Snooty’s Bar was exactly the kind of place you think of when you imagine a bar in Tennessee. It's all made of weather-beaten wood, with a wraparound porch area that leads onto an outdoor patio with white Christmas lights tacked up along its banisters year round. The clientele varied dramatically depending on what part of the bar you were in. Sports fans gathered to watch their favorite teams hash it out on a row of televisions on one side of the building. In one corner there were three pool tables, where bikers would often gather, probably because it was the best spot to look out onto the dance floor, where a gathering of pretty college girls would often be dancing to a live band that played behind a chicken wire screen. There weren't a lot of incidents anymore that would require the band to be protected, but you never know when some drunk might try to throw something at them. Plus, Snooty's was an old school kind of dive, and some things were just traditional.

As was to be expected, the bar was packed on a Friday night, so I had to park Annie around the back of the building, and we had entered the building through the patio doors, Jenny blowing a kiss to the black and white photo of Caroline “Snooty” Abrnathy that hung on the wall by the bar. It was a time-honored ritual that dated back to when Snooty's husband first opened the bar back in the Fifties. Soon after the doors opened every red-blooded male from Nashville to Chattanooga would come by and try to flirt with the owner's gorgeous wife. And she would do nothing more than wink and blow them a kiss. It came to be a sign of respect. If you came into Snooty's Bar, you greeted the woman properly, and they still do to this day.

Jenny had changed clothes in her office before we left, and was now dressed in stonewashed skinny jeans, cowboy boots, and a black western shirt. Everything hugged her soft curves gorgeously. She still had on the leather gloves, but instead of looking out of place, they seemed to compliment the cute cowgirl look she was going for.

“God, I need this after today.” She said, stretching her arms above her head. The motion did very interesting things to her body, and I caught more than a few young guys glancing in our direction. I didn’t blame them.

Jenny looked around at the crowded space and decided to claim a free table on the patio. I stayed inside to order our drinks. The live band on tonight's bill was covering old school party rock anthems. The whole band was really into it. Grooving and banging their heads in time with crunchy guitar tones and pounding drums. I found myself bobbing my head along with them. The crowd seemed generally nonplussed. A couple of guys bobbed their heads like I was doing, but mostly the patrons were enjoying the music as background noise for their Friday night.

I stepped up to the bar and patiently waited for one of the two handsome young bartenders to finish helping other patrons. One of them came up to me, a black man so tall I could see his belt buckle over the top of the bar.

“What can I get you, baby?” he said, his voice a resonant baritone that was easily heard over the music and the crowd.

“I'll take an Aviation, and three fingers of vodka. Cheapest stuff you got.” I answered.

He looked down at my skinny frame and let out a chortle. There was no disrespect in it, but genuine amusement. “Whose fingers?” He asked.

“Yours.” I answered, giving him a smirk.

He snorted and measured out three of his fingers of vodka into a squat whiskey glass. It almost filled up the whole damn thing. He passed it to me and began working on the other drink.

As he did, I heard the band shift into a new song, this one fast and bouncy. Hearing this, Jenny came in the door and trotted up next to me.

“Come dance with me.” She said, carefully taking hold of my wrists in her gloved hands, her tone suddenly that of an excited teenager

“Oh, no,” I said, freeing my hands from her light grip and handing over her drink, “I have, like, eight left feet, dude.”

She took a swig of straight vodka like it was water. “Come on, Zelda.” She pleaded. “It takes a cadaver to even get you to come hang out with me. The least you can do is move your feet a little.”

I looked around at all the people who would potentially see me make a fool of myself if I tried to dance. I wanted to make up some excuse, but she had a point. I’m not exactly a party girl. I’m not a fan of crowded spaces like dance floors. There were too many chances for somebody to put a knife in your back, or cast some spell on your brain, or turn into a giant Gila monster. You know, normal things that normal girls have to worry about when they go clubbing. But Jenny was my friend, and like it or not, she was right. I was making excuses, when I should be having fun with my friend. I decided to just follow her out and dance to some decent rock covers.

But then my hands started shaking.

