by Lish McBride
The tiny dragon continued to swoop down, swiping at their eyes with one of its four taloned feet. Ramon heard a few yelps of pain, but not many. One huge, gray wolf leapt at the dragon, snapping at it with its jaws. The wolf missed, but the move forced the dragon to fly higher. This happened a few more times, and while the dragon was getting some good hits in, Ramon was relieved to notice that the group had gained on the house. The dragon was outnumbered, even with its strange backup crew. The creature ignored the odds against it, spitting fire, clawing, and giving the fight its best shot. Even though it was keeping him from Sam, he had to give the little guy some respect. To take on a group like this, even a dragon must have cojones the size of watermelons.
After another swoop and yelp, Ramon pulled back his arm and hurled his skateboard, giving it all he had. Distracted by the seemingly bigger threat of the wolf’s jaws, the dragon never saw the spinning board coming. Fire-breathing mythical creature or not, an airborne skateboard hurtling upward at that speed hurt like hell, Ramon was sure. He’d been hit by a few boards, and they’d hurt him like hell, too. Dragon and skateboard collided in midair, the metal of the trucks making a large thwacking sound against the creature’s skull before the whole mess came crashing down.
He paused to snag his board, ignoring the stunned creature a few feet from it. Then he ran. He broke the board a second later as he swung at what appeared to be a pack of vicious lawn gnomes. The little creatures were crawling all over Sean, their red hats bobbing and weaving as they poked him with tiny shovels. One clobbered Sean’s knee with a miniature wheelbarrow. Ramon chucked the broken ends of the board at the one with the wheelbarrow and kicked another. Once Sean had a handle on the gnomes—he started winging them at the minotaur—Ramon continued to run toward the house.
Bran leapt over the steps leading to the front porch, slamming into the door as he went. The big guy never even hesitated. Surprise rippled through Ramon as he watched the door give way. Everyone else poured through the gap after him. A split second later, Ramon heard a similar creak and snap as another door split on the other side of the house.
Ramon ran up the stained wooden steps. He jumped through the hole that Bran had made, hoping Sammy was still okay somewhere. And that he wasn’t too late.
27
Unchain My Heart; Oh, Please, Please, Set Me Free
The fighting continued around the cage, but I ignored it. From the yips, groans, and thuds coming from Michael, it was clear Brid could take care of herself. I was more concerned with Douglas. He walked toward me, eyeing me like he was trying to decide where my light meat and my dark meat were. I kept myself from grabbing at him with my free arm. It wouldn’t do any good. He stood out of reach, so all I’d accomplish was revealing the only trick I had.
He came at me with the knife, slicing into the still-bound arm. I gritted my teeth, but the scream came anyway. A long thin line of red erupted along my arm, right above the blue of my vein. He caught my blood in a bowl that was way too big for my liking. Big bowls mean more blood, and Douglas was the greedy type.
He jumped back as a snarling ball of Brid and Michael slammed into the bookcase, but didn’t lose any blood from the bowl. He waited until Brid kicked Michael in the stomach and bobbed to his other side, leading Michael off in the other direction. I watched, breath caught, blood dripping from my arm onto the ground.
I felt the first drop hit.
As it splashed back up, a sensation tore through my body, like sticking a fork in a light socket. With that one drop I knew something very important.
Douglas had killed a lot of people in this room. And a lot of other things.
And they were pissed.
More of my blood fell to the floor. My eyes went wide, and my breath came in short gasps. My whole body went rigid.
Anytime I’d tried to do something involving necromancy, I’d floundered. I’d stumbled along blindly, trying to figure out how things worked. I didn’t have to do that this time.
When I’d looked at the room earlier, I’d seen a haze and wondered if it was normal. I knew the answer. The air looked hazy because it held an amalgam of different specters. They were all angry, and they were all howling for Douglas’s blood. I doubted there were many places on earth that looked like that. I wanted to cover my ears, drown out the sound of it. I wondered how Douglas could even walk into the basement, how he could concentrate over the din. Or were they simply calling out for help from the first necromancer that came around besides their killer?
