by RS Black
The tent was a menagerie of clichéd sophistication, from its oriental throw rugs to its red gauzy drapings undulating gently from strategically placed fans. There was even a crystal ball with an antique silver holder that I’d refused to bring out because I found it all impossibly stupid.
“Dora,” she hissed, “you’ve barely just started. You’re only an hour in and the line is fecking long.”
Pinning her with a smothering glare, I shrugged. “All I’m asking for is ten GD minutes. Can you just freaking give me that? Okay?”
She snarled, showing me her baby fangs.
“I hope you don’t think I’ll be intimidated by that?”
“You know I can’t stop you, you’re the boss, but Luc’s the big boss and he’ll be—”
“You just let me handle Luc. Watch the crowd, tell them the madam needed to recharge with a quick orgy.”
“Ugh.” Her voice dripped contempt. Funny how most Neph looked down on a lust demon when we each had our vices. Talk about living in glass houses. “You know I can’t tell them that.”
“Then tell them whatever you need to.” I yanked off my gloves, tossed them onto the center of the table, and with a parting withering stare, traced to Mr. Moreno’s farm.
The night was rich with the sound of hooting owls and chirping crickets. Silver stars dusted the navy-teal sky, and I took a moment to develop a mental picture. I could see why he was so desperate to save this legacy for his grandson.
A small white farmhouse that looked old but was still well maintained sat before an expansive field that should have been overflowing with cabbage and corn and beans, but most of the plants were as wasted as he’d said.
It wasn’t easy walking in heels through the fallow soil—I probably should have left them back at the carnival. Reaching a row of large, green-petaled plants I knelt and touched a cabbage sprout. It was rotting, visibly molding, and the leaves were full of enormous holes.
I knew immediately what it was. Mr. Moreno’s patch was infected with cabbage white butterflies, which only attacked brassica. But if this was infected, then I didn’t doubt the rest of the garden had similar problems, as everything looked sickly.
Butterflies were such beautiful bugs, and it wasn’t so much them as their pupae that were destroying everything. The laid eggs hatched into ravenous little caterpillars that couldn’t care less about a man’s livelihood or a grandson’s hope of continuing the family legacy.
Curling my nose, I stabbed my hand through the soil and hummed, concentrating on driving all the power within me into my hand, transforming it into a glowing rod of mass destruction for the tiny bastard colony wreaking havoc on his crops.
Heat sizzled from my fingertips, and shot through the ground so that it in the night you could visibly see the red glow of death spread up and down each row.
There was nothing I could do for what had already sprouted, but at the very least I’d save the seeds that hadn’t yet bloomed, and that should hopefully be enough to keep him afloat through the year.
The moment I returned to the tent, Greta was shoveling people through so that I had no chance of escaping again. It went on throughout the night, and deep into it, so that by the time it was nearly over I was exhausted and spent. Thankfully no one else came in for anything other than selfish wants and needs, and those I could easily ignore.
There were maybe two hours max before sunrise, just enough time to catch a catnap before the fun started all over again. Not to mention that the Día de Los Muertos festival parade was tomorrow, and thanks to Vyxen, I was heading the decoration department.
She really did hate me.
I was just unfurling my exhausted self from the chair when Greta walked in. Damn woman didn’t look nearly as exhausted as I did. Her fire-orange gown looked just as pressed and tidy as it had at the start of the night.
I hated her immensely for it.
“What?” I snapped, rubbing the bridge of my nose.
“We have one more. She’s waiting outside.”
“Are you freaking kidding me? It’s damn near sunrise—send her away.” I waved my hand, ready and willing to trace the hell back to my trailer.
“You know that’s not how this goes. You stay until the last customer.”
Snapping my fangs at her backside as she walked out, I snarled, “You know I hate you, right?”
The sound of her laughter echoed behind her.
Immediately another body came in, but the way it moved had me instantly on edge. Gripping my armrests, I leaned forward.