Before I had moved to Three Trees and become a journalist, I had been an adjudicator for the Grand Coven of Sorcery. The Grand Coven was the governing body for all the magicians of the world. They decided what was right and wrong when it came to wielding magic. A few millennia ago, and that's no exaggeration, the first Grand Coven had written the Thirteen Laws of Magic, and the first adjudicators were there to enforce those laws. They did their job with ruthless efficiency and continue to do so to this day.

On my last mission as an adjudicator, I had gotten hurt, bad. I called Chaos and cast a spell my body couldn't handle. It left me with a tremor in my hands, and scars that I was too embarrassed to show in public, which was the reason I was standing in a crowded bar on a hot summer night wearing long sleeves. To add insult to injury, I had been banished by the Coven immediately after as a result of a call I had made in the field. The call had both saved a life and stopped the bad guy in one fell swoop, but I got nothing for my trouble but pain. The Coven takes their laws very seriously. I had broken a Law of Magic to save my comrade, and I would have been executed if it hadn't been for a vote by the Coven’s leaders, the five Archmages, that offered me a stay of execution in exchange for banishment ad infinitum.

I looked at my trembling hands, made an exasperated sound, and dug in my pocket for a small pill case. As I turned back to the bartender I barely caught sight of a melancholic look shrouding Jenny’s face before she ran out to the dance floor.

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I pushed the freshly filled Aviation away. My trembling hands caused booze to spill over the rim. I got a glass of water from the bartender and downed my prescribed dosage, chasing it by pulling the cherry garnish off of its little plastic sword and chomping grouchily, only getting the barest hint of gin as I did. I counted some cash and placed the bills onto the counter, which in this day and age might as well be paying with gold doubloons. I hopped up onto a barstool and turned around to watch Jenny dance to the crunchy rock music.

Let me tell you, that girl knew how to move. Her body swayed with confidence and grace, with just a little extra bounce that guaranteed all the guys that looked would have their eyes glued to her, and a couple of the girls too, myself included. I enjoyed watching her dance. Not in a creepy way, mind you, but I knew things about Jenny that no one in this bar did, so I had a bit more perspective than others.

Jenny was hyper-aware of her condition and how it could spread. So she moved in such a way as to minimize any potential for exposure. Her tight shirt and jeans kept what little sweat she produced from coming into contact with anyone else dancing. Her hands were always held close to her body and her mouth, though smiling, was sealed up tight, so as to not fling contaminated spittle out into the crowd. On top of all that, Jennifer Reagan had such control over how her body moved that even with all of that vigor and energy she didn't touch a single person. Not even once. It was really impressive, and it gave me the impression that she might have danced professionally at some point in the pre-zombie part of her life.

I finished my water and had finished a couple of glasses of soda before Jenny came back over to where I was sitting. Her breathing was a little deeper, but she didn't seem to be very tired. My tremors were calming down, so I felt confident enough to pass her my glass. She took it and downed it in one pull, then finished hers off in two more. She placed the glasses back on the bar and strode towards the patio. I got up and followed her. The big bartender meanwhile was staring wide-eyed at Jenny’s impressive display of alcoholism. I smirked and held up three fingers to the guy before walking out the doors. He pursed his lips and gave me a look that offered respect. I joined Jenny outside. There wasn’t anybody out there with us. I supposed everyone had chosen air conditioning over peace and quiet. My zombie friend was staring out into the freshly darkened night, her chin resting on her palm.

It was silent for a bit. It was uncomfortable and there was a tension between us that was accentuated by the muggy summer night. I held my hands under the table and fidgeted in my seat before finally speaking. “That guy must be new here.” I said with a little chuckle. “He didn’t know how much you could drink.”

“Yep. Zombies can’t get drunk,” She responded, without looking at me, “or eat normal food, or hold hands, or have sex. When I do eat, I can’t even taste my food. I drink so much because the burn’s the only thing I can feel anymore.”

I felt my cheeks get hot. That was not the outcome I had expected.

