But that's the point, isn't it.
One of the guards pulls his gun and before I can kick it out of his hand, he smiles and shoots Frosty in his already injured shoulder.
Knocked backward, Frosty slams into the wall and drops, leaving a smear of blood in his wake. I scream and rush to his side.
"He gave me trouble," the guard says before slamming the door.
I rip off my shirt. I don't care that everyone can see my bra. Let them look. Fighting a fresh wave of panic, I bind Frosty's newest wound as best I can. "You'll be okay. You have to be okay."
Would he?
I have to reach dynamis. I just have to. It's the only way he'll strengthen supernaturally fast. Maybe the only way he'll survive. But I try again and again and again--and I fail. No. No! I do not accept failure. I will never accept failure.
"I want you to know," he pants, "that I'm glad I met you, glad you were a part of my life. I had fallen down a very dark pit, but you pulled me out."
Damn him! He's talking like he's going to die.
Time for me to try something else. "Miss Smith," I shout. I stand and peer into the mirrored wall, my reflection wild. Hair still dyed brown is tangled with twigs and dirt. Frosty's blood stains my hands, smears my chest. There's a tear in my bra. Cuts in my arms, and rips in my pants. "Help him. Please."
A voice spills over the speaker. "I'll be happy to help him, Miss Marks. For a price. You remember how things work around here, do you not?"
"I do." I remember far too well.
"What will you give me in return?"
Nothing...while seeming to give everything. I told myself I'd never again betray my crew, and I won't. Not even for Frosty.
He's even paler than before, with a bluish hue becoming more and more noticeable on his lips. His wounds are clean, at least, both bullets having gone out the other side, but infection is likely. The makeshift bandages won't last forever. Already the one on the left is soaked through.
How much time does he have? How much more blood can he stand to lose?
His eyes are on me, but they're closing. Still he's shaking his head no. "Don't do it."
I ignore him. I have to ignore him. I have a part to play. "What do you want, Rebecca? Name your price."
"I want Tiffany...and Ali Bell."
Of course she does.
"No." Frosty shakes his head more violently. "No."
Again, I ignore him. "Thanks to you, Ali lost all her abilities. She's useless to your cause."
"I took her abilities, and I can give them back. Will you do what I tell you or not?"
"Yes," I spit through clenched teeth. "If you help Frosty now."
"I'm not a cruel woman. You have my word he'll be on the mend by the time you return."
Her word means nothing to me.
"If you fail me, Frosty will die--and your brother will be my next target."
"Milla," Frosty croaks. "Don't. Please."
I close my eyes, tears leaking through my lashes. I don't have to fake it. So much rides on my ability to trick Rebecca and convince the other slayers I'm on the up-and-up. Two mountains I might not be able to climb.
But I have to try.
"Take me into the hall and tell me what you want me to do."
*
Rebecca's agents drop me three miles away from the mansion, not wanting to be noticed and followed by slayers. I have to run those miles. Every second counts. By the time I reach the mansion, the sun is at its pinnacle, its heat draining what little strength I have left.
The shirt I was given is drenched with sweat and plastered to my chest; I'm operating on nothing but fumes, desperation and determination.
One of the slayers must spot me on the monitors, because the wrought-iron gate whines open upon my approach.
There's no trace of the battle along the long, winding driveway, no bodies or body parts littering the yard. As I step inside the foyer, my friends--are they my friends?--run from different areas of the house to greet me. They're still armed, ready for combat, and I doubt they've had any sleep.
River yanks me into his arms, hugging me tight. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, but Frosty isn't." I fight past a fresh wave of tears. "We were captured by agents. He's badly injured, and he needs help." I make sure to say only what Rebecca told me to say. If I deviate from her script, she'll know.
There's a tiny camera and mic attached to the small, heart-shaped locket she hung around my neck.
One misstep, and Frosty will suffer.
Cole eyes me suspiciously. "I made it through the undead masses as you were being hauled away. I gave chase and tracked the van several miles, but they managed to lose me. Where is he, and how did you get away?"
