“Small comforts,” he mutters, draining the last of his coffee.
Cars were slowing down as they passed. Two church ladies were whispering on the sidewalk, with homemade cookies and coffee in their clawed hands. A delivery driver stopped entirely and is now filming the poor excuse for a protest. There’s no way this isn’t going to affect the business negatively.
Chad’s face widens into a Joker-esque grin when he sees us, wide, vindictive, and triumphant.
“WE DEMAND TRANSPARENCY!” he says, speaking into his stupid microphone again.
“Trans… Pants…” a body repeats.
Close enough.
Sunshine groans as he watches Chad berate one of the undead for chewing on its sign.
“We rehearsed this!”
I study the small mob. The undead people don’t seem angry. In fact, they don’t look like they know what’s going on at all. They seem confused and highly suggestible. Somehow, Chad managed to weaponize that confusion, and it seemed to be working.
For now.
It was both impressive and annoying, but it definitely wouldn’t last long. The raised people already seemed to be slowing down.
Sunshine’s scent shifts from anger and sadness to abject humiliation. His brother is publicly protesting him for no reason other than that he is a child and wants a toy that isn’t his.
Ridiculous.
My jaw tightens, and anger flares bright in my chest once again. I release a breath of smoke and steam. This isn’t about my anger or even the business at this point. This is about my mate needing me to take care of him.
“Come stay with me,” I blurt.
“Huh?” he asks, blinking in confusion.
“For a few weeks.”
“You want me to abandon my home? Wouldn’t that make Chad think he won?”
“Temporarily. Look at those poor bodies. They are barely alive,” I explain. “If you stay here, you will only get negative attention. But if you go, he will be the only one getting attention, and there is no way the people you’ve built friendships with over the last couple of months won't see through his do-gooder façade. Plus, you’ll only stress if you stay.”
Sunshine continues staring at the protest that is slowly, very slowly, working to destroy all of his hard work. Chad is now handing out pamphlets and explaining ethical afterlife labor laws to a gentleman who looks like he wants to run away. I think Chad forgot that the average person isn’t used to the undead.
“If you leave,” I continue, “he will have no one to perform for. He’ll grow bored and eventually stop.”
Sunshine hesitates, but I’m getting through to him.
Something catches my attention from the corner of my eye. At some point, one of the undead bodies walked across the road to look at the flowers in our front lawn. I watch as his hand reaches out to pick one of the hydrangeas.
“No,” I scold it like a dog about to piss on the rug.
It freezes, his face drooping. I can’t tell if it’s afraid or just losing muscle control. He turns slowly, and shuffles back across the street to continue the protest.
“Aw, you scared him,” Sunshine says sadly.
“He was going to mess up the flowers you worked so hard on.”
“You’re so sweet,” he says quietly, a lovely blush coloring his porcelain cheeks.
“WE WILL NOT BE SILENCED!” Chad screeches into the microphone.
“Silence…” a corpse shouts, followed by a clap about three seconds off beat. One of the bodies falls over and struggles to find a way back up because her arms seem to have remained in the afterlife, leaving her with a couple of stubs. Chad attempts to pull her upright, but trips over a curb and follows her down onto the ground.