I suppose even someone like me, so engrossed in the supernatural, can sometimes fall into the same trappings of the rest of humanity. I had known Jenny ever since I moved to Three Trees. She was sweet, gentle, and kind to a fault. Despite her macabre profession, she loved to go out dancing, do some shots, all of the things that young women, young human women, loved to do. It was difficult to see Jenny Reagan as nothing more than a fun-loving party girl. In reality she was running with a leaking powder keg trying desperately to keep the little spark inside her from blowing her whole world to smithereens, and maybe some other young woman's world along with it.

Before I could speak again and apologize I heard the door open and two pairs of heavy footsteps came out onto the patio. Two biker types, both over six feet in height, both wearing identical patches for whatever motorcycle club they were a part of, came out and stood on either side of our table. They positively reeked of cheap beer. The one on my side was thin, lanky, and otherwise generally unremarkable. The one by Jenny was broad, bearded, and the denim jacket he was wearing looked like it might have fit him about twenty pounds ago.

“I saw you dancing out there.” He said, his accent thick. “Sexy as hell. Makes me wanna take you home.”

“Such a charmer.” Jenny said, rolling her eyes.

Apparently the lughead missed the sarcasm. “Thanks, sweetie. Why don't you come hop on the back of my bike and we can go find someplace nice and quiet.”

“And leave my friend alone?” Jenny said. “That would just be awful.”

The big man smiled, showing stained teeth. “That's why I brought my buddy, Chuck. He'd be happy to keep your friend company. He loves them dyke types.”

I reeled back as if he had slugged me. “The fuck did you just call me?” I growled.

Chuck laughed behind me. He tried to put his hand on my shoulder. I batted it away and balled up my fist. “Shoot, Gary, this'un is feisty.” The thin man said drawing out the first word in that drawl that only native southerners seem to manage.

Gary chortled and put his hand on Jenny’s shoulder. “See? They gonna have a lot of fun with each other. Now let's get outta here. What’chu say, baby doll?”

Then Gary made a mistake. His hand slid down further and he tried to rest it on Jenny's left breast. Quick as a shot, Jenny's hand wrapped around the big biker's jacketed wrist and clamped down like a vice. He made a startled sound and dropped to a knee as Jenny stood up, twisting his arm behind his back as she did, inducing high-pitched whimpering noises from the big man.

Zombies are really freaking strong. Another adaptive mutation by the zombie parasite is the removal of pesky things like pain. You’ve heard about hysterical strength, yeah? Those stories about everyday housewives lifting cars off their kids? The human muscular system is about three times as strong as we think it is, but we can't always access one-hundred percent of it because of pain receptors and inhibitors in our brains. Zombies have full access to every bit of that strength, along with an enhanced body that can take the stress. It made dealing with pervy guys like Gary kind of trivial.

Jenny didn't add any element of anger or malice to her voice. She spoke in her usual, bubbly tone, which made it all the more frightening. “I say you can fuck right off.”

Chuck meanwhile stood dumbfounded as big, bad Gary was taken to his knees by a cute little girl. After a moment he seemed to come back to himself and lunged to try and remove his buddy from Jenny’s grip. I threw out a leg and tripped the creep. He ate patio and was joined by Gary a second later. Then, as if God was on our side, the rain that had been looming overhead finally came down.

It was one of those summer rains that didn't gradually build up from a drizzle. It just started pouring. We were all soaked in a matter of seconds. The two biker creeps pushed up to their feet and scrambled to the door, slipping a couple of times on the freshly moistened wood of the patio. Jenny and I looked at each other and started laughing like school girls.

We ran under the awning above the door. I took off my glasses and found a dry spot on my t-shirt to wipe them off with.

The mass of blurry colors that had once been Jennifer Reagan spoke. “I think that's enough fun for tonight.”

“You sure?” I asked. Jenny's form clarified as my glasses came back on. “We could head back inside and go all Patrick Swayze on the rest of them.” I did a half-assed roundhouse kick.

She giggled. She had a great giggle. It was like a jingle bell chiming on Christmas Eve. “Maybe next time.”

“Next time.” I said firmly. I gave her a sharp nod as I did, assuring her that there would be a next time.

She got the message. She gave me a smile and held up her fist. I bumped it and ran out into the rain to Annie while she ran around the porch to the front.