A Kiss Before Doomsday

by Laurence MacNaughton

  That was the last thing Dru expected to hear. “Undead?”

  “The fifth seal,” Salem gasped, fighting for air. “The dead . . . rise.”

  Dru felt her mouth drop open. Beside her, Rane’s eyes went wide.

  The fifth seal of the apocalypse scroll.

  “What?” Dru breathed, desperately hoping she had misunderstood him. But she knew she had heard him right.

  Back in the late 1960s, a radical group of evil sorcerers called the Harbingers had sworn to destroy the world and remake it in their own image. To do that, they had started breaking the seven wax seals of the apocalypse scroll, the most powerful magical artifact in existence.

  Once they started breaking the seals, it had taken decades for the effects to appear. Most sorcerers, assuming the Harbingers had failed, soon forgot all about them. They didn’t know that doomsday was steadily marching closer.

  Breaking the first four seals on the scroll had summoned the spirits of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse, and one of them had possessed Greyson. Dru had only barely managed to defeat the Horsemen, leaving them trapped in the netherworld. She had lost Greyson in the process. Or so she thought.

  If that wasn’t bad enough, they hadn’t found the apocalypse scroll, either. She had no idea how many of the seven seals had actually been broken.

  With a chill, Dru remembered an offhanded comment Salem had once made to her: “Considering that the streets aren’t crawling with hordes of zombies yet, I’m thinking seal number five is still wrapped for freshness.”

  But now, Salem’s trademark arrogance was gone, and all that was left was his wiry body lying eerily quiet and still on the floor. His bruised-looking eyes were closed.

  “Salem?” Rane grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. He didn’t respond. “Salem!”

  “Give me some room to work,” Dru said, quickly unbuttoning his shirt. His chest and shoulders were adorned with elaborate tattoos. He wore a gold amulet on a chain, which Dru batted aside. “Make some space.”

  With savage swiftness, Rane kicked aside bookshelves and piles of debris to make an open space on the floor. She turned to Dru with the wide eyes of a cornered animal. “Dru, you have to save him. Do something!”

  “I will,” Dru said. There was no way she could go after Greyson right now, but there was no time to dwell on that. Mentally, she cataloged the magical ingredients she would need to try to save Salem. “I’m not going to let him die here. I promise.”

  She just prayed it was a promise she could keep.

  2

  BENEATH THE SKIN

  As Greyson drove the deserted, rain-swept city streets, he had only a vague plan: go home, get cleaned up, try to figure out what had happened to him . . . and try to put the pieces back together.

  How could he still be in the grip of his diabolical curse? Was he a danger to everyone around him? He had to be. Otherwise, why were his eyes glowing an evil red?

  He downshifted as Hellbringer rolled up to a stop sign. The wipers swiped back and forth across the glass as the rain pounded down on the windshield, mirroring his emotions.

  He couldn’t risk hurting anyone, especially Dru. He was determined to put as much distance between them as possible, in case he lost control again. But despite everything, a part of him desperately needed to turn around and head straight back to her.

  This wasn’t right. None of it was. Especially the foul taste of danger that choked the back of his throat. There was an odd itchiness beneath his skin that he just couldn’t shake. He had the sense that something was terribly wrong, and it grew stronger by the moment.

  He tilted the rearview mirror down and looked into the sinister red glow of his own eyes, searching for an answer. They just stared back, strange and devilish, revealing nothing.

  Hellbringer revved its engine, belting out a growl of exhaust. He could feel its impatience reverberating through the car. The speed demon hated to wait for him.

  Ahead, the watery yellow headlamps of several old motorcycles rolled through the intersection without stopping. A half-dozen motorcycles. Then a dozen. They quickly spread out across the intersection, blocking the way, creeping up in a semicircle around Hellbringer’s nose.

  Greyson pushed the rearview mirror back into position and frowned. The motorcycle riders, most of them hunched low over their handlebars, were wrapped in some kind of semitransparent gauzy material that trembled and shook in the falling rain.

