically electrified. Don’t touch them.”

  She walked around to the front gate. She put her hand on the bar that sealed it shut. The current flashed, making her whole body glow. Smoke rose from her singed robe. She ignored it. “I am not hurting,” she said. “I am dead, or as I prefer to put it, living-impaired, and feel no pain.”

  So it seemed. “I see, amazed.”

  She drew the gate open and stood there. “Now you may touch my hand.”

  He nerved himself and stepped forward. He took her extended hand. “It’s not cold!”

  She looked at it, surprised. “Oh—it must be the current. It heated me.”

  He had to smile. “That must be it. I will take your word that you are normally cold.”

  She smiled back. “Thank you. My body is cold, but not my spirit.”

  That unnerved him further. He liked her smile and her spirit. Only how could he, given his distaste for zombies?

  So he changed the subject. “We need to get out of here. The jail master keeps irregular hours and can come at any moment.”

  “The back way is best. I know a devious route.”

  “But it is bound to be haunted by zombies. This is zombie territory.”

  She merely looked at him.

  Oh. He had forgotten for the moment that she was a zombie. He spread his hands apologetically. “Lead on, princess.”

  She led the way to the rear chamber of the jail. “When I spot researched, I learned that this was once a fort, before a truce was established between the dead and the living. There are secret tunnels leading every which way. I know an avenue. Stay close to me because if you deviate, you could get lost.”

  Ordinarily that would be no chore. But close to a zombie? Yet this zombie remained treacherously appealing. “I will stay near,” he agreed.

  Zoila went to a faded picture on the wall. She touched the frame, and it swung out to reveal an opening. She held on and lifted a leg high to climb in. Not only did the robe press tightly across her bottom, her thigh showed up to the nonexistent panty line. That turned him on. He had seen her naked, but this inadvertent flash compelled his attention anew.

  By the time she scrambled through the hole, she had flashed not only her thigh but her cleavage and much in between. Was she doing it on purpose? Did it matter?

  She stood on the other side. “Your turn.”

  That jolted him out of his momentary trance. He quickly climbed through himself, then reached behind to draw the framed picture back into place. He turned to face her. She was quite close, as the tunnel beyond was narrow.

  “Honest disclosure,” she said. “I knew you were looking, and I did nothing to hide my assets. I am trying to arouse your desire, so that you will forgive my zombie status.”

  She was making progress! He wanted to take her into his embrace. But she was dead! Or living-impaired. “I appreciate the warning.”

  “Anything you may want of me, at any time, is granted. I am in effect courting you. But I will not pretend to be what I am not: alive. My flesh is cold, outside and inside.”

  “You might make better progress if you did pretend.”

  “Perhaps. But I refuse to sacrifice my integrity.”

  “As you wish.” The fact was, her integrity was more seductive than her flashes. Integrity’s absence was a significant part of his objection to the run of princesses he had encountered. He strongly suspected that some of them would stoop to foul means to achieve their devious purposes.

  Zoila turned and led the way down the tunnel. Glowing fungus lighted the walls, so that he could see the way reasonably clearly. He could also see how smoothly her slender hips swayed as she walked. Zombie or not, purposefully or not, she was stunning.

  There was a commotion behind them. “I think the jailer has returned,” he said.

  “Then we should hide, lest he search and discover the tunnel before we exit it.” She turned quickly into a side passage he hadn’t noticed that led to a closet-sized chamber. They squeezed in, and she drew a sliding panel across to mask their hideout. “They will not discover this,” she said. “It is spelled to be unnoticeable by living folk.”

  Now they were in full torso contact. She was indeed cool, but not actually cold; it was as though she had just come in from a chill outdoor day. He discovered that one of his hands had gotten under her robe and was against her bare back. He was not at all repulsed.

  “I apologize for my inadvertent intimacy,” he said.

  She took a breath so she could talk. He noticed the motion as much as the words. “As I said, you may have all the intimacy you want. But I think first it would be better for us to get to know each other. We have a mutual need which we can fill, for legitimacy, but that may not suffice for a long-term relationship.”

  “You are surprisingly sensible, and not just for a zombie.”

  She smiled, and he found he liked it very well up close, just as he liked her intermittent breathing. She clearly did not need air to sustain her body, only for communication, but it made her seem more animate. “I am a princess. I have had the proper training in the protocols. I know how to appeal to a man. I merely did not anticipate getting murdered before I had a chance to impress and to marry.”

  “You were murdered?” He had wondered how she had died so young.

  “Jealous rivals poisoned me.”

  He could see how she would incite jealousy. But that was not worth dwelling on at the moment. “My talent is to enter any mirror and to exit from another. They do not need to be magic. I can travel almost anywhere that has mirrors. They made sure there were no mirrors anywhere near the jail.”

  “That is an excellent talent. Can you take things or people with you?”

  “Yes, if they want to go. But I use it cautiously. There could be danger if a mirror broke while I was using it.”

  “I would like to travel that way with you, the slight risk notwithstanding.” She paused a fraction of a moment. “If we should have a relationship.”

  He saw that she really wanted this. The fact was that she was more of a woman than any living one he had encountered, of any age. But he remained cautious. “That remains to be determined. Zoila, I like you personally, but I remain highly uncertain that I should connect with a zombie.”

  “I understand,” she said sadly. “I was wary of zombies, too, before I became one.” She took another intriguing breath, seeming to remember to do it when he was watching, as if she needed prompting. “My talent is capturing sickness and plague in books. Those volumes are not safe to open.” She smiled grimly. “I may in due course send some books to the shrews who poisoned me.” She looked at him from her adjacent range, kissably close. “Does this sentiment disturb you?”

  He had to force himself to focus on the question. “Not at all. I believe in eye-for-eye, tooth-for-tooth justice. It is the royal way.”

  “Then we align in that respect. That is good.”

  They aligned in more than that. “Your talent—you retain it in death?”