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Drake buckled his seat belt.

Niobe and Drake exchanged a silent look. Barbarian Days? He shrugged.

It sounded like some kind of festival. Well, that explained the outfit. Niobe held the axe in her lap when she buckled in. It was plastic.

The driver raised her window. She clicked the air-conditioning up a notch. The car was surprisingly silent when they pulled away, causing Niobe a moment's disorientation when the landscape outside the car started to slide past them. She had never ridden in a hybrid.

"You getting enough air back there, kiddo?" Niobe turned, looked over the seat. Drake's eyes were closed.

She slumped down in her seat, tempted to drift off under the caress of chilled air. It felt like heaven. The upholstery stank like a cheap bar, but at least her feet could rest.

"I'm Mandy," said the driver.

Niobe blurted out the first name that sprang to mind. "Yvette," she said. She motioned toward the backseat with a nod of her head. "That's Xander, in back."

"So," she continued. "Barbarian Days."

The driver smirked. "Never been, I take it."

"No."

"Lots of people there. Maybe not so many nowadays, with the oil crisis." She paused to light a cigarette.

"It hasn't stopped you," said Niobe.

"Most of the time I work behind a desk, processing medical billing for an insurance company. Three days out of the year I can strap on a cape and become Red Sonya."

Niobe nodded, unsure of what to say next. The driver dragged on her cigarette, then tapped ashes into a tray affixed to the center console. It hung over a charging cradle holding a cell phone.

Mandy saw her gazing at the phone. "You can use it, if you're wondering."

"I . . . Thanks. Again. It would be a huge help."

Niobe pulled the phone from the cradle, careful not to knock down the ashtray. She thumbed through the menus, thinking. Who could help her? Did she even know any telephone numbers?

No. But she did know a few e-mail addresses.

"Mandy? Where exactly is Barbarian Days?"

"Cross Plains. Birthplace of the late great Robert E. Howard."

Michelle - Help, please. I'm in danger. Please come. I'm in Cross Plains, TX. - Niobe.

Niobe wasn't accustomed to using such a tiny keypad. Thumbing out the e-mail to Bubbles took a long time. But after she finished, she thanked Mandy again, closed her eyes, and slept.

The Tears of Nepthys

THE THIRD TEAR: NICK

Kevin Andrew Murphy

THE CAFe DU MONDE prided itself on beignets, chicory coffee, and never closing, even for hurricanes. Ellen didn't know if the last was such a wise idea, but since Committee aces were like cops and got the two former items free, she wasn't exactly going to complain, either. The wind wailed outside the iron shutters, and Ellen shivered. Her beaded flapper gown was not exactly suited to the weather, but then again she had a psychic allergy to off-the-rack.

Jonathan had no such problem, and had somewhere acquired a new sport coat. Ellen was about to comment on it when Michelle blew in, her latest Endora-style kaftan flapping around her currently svelte figure. "Zombies," Michelle said succinctly. "They're at it again." She glanced to their table. "Grab your coffee. I'll explain on the way."

The explanation did not help much. All Ellen gathered was that A) Reverend Wintergreen had been holding a prayer vigil at the Superdome; B) buses were in the parking lot to evacuate people without transportation; and C) zombies had shown up, wreaking havoc.

Michelle found a spot at the edge of the parking lot. There were indeed a huge number of buses and an even more enormous crowd of people waiting for them, soaking in the rain. But havoc was a bit of an overstatement. "This is your fault," stated Mayor Connick, storming up to them, rain dripping off the brim of his umbrella. He was not looking at Michelle or Jonathan.

Ellen looked up at him. "How do you figure that and what is 'this,' exactly?"

"You . . . the dead . . ." He gestured wildly to the buses. "Look . . ."

Ellen took his umbrella and went around to the nearest one, glancing for a moment at the crowd, black and white and, well, joker - Ellen wasn't sure what race or even sex the individual with the shrimp chiton had started out as - but they were all looking with horror at the open door. Ellen glanced in. In the driver's seat sat a nattily dressed young black man, a gold grill in his mouth and a bullet hole in his forehead. He was beckoning