"Rebecca still has him, but I don't know where she's keeping him. I was blindfolded on the drive out." I rub the tattoo on my wrist--the word Betrayal--and pray someone notices. "Rebecca set me free so that I could deliver a message. Give her Tiffany, and the war ends. Don't, and she'll kill us all."
Curses ring out. Amid them, Cole barks, "Go to your rooms. All of you. Now."
Several kids gape at him, but everyone obeys.
"You, too, Milla." He stares at me hard. "I need some time to think."
"Don't take too long." Please.
I hurry to my bedroom. How am I going to tell him what Rebecca really plans?
If I can't...I'll have to risk Frosty's life by telling everyone the truth outright. A whimper escapes me.
Kat appears in front of me and crosses her arms over her chest. As a spirit, the camera can't detect her and the mic can't pick up her voice.
Thank God! Cole understood.
"Is Rebecca watching you?" she asks.
I give the barest nod.
"Is she planning an ambush?"
Another nod, and Kat disappears.
She reappears a few minutes later. An eternity. "Okay. Everyone's gathered in the gym. Let's see if we can figure this out."
Yes. Let's. I walk into the bathroom, grab a bottle of Advil and fish out two little pills. I toss them in my mouth, drink straight from the faucet.
"Headache?" Kat asks.
A shake of my head.
"Advil...medicine...drug! You're supposed to drug everyone?"
I move away from the mirror and nod.
"To kill?"
A shake.
"To make everyone sick?"
A shake.
"Sleep?"
A nod.
I pace back and forth in front of my desk, ghosting my finger over my new cell phone.
"Is the phone significant?" she asks.
A nod.
"You're supposed to call Rebecca?"
A nod.
"When? Why?"
I lie on the bed and close my eyes.
"When everyone is asleep?"
A nod. How do I tell her agents will be waiting nearby? I'm supposed to let them in so they can grab Ali and Tiffany, and most likely kill everyone else.
"I'll be back." Kat vanishes.
These slayers have no reason to trust me, but I really, really hope that they do. It's the only way we'll make it through this alive. The only way Frosty will make it.
Kat appears. "We're trying to figure out a way to give Rebecca what she wants without actually giving her what she wants."
I roll my eyes--yeah, I'd already figured that part out, thanks--and she sighs.
"Emma is searching for Frosty, but so far no luck." She closes the distance, sits on the edge of the bed. "You've been good for him, you know. And I think he's been good for you, too. Your eyes light up every time you look at him."
He has been good for me.
"Do you love him?" she asks.
Do I?
I definitely chemistry him. He's real, and he's smart. He's driven. He's always willing to admit when he's wrong, and he's not afraid to apologize. I crave his kiss and his touch...his body pressing and rubbing against mine. I adore his smile, and his sense of humor. I love when he protects me,
even though I'm capable of taking care of myself. I love the way he looks at me, as if I'm something special. I love his intensity and even his anger. He's passionate about what he believes in.
I love that he's guarded, and so few ever get to see the real him--I love it because I'm one of the blessed few. Just like he's one of the blessed few to know the real me. I let him in, even though there were a thousand reasons not to.
So. Yes. I do, I realize. I love him with all my heart.
I want him to love me, too, even though he's going to lose me.
A tear leaks from the corner of my eye.
Kat smiles at me. "Good," she says, shocking me.
Good? She's actually happy about this?
"Love always finds a way." She stands. "We're going to figure this out, don't worry. We won't let Frosty die."
Thank you, I mouth.
She reaches out to pat my hand, but all I feel is a rush of warmth. "In about five minutes, Ali's going to come in and ask if you're up to cooking dinner for everyone. You'll say yes, and you'll let Rebecca watch you pour the sedative, or whatever it is, into a pitcher of sweet tea. Ali will carry the pitcher out of the kitchen to fill the cups at the dining table, but as soon as she's out of range, she'll exchange it for an untainted one. While you eat, everyone will discuss what to do about the situation. Nothing they say will be true. As soon as we've got a real plan worked out, I'll let you know."
Great. All I have to do now...is wait.