The figure was swaddled in a dark poncho and moving not just in shadow, but with it, if that even made any sense—like she and the shadow weren’t separate entities but part of the same whole.
Then she sat and shoved her cowl back and I knew immediately who this was.
“You,” I hissed.
It was the old woman who’d been flipping tacos the night Tubby had disappeared on me. Her face was exactly as I remembered it. Sun-browned to a leathery finish, deep hooded eyes crisscrossed with deep grooves and wrinkles, a squat nose and a flabby-looking jaw. She wasn’t a big woman, but she had a presence about her that demanded attention.
“What do you want?” Because I seriously doubted she was here to have me read her future.
But the woman didn’t even blink, just continued to give me a chilly, almost vacant stare. And for the first time all day I felt Pestilence quirk up, unfurling as if from a long sleep to study the woman before me.
Lust didn’t care one way or another and ceded her position to Pest readily, which set my teeth on edge because I still wasn’t sure how to control that bastard.
“You gonna talk?” I snapped. “Or just stare at me like a dumb mute?”
It wasn’t often that a mortal unnerved me the way she was. In fact, I couldn’t remember another time when I wanted to tap my foot in frustration. Quirking a brow, I forced my nerves to calm down. With Pestilence so suddenly perky, I knew I couldn’t afford to let my emotions rule.
“Look, if you’ve got nothing to ask, then I suggest you go. Carnival’s already closed.”
Like a viper striking, she latched onto my hand, almost crushing my fingers in hers, and yanked me closer. Her strength was immense and the suddenly overpowering sweet scent of raw almonds flooded my nose, making me want to gag in response.
I hissed, baring my fangs.
Her black eyes snared mine and just as I was about to go balls-to-the-wall nuts on her, a whisper fluttered in my head.
On high alert and with nerves jangling, I forced my body to still and not react. That’s when the indecipherable fluttering became more distinct.
War is upon you…
That’s all the voice said, over and over again. “War is upon you? Are you telling me this? Is that you in my head?”
But the woman didn’t blink or release me.
War is upon you. War is upon you. WAR IS UPON YOU!
The final shriek had me jumping out of the chair, my claws sharpening as I growled and Pestilence’s slimy soul chortled that he wanted to sink his poison into her. My fingertips rushed with the tingling and I was trying to pull away, because as angry as I was, I didn’t want to infect her.
But my emotions were too chaotic and Pestilence too insistent. Before I could stop myself, I was pumping that poison into her.
Finally she released me and I knew I was going to have to take that out of her, but she calmly and deliberately reached beneath her poncho and extracted one small red mum and set it on the table.
“What is that?” I demanded. “Was that you the other night? Who are you?”
I snarled at her as she turned for the door flap, but no way in hell was she leaving here, not with the Black Death riding her.
Latching onto her shoulder, I twirled her around. Matte black eyes stared back at me, but that wasn’t because of me. The woman not only didn’t reek of disease, but Pestilence felt just as clueless as I did.
Suddenly the world around us erupted in scre
ams and groans—some of it literally coming from right outside my tent. In the split second I turned to look, the old woman vanished.
It only took me a second to realize I had a lot more pressing matters to attend to than the fact that yet again someone had vanished right before me.
“Screw this,” I muttered, kicking off my shoes. I took off anything that would hinder my ability to fight should I need to. Grabbing hold of the hem of the gown, I ripped the fabric up to my knees and tossed it to the ground.
Then I walked out, right into bedlam.
Chapter 12
I really couldn’t believe what I was seeing. It was like one of those out-of-body experiences where you’re right in the thick of the action, but outside it at the same time.
There were humans screaming and running, bumping into each other in their haste to get away from creatures that were the stuff of nightmares.
Rotted corpses moving at speeds that defied logic were jumping them, ripping into them, and swallowing chunks of flesh in their frenzied need to feed.
But it wasn’t just humans who were set upon. Zombies were not only mauling my brothers and sisters, they were inflicting grim damage. We’re not invincible—tougher to kill, sure—but you could definitely do it if you knew how.