  Thick layers of what resembled spiderwebs wrapped the leather-clad riders to their old, rusted mounts. It was impossible to tell where the motorcycle ended and the rider began. As if they had become one.

  The riders filled the street around him, throaty engines barking. From just a few feet away, their pale headlights glared at Greyson.

  He dropped one hand to the gearshift and glanced back over his shoulder. For the moment, the street behind him was clear.

  One of the riders rolled up to Greyson’s window. He lifted one arm from the handlebars as if in greeting, and the gauzy material tore away and fluttered in the wind.

  Puzzled, and more than a little apprehensive, Greyson watched him through the window.

  Something seemed to awaken beneath the webs that wrapped around the rider. Hundreds, perhaps thousands of wriggling dark streaks swayed back and forth in unison, as if washed by some invisible tide.

  Beneath the old-style, visorless motorcycle helmet, there was no face. Only cloudy goggles over a stained skull wrapped in black-speckled webs dotted with rain.

  The creature’s bony jaw opened wide, revealing sharp teeth. His fingers bent, and sharp black tips pierced through the webs, like claws.

  Too late, Greyson realized what his danger sense had been trying to tell him all along. He had misinterpreted the signs.

  He wasn’t the source of the danger after all. They were.

  Salem lay bare to the waist on Dru’s floor. Alive, but there was no telling how long he’d stay that way.

  “Whatever did this to Salem, it’s nastier than any undead I’ve ever seen. Not that I’ve actually seen a whole lot. But still.” Dru felt the sorcerer’s clammy wrist for a pulse. She found one, though there was no way for her to time it. Her clock had disappeared somewhere into the wreckage of her shop.

  What mattered was that Salem was still alive. For the moment, at least.

  Around her, a hundred things clattered and broke as Rane bulldozed a clear area for Dru to work.

  Dru knelt down low, studying Salem’s corrupted wound, but she couldn’t see much. The two battered table lamps in the corners shed little light, and the watery daylight seeping in around the edges of the boarded-up windows didn’t help much. Dru pointed to the lamps. “Bring those closer, will you?”

  Rane did, ripping their cords out of the wall with a muttered curse. She slammed the lights down near Dru, who scrambled to plug them back in.

  Then Rane crossed the room, one fist tight around the titanium ring she’d once gotten from Greyson, and used her power to transform into solid metal. With a faint scraping sound, like a whetstone being drawn across a steel blade, Rane’s fist turned into silvery titanium, followed by her arm and her entire body.

  Now even stronger than before, Rane reached up and easily ripped the plywood off the windows, letting in the clammy air and what gray daylight there was from the street outside. Cars hissed by in the rain.

  When Dru plugged the lamps in, their bare bulbs cast a harsh yellow glow over Salem’s narrow face and tattooed torso. Now, she could clearly see that the foul black claw marks cut deep into his skin. They didn’t bleed, but the tissue around them gradually swelled as she watched. Whatever was wrong with him, it was growing worse by the moment.

  “Salem? Can you hear me? What did this to you?”

  He whispered something she couldn’t quite make out.

  She leaned down closer. His throat worked before he could speak again. “Careless. Didn’t realize they were behind me,” he said, his voice raspy.

  “Th
ey? How many are there? What are they?” When he didn’t answer, Dru gently shook his shoulder. “Hey. If you don’t talk to me, I can’t help you.”

  He swallowed again, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “If I tell you, you’ll just try to go after them. And get yourself killed. Rather quickly.” Beneath the eyeliner, his eyes moved and opened to slits. “Rane would never forgive me for that.”

  “Well, at least you’ve got your priorities straight.” Dru scrutinized his sweaty face. She could never tell when he was joking. “What’s the fuller’s earth for? How do I fix this?”

  His eyes closed again, and he slumped back.

  Rane leaned over them, crowding Dru. “Hey. Hey! What did you do, dumbass?” It wasn’t clear whether she was accusing Salem or blaming Dru. Or both.

  All Dru knew was that she had to figure this out, and fast. But first, she had to stabilize him before he got any worse.