I'm given a couple bags of blood, my wounds stitched and bandaged without anesthesia--no need to waste it on me, I'm told. I hold my curses inside. These people are nothing more than walking lab coats, and they might actually enjoy my pain.
Screw 'em.
I'm cuffed to a gurney, the position pulling at the stitches. Screw the pain. I'm given my greatest wish: I'm left alone in the mirrored room.
Fighting a smile now, I give the cuffs a good tug. My shoulders scream in protest, but now I know what I wanted to know. The bedrail is solid.
I lift my knees and the sheet that drapes my lower body falls over my wrists. My next actions will be hidden from prying eyes. Perfect. With a few well-placed jabs, I can break my thumbs, contort my hands and slide free.
Easy.
In my dreams.
Before I can make the first jab, the door opens. A gleeful Ms. Smith strides inside. I scowl. She's changed into a tailored dress suit--window dressing to hide the monster living inside--and while she looks like money, she smells like death. The scent of rot clings to her. Been hanging out with zombies a little too long, have we.
A man comes in behind her. The man who shot me. He's sets a leather chair beside the bed. When Smith is comfortably settled, he meets my gaze and runs his tongue over his teeth.
Bastard wants another piece of me.
Suck my balls.
I blow him a kiss. He hisses, and Smith stiffens.
"Out." Without turning to face him, she waves a hand in dismissal.
His hands fist. I'm sure he's willing to strangle her to get to me. But she's his paycheck. He pivots on his heel and marches from the room.
She smiles at me. "Do you wish you'd taken me up on my first offer?"
Hell, no. "You never would have kept your end of the bargain."
"Oh, I would have. I tried to walk the straight and narrow to achieve my goals. Now it's too late. I got nowhere fast, and I'm tired of your constant interference."
Kat and Emma mentioned Smith's witnesses, those hoping to save her. Obviously they failed.
She continues. "You and yours screwed up from the very beginning, you know. You stopped my day-to-day activities, but didn't take away my funding. You hid my memories, but put me back on the streets. My people found me, helped me, and here we are, back where we started."
"Take away funding. Thanks for the tip."
She smooths an invisible piece of lint from her skirt. "We both know you'll never have another chance."
"Circumstances can change in an instant."
"True, and soon, yours will. Your friends will die tonight. Your precious Miss Marks and her brother will be blamed. I see the headlines now. Rival gang slaughters competition."
Yes, Milla is doing everything in her power to protect me. Yes, she took the threat to my life seriously. But she won't repeat the sins of the past. As she walked away from me, she looked back at me with tears and hope in her eyes. In that moment, I knew. Her feelings for me run deep. She won't hurt me by hurting my friends. Won't hurt our friends. This time, she's working against the enemy. I know it.
I unveil an ice-cold smile. "My friends won't be dying tonight. They'll be kicking your ass--again."
Unconcerned, she stands. "They'll need more power than they've got. Not that it will do them any good. I, Mr. Martin, am invincible." Her spirit steps out of her body, two versions of her peering at me. White flames leap to life at the end of her spirit hand--and yet, the flames are tipped with red and black. "Fire spreads so easily. With the right kindling, one spark can start an inferno."
The scent of rot intensifies, stinging the inside of my nose, and I grimace. "You're tainted with zombie toxin. Not what you gave Milla, but something else. Something stronger."
"I'm not tainted. I'm finally free! This particular strain of toxin is immune to any antidote." She giggles like a deranged schoolgirl, and her expression makes her look like one, too, shocking--and horrifying--me. "No one can cure me." She air quotes the word cure.
"You're happy about that?" Has the toxin already rotted her brain?
"Why would I be sad? I finally have what I've always wanted. I will never grow old, never weaken. Never die." She spreads her arms and twirls. "I'm immortal."
My stomach twists. "What do you plan to do with Ali?"
"Infect her, of course."
No. Hell, no. "She's your greatest enemy. Why not kill her?"
"Every hero needs a villain to fight. Forever and ever and ever." She giggles again--only to stop abruptly. She closes her hand, and the flames die. Her features smooth out. "Ali doesn't know it, but she possesses the ability to create slayers."