Luc was at the head of the pack, a whirling dervish of grace and deadly skill as he slashed and hacked at a group of five that surrounded him like a pack of rabid dogs.
Apart from a few scratches on his bare neck and torso, he didn’t appear to be in any sort of imminent danger.
My gaze roved around the grounds and I spotted Bubba, Vyxen, Rhage, Cash, Claudette, and Stryker; all of them were out and fighting, some using crowbars and mallets, but most were using our God-given abilities of razor-sharp claws and super agility to strike while keeping out of the way of their hungry maws. Anyone working the carnival was clearly already in the fray and they were battling fiercely. Throw in the fact that Vyxen’s cat ears were nowhere to be seen and I’d never seen Envy so concentrated and terrifying-looking, I knew this was no one’s idea of a prank.
Sometimes when things are at their worst, life has a way of feeling like it slows to a complete stop. When your child dies in your arms, when your spouse looks you dead in the eye and tells you it’s over, those moments create an indelible mark, an imprint that never leaves. They stain you eternally.
I saw Stryker shove his fingers deep into the necks of two zombies, ripping their heads off. Vyxen rolled across the back of a lone female who was missing one arm and had her neck already half severed before kicking out her wedge-heeled boot and tripping the monster long enough that she could tackle it to the ground and gain the leverage she needed to finish the decapitation.
Luc moved like liquid silk, hitting the undead so fast they never even saw what was coming. Bubba had a giant mallet prop and was smashing in head after head after head, covering himself in gore and ichor. There were humans, not many of them left at this hour, but a few just huddled within whatever shadow they could find, trying in vain to turn themselves invisible. A child whimpered, turning his little face into his mother’s breast as she gazed on with horror that the impossible was real.
Blinking, I began to realize that I should do something, should move. But when the enemy descends on a camp that should be impenetrable, a certain level of shock keeps you rooted. This shouldn’t be happening. I saw it, but my brain was having a helluva time recognizing it as fact.
Until I spotted something that made my blood run cold.
I wasn’t sure who was on the ground, but it was one of mine being feasted on by a group of twenty, if not more, and a red haze of fury poured through, me snapping me instantly into action.
My demon screamed. There was no thought, no reason other than to kill and hurt and make that which hurt us bleed… bleed… bleed!
Pestilence filled me, stretched me. My claws became daggers, my teeth sickles. I embraced death and jumped the zombies, scattering them like bowling pins with the ferocity of my surprise attack.
Only one remained, the one straddling her, making a feast of the severed end of her neck, slurping at her veins like they were straws. Shoving my claws through its middle in punishing strokes, I hissed at it. Now aware of my presence, it turned. It was a woman with half her face ripped off, displaying the bone beneath. Her breath whistled through the exposed cartilage of her nose, and with a roar, she sprang at me.
We crashed on the ground, rolling over each other in our desire to gain top position. Around me I became aware of the movement of my brothers and sisters joining in this fight, helping to keep the horde at bay.
With a grunt, I flipped her over and when I had her pinned, I drove my hands through her neck. Her fingers clawed and scraped at me. She was chomping her teeth in a mindless mania to feed her habit.
“You will die.” My voice was guttural, full of fire and brimstone. I had my prey and I wanted to toy with her, kill her slowly, but there were too many. Already I felt the putrid breath of another over my shoulder.
Grabbing her head, I yanked it off her body. She convulsed and flopped like a chicken recently decapitated.
I didn’t have a moment to breathe or even relax as another zombie grabbed my wrist, and before I knew what was happening, its teeth were sinking in.
I screamed from the fiery pain of blunt teeth ripping through my flesh. Blood bubbled out as it chewed through an artery.
Grabbing it by the neck, I flipped it over my shoulder. Not easy to do from a squatting position, but fury lent my beast power. I fought so damn hard to contain Pestilence—he was screaming, shredding my soul with his claws to join in the fracas, but there were still humans present and until they were contained, I refused to let him play. My teeth clacked from the arctic cold building deep inside my bones as he slinked and slithered through me angrily.