Another drop hit. I was damn near choking on power. My muscles were so rigid I couldn’t draw a full breath. I knew I could tell the spirits to be quiet. I knew they’d have to do what I said. But I forced myself to listen, to hear all their pain. To pull it all inside me until my chest ached with it.
Because I listened, they told me what to do. I didn’t see any other option. I had to hope they wouldn’t hurt Brid. I accepted their offer, and my power blew outward, throwing the room into chaos.
The floor split, and creatures came up from the ground, forming as they climbed, just like the first zombie I’d seen. I heard a loud crash as the fridge under the stairs upended, glass vials spilling all over the floor. One broke open, and the energy inside me expanded. Blood. Douglas had been keeping vials full of blood in his fridge. The spirits didn’t like it as much as mine. It wasn’t fresh. But they used it all the same.
The creatures that materialized this time were under my control, and I sent them at Douglas. They flew at him, their hands out, aiming for his throat, his clothes, anything. He held up his arms, throwing out his own power and keeping them at bay.
I felt him try to activate his circle. Too late, he realized he’d never finished it. He’d been in too much of a rush after Brid’s attack.
Another drop bled into the floor, and I egged the spirits on. Suddenly people were pouring into the room, people I didn’t recognize. No, not people. In the throes of magic, I could see twists of color, some like Brid, and some like nothing I’d ever seen. Wolves came at their heels. The giant beasts hurled themselves at Douglas. I felt that nettle-and-mud feeling as he used his will to turn some of the weaker spirits away from him and onto the wolves. I watched as a confused zombie turned from Douglas and leapt onto a tall, short-haired man in a tank top. I did my best to keep them pointed away from the strangers and toward the real enemy, but Douglas had more training than me. His tactic worked, keeping a mass of undead bodies and spirits between him and the intruders.
The room was turning into one solid brawl.
Douglas went back to his spell, words streaming from his lips. He used the blood from the bowl to draw symbols on my legs and over my heart.
The world tunneled in and became only two things: the spirits and Douglas. Between the anger and the built-up power, the spirits were in a frenzy. They attacked anyone or anything they came into contact with. I couldn’t send them back. The best I could do was try for damage control and hope that everyone would be okay.
I heard a shout, and my vision tunneled out again: Ramon at the top of the stairs, Ramon barreling toward me, an antique lamp in his hand, swinging at anything in his way. Douglas didn’t even look. He just made a negligent pushing motion with his hand, and a zombie attacked Ramon. The ragged creature picked him up and threw him under the stairs. The crowd shifted and blocked my view.
28
Beep Beep’m, Beep Beep, Yeah
Mrs. W drove right up the damn driveway like an old bat out of hell. Tia crouched down in her seat, but Haley leaned forward, anxious to get there.
“Are we not even going to try for stealth?” Tia asked, grabbing onto the door as they hit a pothole in the road.
Mrs. W snorted. “Ramon’s already here, and from the looks of it, a lot of other people are, too. Stealth is a long-gone concept.”
Haley had to agree. As they approached the yard, she could see scorched earth and broken doors. She tried to make sense of it. Had there been a flamethrower fight? A minotaur lay bleeding
next to what appeared to be a shredded lion. Tiny red hats were everywhere. A few men were lounging around a pretty Greek lady, and one guy was fighting the shrubbery. “Where do you think Sam is?” she asked. She squashed the tremor of fear in her voice. Fear wouldn’t do her or Sam any good. This was a rescue mission. She had to concentrate on that.
Tia unfurled from her crouch, her desire to examine the yard apparently more powerful than her fear of Mrs. W’s driving. Or, Haley thought, it might just be because the car was finally going under eighty miles an hour.
Tia squinted, looking for a sign. She pointed toward the back of the house. “There,” she said.
“You sure?” Mrs. W asked, even though she’d already started driving over grass to get there.
“Yes,” Tia said, eyes going toward the eaves of the house. For the first time, Haley noticed the biggest freaking crow she’d ever seen. How had she missed that?