  Dru picked up the dagger-shaped wedge of spectrolite she had grabbed earlier. She channeled as much of her own magical energy as she could into the crystal, helping protect Salem until she could figure out what to do next. Gradually, the swelling around his wounds slowed and stopped.

  “Talk,” Rane said, metal knees clanking on the floor as she knelt opposite Dru. “What’s wrong with him?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve read about undead black stuff before, somewhere. But I forget where.” Helplessly, Dru surveyed the toppled bookshelves. Ancient tomes, some already brittle with centuries of use, lay piled up where they’d fallen. Sorting through them would take hours, possibly days.

  Salem didn’t have that kind of time.

  “What the Faulkner has he been up to?” Dru wondered aloud. “Has he said anything to you about chasing undead? Why does he need fuller’s earth?”

  “I don’t know. It’s not like we talk.” Rane turned human again with a sound like a knife sliding back into a sheath. Her face looked haunted. “I need to do something, D. I need to help.”

  “Call Opal. Put her on speaker.”

  As Rane dialed, Dru left Salem’s side and scrambled over to the messy piles of stuff she had sorted out. Which was only a small percentage of the entire store, granted. But if she could find some copper wire and a few basic protective crystals, she could at least build a magic circle around Salem.

  “Hey, talk to Dru,” Rane said suddenly, and held out her phone.

  Opal’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Dru, you know your credit card just got declined? I had to use my own card to buy this stuff for the shop.” Traffic sounds and squeaking windshield wipers blasted through the background.

  Dru shoveled through the piles of crystals, searching for anything useful. “Opal, I’m sorry, but right now—”

  “You’re sorry? Honey, I’ve got bills to pay myself.”

  “I know. I know. I will pay you back, but—”

  “But nothing. Listen, I know things have been hard, okay. But I’ve got rent past due already.”

  Rane brought the phone to within inches of her lips and yelled. “Hey! Salem’s been attacked by undead. Talk to Dru!” She held the phone out at arm’s length again.

  Opal paused, and the sounds of traffic flowed through the phone. “Salem? Is he okay?”

  “Tell me if this rings a bell,” Dru said. “Dark claw marks on the skin, human sized. Little black dots that move.” As she talked, she sorted through jars and bottles, searching for fuller’s earth, but she came up empty-handed. “If I recall, it’s kind of like an undead virus. I know I’ve read about it somewhere. It’s a, um, dirge or something.”

  “Oh, my. Look, I’m just around the corner. You try checking in the Libram of Undeath yet?”

  Dru gazed around at the wreckage of the shop and threw up her hands. “Well, I would, if I had any clue where it was.”

  “How about the Folio of the Forlorn?”

  “I have no idea. But I know I’ve read about this. It’s called a dirge, or something. A diverge? Does that sound familiar?”

  “The Folio was in the bathroom the other day. Under the sink.”

  “Why is the—never mind.” Dru clambered across overturned furniture to get to the back room, which was largely untouched. To her surprise, she found the Folio of the Forlorn in the bathroom, under the sink. Its familiar cracked brown leather cover was embossed with slack-jawed skulls.

  She brought it up front and flipped through the crackling tan pages, squinting at the thick handwritten passages. “Not a dirge,” she muttered. It was something else, something that sounded similar. The word hovered frustratingly out of reach. “Maybe a surge?”

  “I’m parking right now,” Opal said. Her old car’s parking brake zipped in the background. “Sit tight.”

  “Scourge!” Dru stabbed her finger down on a page with a magic circle diagram, but Opal had already hung up. Quickly, Dru flipped through the pages to either side, scanning the archaic writing. The cure would be intensely dangerous. For all of them.

  But if she was going to save Salem’s life, she had no choice.

  3

  THE DEAD RIDE FAST

  The undead creature stretched its long black claws toward Greyson’s window. He didn’t wait to see what would happen next.

  Greyson shoved the gearshift into reverse, released the clutch, and fed the heavy gas pedal, sending Hellbringer shooting back out of the creature’s grasp.

  The skeletal figure, wrapped in layers of black-speckled cobwebs, opened its bony jaw and shrieked in frustration.

