“It’s French, I think,” Miranda said. She scratched her fingernails down his bulging sleeve. “He understands me like no one else ever has.” Hirsute raised Miranda’s hand, pressed it to his lips, and gave it a nibbling kiss. Her smile showed pointed teeth, and a purring growl came from the base of her throat.
“I’m just informing you that I won’t be at Harvey’s execution, sweethearts. I’ve got a scheduling conflict. I can’t understand why the judge would pick a date so close to the full moon, and you know I always have other plans. Besides, I don’t need to watch the little worm get fried. Thanks to you, I now control JLPN. I have more wealth than I ever expected to get in the divorce. And I have Hirsute.”
Though Jekyll Lifestyle Products and Necroceuticals took a severe financial hit from the scandal, Miranda had no intention of declaring bankruptcy. Her husband had been a frugal man and had squirreled away substantial liquid assets. If he’d succeeded with his Armageddon of unnatural meltdowns, he would have lost his customer base, so he had established contingency accounts. Miranda announced she would put the money back into JLPN to rehabilitate the company image.
With her new fortune, she had also purchased a large game preserve up in Montana, as well as her own private jet. “Over five hundred acres of pristine wilderness,” she said. “Completely fenced off, plenty of room to roam and hunt. Hirsute and I will fly there every month on the full moon, where we can tear off our clothes and just be free, running naked in the moonlight.”
“Sounds idyllic,” Robin said. “Maybe you should consider opening it for the use of all werewolves?”
“I’ll think about that, sweetheart. After Hirsute and I tire of it.”
Then Miranda and the hunky werewolf strolled off.
Given the furor surrounding the case, the judge put Harvey Jekyll’s execution on the fast track. Since he was a human, there was no need for any convoluted or supernatural means of dispatching him. He would go to the chair, which was affectionately named Sparky, Jr.
Because we were instrumental in solving the case, Robin, Sheyenne, and I received invitations to witness the execution, though it wasn’t exactly a social occasion. For years now, Robin had been a passionate defender of unnaturals, and her compelling speeches were vital in shaping public opinion; she had given brilliant testimony during Jekyll’s trial. Knowing that the mousy corporate head was actually going to die, however, gave her many second thoughts. She wrestled with her conscience and got over it.
So did I. I had only to think about Sheldon Fennerman pinned to the brick wall or Mel dissolving into goo at the dump.... Worst of all, Jekyll had tried to kill my friends.
No, I didn’t have any crisis of conscience.
Although Brondon Morris had actually murdered Sheyenne and me, we were satisfied to let Jekyll take the fall for it in the public eye. Behind the scenes, Jekyll might have been second banana to Brondon in many ways, but now he got to be the star of the show. It was sure to be an electrifying performance.
In the Pro Bono Mobile, we drove to the prison on execution day. Sheyenne rode in the backseat, although she could have drifted along at her own speed.
The main prison complex looked not unlike the JLPN chemical factory—Jekyll probably felt right at home. Outside the gate, a dozen human protesters carried signs in defense of Harvey Jekyll: EXECUTION IS MURDER! HARVEY’S A HERO! and STRAIGHT EDGE CAN SEE IT, WHY CAN’T YOU?
On the opposite side of the entry road, a large group of unnaturals had come for a tailgate party. They howled for Jekyll’s blood, flesh, and bones. (They were willing to settle for any scrap.)
A van for Jekyll Lifestyle Products & Necroceuticals was parked near them, with a huge banner: UNDER NEW MANAGEMENT! Three volunteer workers—lawn gnomes, I think—were handing out free samples to the crowd. The unnaturals were skeptical, but most pocketed the samples for later use.
After we showed our credentials and drove through the prison sally port, we made our way to the warden’s office. McGoo was already there and introduced us to the warden, who somberly shook Robin’s hand, then mine, and gave a polite nod to Sheyenne.
McGoo wore his best uniform, clean and pressed. This was the serious part of his job, and he wouldn’t have missed it for the world. “You ready for this, Shamble?”
“More ready than Harvey is.”
“Right this way,” the warden said. “We’re on a schedule.”
McGoo had brought popcorn, which I thought was in poor taste. He pushed the bag toward me as we turned toward the observation window that framed the medieval-looking electric chair. “Lighten up, Shamble. He’s the bad guy, dead to rights.”
“Dead to rights,” I agreed.
Then he told another one of his stupid jokes. “You know why witches fly on brooms? Because vacuum cleaner cords aren’t long enough.”
We fell into a hush as the prison guards led Harvey Jekyll into the death chamber, where he got to see Sparky, Jr. The little man didn’t resist or beg for mercy as they adjusted the seat to raise him, then secured the leather straps around his thin wrists and ankles. All the while, his owlish eyes looked at me through the observation window.
“I should have put the guy in prison back when he sold that garlic-laced vampire shampoo,” I said.
Robin agreed. “If we’d shut down the company then, he never would have had a chance to plan this whole scheme.”
“Brondon Morris still would have done it,” McGoo said.
“After today, we can all rest easy.” Sheyenne turned to me, suddenly concerned. “Do you think that’s what’ll happen? Is that why I came back as a ghost? Am I supposed to move on after I see justice done to my killers?”
“Do you want to leave?” My heart ached already, just looking at her.
“I’d rather stay with you.”
“I’d like that, Spooky. Death wouldn’t be the same without you.”
Sheyenne looked touched, then gave me a wink. “Besides, you and Robin couldn’t run the agency without me. You’re not going away, are you?”
“Don’t plan to.”
The prison guards washed Harvey’s bald scalp, added conductive cream, put damp sponges inside the metal cap, then tightened it onto his skull.
“Does that feel all right?” one of the guards asked. “Comfortable?”
“It’s just fine.” Jekyll did not take his eyes off me.
Unlike most traditional megalomaniacs, he didn’t deliver a long, eloquent speech, or curse us with his dying breath, or proclaim his innocence. He just waited as the clock ticked.
Because so many unnaturals wanted to see (and preferably participate in) the execution of this toiletries version of Adolf Hitler, the judge had chosen a guest executioner by lottery, rather than using the regular one. One lucky unnatural was allowed into the control room to do the honors. The winner was a simpering, bug-eyed lab assistant with a small hunchback.