“What the hell is that?” she said. Her mom mumbled in response. She wasn’t sure if she heard correctly, but it sounded like Tia said, “Sam’s crow.”
“Hold on.” Mrs. W downshifted and hit the gas, tearing huge chunks out of the yard, her face filled with devilish glee. “I hope ol’ Dougie has a good gardener on staff.”
Haley hunkered down in her seat and braced herself for the end of the ride. There was a small thump and a cry as the car hit something. Mrs. W slammed on the brakes, and they all piled out.
Whatever they’d hit had been thrown a few yards and wasn’t moving. Haley immediately ran toward it, ignoring her mother’s protests. The curled-up form of a black-and-white cat was embedded in the ground. Despite the hole it had caused, the actual body of the cat seemed fine. Haley picked it up gently, running her hands over it while looking for any wounds. Nothing.
“Haley.” Her mother came to a stop behind her. “You shouldn’t do that. You don’t know what it is.”
“It’s a cat.”
“You don’t know that for sure.”
“What does it matter?” Haley asked. “What do we need to know besides the fact that it could be hurt?”
“It must be nice to be young,” Mrs. W said wistfully.
“Haley, put it down.” Tia’s voice was firm.
“No.” She brushed some dirt off the cat’s face and it opened its eyes. Haley had never seen a cat with silver eyes before. “It’s beautiful.”
The cat stared at her for a minute before leaping out of her arms. In midair, the cat morphed into a tiny dragon and flew in a wobbly path toward the woods, hiccuping fire the whole time. Haley stood dumbfounded.
“What on earth?” Tia stared off after the creature.
“Well, thank heavens for that,” Mrs. W said. She looked around, taking in the yard. She frowned at the men lounging close to the pretty lady and the guy fighting a berserk hedge. Mrs. W grabbed Haley by the shoulder. “You and your mom go get the boy, okay? I’m going to stay out here and deal with this lot.”
Haley nodded. Tia was already sprinting toward the house, yelling at Haley to stay there.
She stayed put for all of two seconds. Haley couldn’t just sit there and let them have all the fun. She looked back to where the cat had disappeared. “Ingrate,” she mumbled, and snuck off toward the house.
29
Ballroom Blitz
Sweat beaded on my lip as I tried to maintain some measure of control over the situation. But with my blood flowing onto the floor and my energy waning under the strain, I didn’t think I had much more in me.
Douglas continued to mumble and throw my blood around. I couldn’t see everything he was doing, but I didn’t really want to. I didn’t need to see him to know that his spell was coming together. I could feel the power of it pressing on the backs of my eyelids. I shuddered as the spell crawled along my skin. It felt oily and unclean.
The power of the incantation jackknifed up, and I knew Douglas was almost done. If I had any tricks, the time to use them had come.
As he reached across me to draw a symbol on my head, I jerked my right hand out of the cuff and slammed my fist into his eye. My knuckles connected with his cheek and brow, and I felt his surprise. He stumbled back, and I grabbed for the knife. My palm wrapped around the top of the blade, which cut into the soft flesh of my hand. I managed to get a finger or two around the hilt. Jaw clenched, I yanked the knife away from Douglas, the pressure causing the blade to cut deeper into my palm.
Douglas lunged, his mouth carved into a snarl. As he did, I reversed the knife and threw my arm forward, putting as much force as I could into the stab.
The world slowed down as the knife blade bit into his throat. The sounds of fighting around me dimmed. In the new quiet, I could hear the wet pop as the blade slid home. The hilt protruded from his neck, my hand keeping it in place. I wanted to keep it there forever, like my hand on that knife was all that was keeping him pinned still. Douglas’s eyes went panic-wide. Anger changed to surprise and fear, the emotions boiling over onto my skin. He hadn’t thought me capable of this. He’d underestimated me greatly, and I felt that thought register. I could literally feel his pain. How had he been able to kill so many times if it felt like this?
We stayed frozen like that, both of us overwhelmed. The image of Douglas bleeding, dying, my hand on the hilt of the blade, burned itself into my brain. It would probably stay with me until the day I died.