"You're lying." We would have known, suspected at the very least...right?
"All she has to do to light a fire in civilians is spark their faith--faith comes by hearing her story--then introduce her fire in small increments."
"Receptive civilian candidates," I echo.
"Like your girlfriend. What was her name? Kate...no, Kat. Kathryn Parker. If your little army had practiced on others, learned what to do--"
"You mean experimented. Learned what not to do."
"--she could have lived through the explosion, gunshots and zombie bites."
Rage blends with regret and vibrates in my bones. Maybe Smith is right. Maybe she's lying. But...what if?
Yeah. What if.
Dangerous words. They have the power to totally incapacitate me. I fight them. Now is not the time to cave to emotion.
Milla was right. Like circumstances, emotions can change in a blink. Why allow mine to pull my strings?
"It wasn't bombs, bullets or toxin that killed Kat," I say. "It was you. The orders you gave your men. But you'll come to regret it."
"You want me to regret. The thought of it makes you feel better." She returns to her body, and for a moment, her human eyes flash red.
Hell. She's not immortal. She's a living zombie.
"You will," I say. "Before, Kat could do nothing to fight you. Now she's a witness, and she has abilities she never had before. We need power, you said. Well, we've got it."
Paling, she walks around the gurney, her finger tracing over the rail. "I can't be killed."
"Rot is death sneaking up on you. And you, Smith, are rotting."
"I know what you're doing. Trying to undermine my confidence. Make me doubt myself--lose my faith. Too bad. I'm a god among men." She rips the bandage from my shoulder and presses her thumb against the stitches. "Now, let's get to the reason for my visit, shall we?"
&nbs
p; Pain is a bitch, and I hiss in a breath.
"How did you retrieve Mackenzie Love?"
Sweat beads on my upper lip. "We followed the yellow brick road."
"How?"
"A little birdie told us."
She applies more pressure. Breathe. Just breathe.
Her phone rings, and glee returns to her features. "Goodie! News!" She releases me to place the device at her ear. "Is it done?" A pause, a toothy smile. "Wonderful. Bring them."
With a laugh, she focuses on me. "Miss Marks is such a darling girl. She came through for me. But then, I knew she would."
I brace myself. "What are you saying?"
"Was I not clear? Well, let's remedy that. Your friends are dead. Killed. Murdered. My men have Miss Marks, Miss Bell and Tiffany in custody, and they're en route now. Soon your only worth will be ensuring that Miss Marks cooperates as she answers my questions."
Outrage seeps from every cell in my body. Smith is wrong; I know she's wrong. I know Milla found a way to save our friends. I know...but I'm scared out of my ever-loving mind. Milla could have tried to warn Cole, and he could have ignored her, refusing to trust her.
What if they are dead?
I erupt, spitting and cursing. Laughing, Rebecca skips from the room.
With a roar, I slam my thumbs into the mattress. The bones shatter instantly. I lose the ability to breathe. Dizziness swims laps in my head while nausea stomps around in my stomach. But I don't care. I slide my hands through the cuffs at last and collapse against my pillows.
I'm not sure how much times passes before the door opens. Even though I want to leap up, I remain on the bed. Timing is everything.
My heart lurches as two guards escort Milla inside. Her gaze is glued to the floor. She's pale and trembling, and there's a streak of blood on her cheek.
She's shoved into Rebecca's chair, her hands cuffed behind her.
The guards leave in a hurry. A commotion somewhere else?
"What happened?" I demand in a whisper. Tell me everyone survived. Please.
"Two minutes, thirty-two seconds," she whispers back.
Two minutes, thirty-two seconds...until the cavalry arrives? Hope is like an injection of pure adrenaline. "Where's Ali?"
Though her lips move, Milla remains quiet and I comprehend she's counting backward. Two minutes, twenty-six seconds. Two minutes, twenty-five seconds.
I let her do her thing. She's at one minute, two seconds when Ms. Smith strides into the room, her knuckles freshly cracked and bruised, as if she's been hitting a brick wall--or someone's face.
A Mad Zombie Party Page 28