  Greyson yanked the emergency brake, locking up Hellbringer’s front tires. At the same time, he swung the steering wheel hard right, spinning the long black car in the middle of the wet street until it faced the opposite direction.

  As Hellbringer’s pointed nose came around, Greyson punched it into first gear. He revved the engine and shot directly away from the motorcycles, tires warbling on the wet asphalt.

  The gang of undead, now behind him, all streaked after him in pursuit. The motorcycles filled the street behind Hellbringer, trailing sheets of tattered webs like gossamer wings.

  Greyson had no idea what these things were. All he knew was that he had to put them as far behind him as possible.

  For a few blocks, the street was empty, letting Greyson get almost a hundred yards from the creatures. Then his luck ran out. A slow red pickup hogged the lane.

  Greyson swerved around it and into the path of an oncoming old white van. He passed the pickup and swerved right again, dodging vehicles amid blaring horns. Behind him, the motorcycles spread out across the road and the sidewalks on either side, dodging cars, light poles, and a faded couch abandoned on the sidewalk.

  Why were they after him? He had no idea. Not yet, anyway. Dru would know, but he wouldn’t risk leading them back to her.

  He couldn’t outrun these things, he realized, not on the city streets. He’d have to shut this situation down before anyone got hurt.

  Greyson raced two more blocks and ducked behind a long strip of warehouses, sliding diagonally on the rain-slick pavement before he straightened the wheel and hit the gas again. Back here, among the scattered trailers and Dumpsters, it didn’t look like there were any innocent civilians to get caught in the way.

  As he charged ahead, the pavement disappeared under the mirrored surface of standing water, lit to a golden glow as the late-afternoon sun briefly emerged from the clouds. The shadows alongside the warehouses grew darker and deeper. Greyson steered into the narrow band of sunlight between them.

  Hellbringer shot across the standing water, throwing it back in curtains. The creatures closed in behind like a pack of hunting animals, spreading out into the shadows on either side, boxing him in.

  The creature on the driver’s side was closest. Greyson decided to take it out first. He watched it in the side mirror for one second, then another, letting the thing get closer until he could see the goggles stretched across its skull.

  “Come on,” Greyson murmured. Behind the warehouses, he would run out of pave
ment at any moment. If these creatures ran him into a fence or a dead end, they would have him cornered.

  Keeping to the shadows, the goggled creature stretched out one lanky arm toward Hellbringer’s flank. Its bony fingers pointed at the car’s tall spoiler wing. Greyson didn’t know what this thing was planning to do, but he wasn’t about to give it a chance.

  “Get ready, buddy,” he said to Hellbringer. “This isn’t gonna be easy.”

  He deliberately drifted close to the shadows on his left, until the creature was inches away, bony fingers spread wide. Gauzy webbing swirled into existence, filling the space between its clawed fingers.

  Now.

  Greyson dropped Hellbringer into second gear, ignoring the engine’s howl of protest, and flicked the steering wheel a touch to the right, just enough to make the long car lean on its left tires. As Hellbringer’s weight shifted, Greyson spun the wheel hard left.

  The tires broke their grip on the waterlogged pavement, and Hellbringer slid sideways with a demonic hiss. Its long nose swung around, and the creature that had been reaching for them hit the left fender at breakneck speed.

  The creature catapulted across the hood, tumbling high into the air and out into the direct sunlight. The web-wrapped motorcycle and its skeletal rider separated in midair, torn apart by the laws of physics.

  Greyson finished the turn wide, swinging out Hellbringer’s rear end like a baseball bat, striking a second oncoming creature with bone-crushing impact. Both of the creatures shattered when they hit the ground, hurling up sprays of water that glowed in the sunlight.

  Greyson accelerated head-on toward the remaining creatures. They swerved and scattered into the shadows on either side, as if trying to stay out of the sunlight. If the sun bothered them, maybe he could turn that to his advantage.

  Hellbringer’s fender, crumpled by the impact, slowly smoothed itself back into place. But the demon car’s anger rose up, and Greyson could feel it fighting him at the wheel, eager to turn back around and attack the creatures that now regrouped behind them.