The zombie still had its teeth in me. Grunting, I reached down my bra and yanked out the katana fan blade I always kept tucked there. It popped open with a zing and I drove it straight through the bloody bitch’s neck.
The head was still clamped on and I realized I was actually sweating. The novelty of it made my stomach churn with the first waves of anxiety. I didn’t feel right and it had nothing at all to do with my ravaged wrist.
Zombies aren’t at all like popular mythos would suggest. Even cutting off one’s head or driving a stake through its brain couldn’t kill it. Nothing could but fire. They were just easier to contain when the head and body weren’t attached.
Stumbling back into a tent, I braced myself against a support pole, then shoved the zombie head onto my knee so I could finally gain the leverage I need to pry its jaw open.
It hissed and growled, snapping with fury as it once again tried to get back at me. Panting, I tossed it to the ground and then hugged my lacerated wrist to my breast. The thick spread of blood coated the front of my dress and its warmth was oddly soothing. I was shivering now from the bone-deep cold and grimaced when I moved my arm and realized my ulna and radial bones were crushed. I could feel their sandpapery bits gouging at my muscle from the inside.
“Oh shit,” I murmured when I saw another zombie fast approaching. This body was definitely better preserved than the others; in fact, it looked fresh. As in just a few hours, no more than a day, fresh.
My fan was still on the ground. I never did that, was never so sloppy. But my head was spinning like a top and every breath was like icy flames licking at me with each ragged inhalation.
I wasn’t going to reach it in time. This was going to hurt like a mother.
But just before it barreled into me, a massive body shoved it to the ground. Red glowing eyes highlighted the rugged, frightening beauty of Bubba before he tore into the zombie’s back. Not with his hands, but his mouth.
I squeezed my eyes shut but was unable to block out the chilling sound of slurping and the slippery wet noise of ripping flesh. I didn’t want to know what he was doing, but I knew. I knew. He was using his demon. Bubba was eating the
zombie, and then I was bending over, dry heaving and gagging. It seemed to go on forever, the sounds of his violence, and eventually I shuddered, gasping for a breath that didn’t hurt. Pestilence was violent and furious—he wanted out too. But it wasn’t just that demon making me sick; something was swimming through my bloodstream. Something toxic and vile, moving through me like a poison-tipped tentacle.
My head swam as I tried to rise, my arms shaking so violently that I ripped a section of tent off in my hands. I fell forward, unable to put my arms out to block the ground that was a second away from smacking me in the face. Strong hands yanked me up by the hair, making me cry out. Then I was hugged tight to a barrel chest that was covered in ichor.
“Dora,” Bubba huffed. “You okay?”
His twang was sharp and full-bodied. Bubba was a big blond-headed Norse throwback. If he was feeling exhausted from this battle then I knew it was bad.
I shook my head, the dizziness passing finally. Two gulps of air later, I managed to squeeze out, “I’m fine. Bubba, you gotta get these humans out of here. Round them up.”
I felt Pestilence smile.
Bubba’s eyes glowed like flame. Covered in blood and gore as he was, I almost felt like I was in the arms of the devil himself. I had to remind myself that he was my brother, my friend. Bubba would never hurt me, but his was the one deadly sin I’d always hated.
I had to keep reminding myself it wasn’t his fault—he didn’t do what he did because he liked it. But I still couldn’t keep myself from averting my eyes, even knowing the second I did it he’d read the thoughts going through my head. But there was no time to make him feel better about it.
Screwing up whatever dregs of courage I still had, I forced myself to look at him. “You have the best glamour of us all. Scrub their minds and get them the hell out of here before the Order figures out what happened tonight.”
The pain in his eyes was instant and squeezed my heart in a vise. Bubba was an outcast—he knew it, he’d always known it—but I was one of the few that tried never to let on to that fact. He swallowed hard. The jig was up; in his heart I was the same as the rest of them now. And I hated that, but I had no time to make this right.