Oy, such a week this week. I had work, a last-minute round of edits with my book, had to put together a TV stand and a stereo and get that all wrangled, but I think now I'm finally read to finish up some of the commissions I owe. Here's a preview.

“Hunh?” Liv asked, slurping up some brain.

Ravi stared at her in patient apoplexy. Liv thought sometimes he was jealous he didn’t get to eat brains, which were perfectly tempting once she put them through some prep: in this case, involving a pasta maker. Certainly looked better than anything he could get from Sizzler. “I said, have you imagined the possibilities?”

Liv looked over at their latest customer: pale, overweight, and currently absent a brain. “We can find out if it’s possible to die from a lack of tanning? What’s the opposite of skin cancer, anyway?”

“Healthy skin. And you’re one to talk, indoor kid. You are aware that we have a titan of literature on our slab?”

“What, some chick who wrote a few bodice-rippers? You know we have Outlander for that now, right? And internet porn.”

Ravi huffed a sigh. “First of all, Meredith Connors did not write ‘romance’. She wrote stories with important human themes.” He ticked off on his fingers. “Elements of romance. History. Adventure. Mystery. Philosophy.”

“Ripping a woman’s panties off with your teeth…”

“In a tasteful way that shows the characters’ growth.”

“That’s what I have internet porn for. The growth.”

With a dismayed groan, Ravi returned to his microscope. “She’s your first author, though. Imagine if her writing prowess lives on in you! Imagine if Stephen King died in the middle of writing a manuscript, but you were able to carry on his work and finish it for him!”

“I’ve seen Maximum Overdrive. I think that’s about as far as I want to get into the Kingster’s head.” Liv twined up her spaghetti in her fork and ate the last of it. “If my texts to you mention any heaving bosoms, promise me you won’t take it personally.”

“Liv, I always assume your bosoms are heaving.”

She wiped her mouth off with a napkin. “Okay, so how’s the cure coming? Not to rush you or anything, but the sooner you’re done, the sooner I can have sex.”

“On behalf of all men, I am of course eager to see that happen, even though it clearly won’t be to my personal benefit—“

“Don’t speak too soon. I may let Major have that threesome he’s always wanted for his birthday.”

Ravi did a slight double-take before being sure she was kidding. “Slow-going, as usual. I thought I was on to some promising retardant effects, but I think it was due to the subject samples, not the prospective cure itself.”

“You’ve got anti-zombie rats?”

“No, the brain matter I was studying the effects of the virus on. Some of it seemed resistant to the virus, but I think we can chalk that up to hormonal qualities at the time of death. Both women were, eh, in flagrante derelict at the time of their passing.” Ravi stretched the corners of his mouth in an empathetic gesture. “Refrigerator fell right through the second story and onto the bed.”

Caught on the way to the sink to wash her bowl out, Liv stopped and set it down nearby instead. “Wait, so some endorphins released through sex hit the virus like a pesticide?”

“No, I checked it against some brain tissue from that recreation of Fifty Shades of Grey that went so horribly wrong. Those were infected by the virus, same as ever. Did you just set your dirty dishes down on a body?”

Liv looked at the sheet-covered cadaver on the table and picked up her bowl. “Fifty Shades was a man and a woman. Maybe that makes a difference.”

“You think that lesbian sex might be a sort of booster shot against the virus?”

“Is it possible?”

“Anything’s possible. There’s still so much science doesn’t know about lesbians…”

Liv sighed affectionately. “You’re so smart, Ravi. And handsome.”

“It’s just the beard. And the beard.”