He jerked away from me, pulling the knife free from his neck. Blood fountained, spraying me in the face. I must have hit an artery. His blood struck my tongue—a viscous, heavy saltiness. My heart shuddered. No, not my heart. Douglas’s heart.
We’d completed the spell.
Power ran through me, stronger than before. My body convulsed with it, but I didn’t drop the knife. Douglas fell to his knees, and another wave took me. Something old and brittle shattered in my chest. My heart fluttered for a split second, tied to Douglas’s floundering beat. I felt the rhythm stumble and slow.
I felt him die.
At the same moment, I felt another death, like a flickering motion on the edge of my field of vision. My eyes stayed stuck on Douglas, but in my mind I could see Brid. Her face and hands bloody, her pale form standing over the crumpled heap of Michael. She’d gotten her revenge, though she didn’t look happy about it. She didn’t cry, but she looked sad that it’d had to come to this, that she had had to kill one of her own.
Brid was the only point of stillness in a sea of motion. Everyone else around her was still battling the dead. But Brid made no move to help them. Instead, she stared as Michael’s blood leaked out from the tear in his throat.
I watched with her. I felt it as the red pool spread at her feet.
And it was too much.
I screamed then, an unending peal of torment. The pain was excruciating. The pain felt glorious. I could feel every nerve in my hand, every cut in my back, every sensation magnified until the line between good and bad blurred into something so awesome, so awful, that I had to open my mouth and let it out.
I felt the room still, the fighting pause, everyone and everything hanging on to that scream. I couldn’t get a handle on it. In my mind I grabbed at it, tried to find an edge, but there was none. Power clawed at my insides, trying to get out.
My gift was tearing me apart.
I continued to scream, though my voice was becoming hoarse. I’d never known how much damage a sound could do to my throat. And I didn’t care. I kept screaming because it was all I could do.
It was Brid who grabbed my face. She looked tired and drawn. I didn’t realize how hot my cheeks were until her cool hands burned into them. I dimly remembered that Brid’s hands usually felt hot to me. Was that bad?
I looked for the horror in her eyes. Horror for what had happened, for what I’d done, for what I’d become. I couldn’t find it. Brid looked at me like she needed me to focus on what she was saying.
I stopped screaming. I grabbed her wrist with my free hand and held on.
“Put them back,” she whispered.
Was she whispering, or was I having a hard time hearing? I could see the creases in her lips as they moved. She wanted me to put something back. Wait…someone. She wanted someone put back. But I couldn’t remember who or what.
Brid must have seen my confusion. “The dead. Put them back.” She enunciated each word. Her hair shone in the light, the colored streaks weaving through the rest of it. She shook my face, trying to get my attention. “Put the dead back in the ground, Sam, now!”
Of course. The dead were scattered like toys that I needed to put away. Biting, undead toys. I shivered against the chill of her palms and nodded. I didn’t even have to try to find them. The spirits were all there at my fingertips. Go to sleep, I told them. It’s done. It’s all over.
One by one, I felt them return to the earth. The power poured away with them as they went, but it didn’t leave entirely. I could feel it curled up in my chest like a sleeping cat. The table shuddered as the floor shifted back into its original shape. I didn’t see it. I stared into Brid’s eyes until she told me I was done.
I don’t remember anything after that.
30
Back in Black
For the first time in a week, I woke up somewhere pleasant. Okay, a hospital bed isn’t usually described as pleasant, but no one was whupping my ass or throwing me into a cage, so on the whole, everything seemed fantastic to me. The room was light and airy, and the blankets were soft. The comfortable bed made me feel better about the fact that my entire body ached. But, to be honest, I was kind of surprised to be alive, so complaining about the pain wasn’t too high on my list.
The room was empty—empty except for someone I’d never seen before. He sprawled in an easy chair next to the bed, idly flipping through the comics section of a newspaper. He wore jeans and a T-shirt that read control the population: support cannibalism! in big block letters. Between his reddish hair and easy manner, I figured him to be a relation of Brid’s.