“Why is it that you’re always sacrificing other people?” Taking a breath, Emma let it out in a long shudder. “Let me tell you something, Mama,” she said, pouring every bit of the pain and sorrow and guilt she’d suffered since the summer into that word. “If Jonah Kinlock kills Madison Moss, you will be dead to me in every way. Every way.”
For a long moment, Greaves looked up at her. Stared at her as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Then turned and strode toward the door. The shades shifted uneasily, as if unsure whether to go or stay. Eventually, about half of them followed.
“Lilith!” Gabriel hurried after her, catching up to her by the door. He clutched her arm. “What are you doing? This whole thing was your idea. You can’t leave me in the middle of this.”
“Watch me,” Lilith said. She jerked her arm free just as the doors to the lobby banged open and a crowd of hooded, black-clad wizards boiled in, waving guns. It was almost comical, how they skidded to a stop when they saw the shades in the way. But it quit being comical when they began firing volleys into the crowd.
Lilith must have been hit, several times, but she walked on and out the door. Gabriel Mandrake, though, stumbled back at the impact, swayed, and then toppled backward, landing flat on his back, eyes wide open. After a moment, Emma saw it, a smear of light rising from his body. It hung there for a moment, as if hoping to dive back in. Then she lost sight of it.
After that, it was bedlam. The hosted shades who were attempting to follow Lilith out of the building ran straight into the gunmen, who emptied their firearms at them with little effect. The shades were soon distracted by the scent of fresh blood magic and swarmed over the black-clad wizards.
Emma saw Leesha, crouched behind a stack of chairs. “Leesha!” she called.
Leesha squinted up at her, her eyes dark hollows in her ashen face.
“Where’s Madison Moss?”
Leesha swallowed hard. “Two blocks over, redbrick warehouse, corner of Birch Alley and Stanley.”
Emma turned, and ran, half-throwing herself down the staircase. But when she reached the outside doors, she found that the shooters had left a wizard there to prevent escape. A wizard with a gun.
Emma didn’t have any weapons, but she just ran straight at him. Maybe she’d be lucky, and he’d miss, which wasn’t a great strategy. She saw the flash of the gunman’s teeth as he smiled. He raised the gun just as somebody barreled through the doors behind him, slamming him to the ground. The gun went flying. The newcomer was dressed all in black, too, but Emma recognized the shock of red-blond hair and his build. It was Jack Swift, carrying his own gun. And, right behind him, Fitch and some other faintly familiar people.
“Not a good idea to stand right inside the door,” Jack said, nudging the unconscious wizard with his foot. “That’s how accidents happen. Are you all right, Emma?”
“I’m all right,” Emma said. “But there’s a big fight going on in there. Leesha, Seph, Mercedes, and DeVries are there with a bunch of hosted shades. Seph’s been hurt. Gabriel’s dead. And these guys just showed up and began shooting.” She pointed at the wizard on the floor.
“What about Ellen and Madison? We can’t reach them. Are they in there, too?” Jack nodded toward the auditorium doors.
Emma shook her head. “Leesha said they’re still at this other warehouse. And...” She swallowed hard. “Jonah’s gone there to kill Madison.”
Jack’s face went pale. “What?”
“It’s a long story. It’s not Jonah’s fault. Gabriel and—and Lilith—they’ve done something to him. That’s where I’m heading. I have to stop him.”
“I’ll go on ahead,” Jack said, “and see what’s what.” And he took off running, much faster than Emma could possibly go.
“Please don’t kill him!” Emma shouted after him. Please, don’t anybody else get killed, she thought. And ran after Jack.
For what seemed like a long time, Ellen gaped at the feeding frenzy by the door. Burroughs had completely disappeared under a pulsing mass of bodies. It was an oddly silent attack—there were no roars of rage or whoops of triumph, just the sound of bodies colliding. Some were already pulling back, realizing that they would never get a place at the table. It wouldn’t be long before they noticed Ellen and Madison.
“Do you believe in zombies now, Burroughs?” Ellen murmured. Returning Waymaker to its baldric in order to free up her hands, she slid her arms under Madison’s body, tilting her back against her chest.
“Hang on, Maddie,” she whispered. “Don’t you go into shock, now.”
Madison’s teeth were chattering, and her skin was pale and clammy. She’d left a puddle of blood on the floor.
“You never listen,” Ellen muttered.
The zombies were between them and the door they’d come in through. Ellen carried Madison to the back of the warehouse, her long legs dangling, walking flat-footed so as not to make any noise. The only door she could find was secured by a large padlock that looked as if it had rusted in place. She’d have to put Madison down to melt it or bash it with her sword, and she wasn’t sure that would even work. Not quickly enough. She continued along the back wall, seeking a refuge, a place to hide, a way out. The only thing she found was one of those large freight elevators, the ones that look like big cages. Ellen looked over her shoulder and saw that some of the undead had found the puddle of blood. They raised their heads, as if looking around or testing the air, then turned and stumbled toward Ellen and Maddie, as if following a scent.
Ellen carried Madison into the freight lift and gently set her down against the solid back wall. She drew her sword, leaning it against her hip, and tried to raise somebody on the PCD. “Come on, Jack,” she muttered. “I know you want in on this.” But there was no signal—it was like the Anchorage buildings were cutting off the signal in and out. She pulled out her phone. Who else could she call? Somebody in Trinity? Anyone there was too far away to be of much help before they became zombie fodder.
She called Jack’s number, but it went to voice mail. “Listen up, Jack—I’m here in the warehouse. Burroughs is dead, Madison’s been shot, and we’re surrounded by zombies. Oh, and there’s a team of assassins hunting down everybody else. I could use a little help here, if you get this.”
Ellen looked up to see a crowd of undead bearing down on them. Clicking off, she set her feet and dragged the metal elevator gate closed with an awful screech. The first of them reached the elevator, bringing with them the unmistakable stench of decay. Ellen’s eyes watered so badly, she could barely see what she was doing as she fumbled with the latch, trying to secure it.
Finally, it clicked into place. She stepped back as they thrust fingers through the gate, either trying to reach Ellen or muscle the gate open again and working at cross-purposes. She grabbed up Waymaker and jabbed at the groping hands, lopping off body parts whenever she connected. They scarcely seemed to notice.
“Do you smell something disgusting?” Madison made a face and struggled to sit up.
“I do,” Ellen said, and punched the elevator button. The lift lurched upward with a rattle-bang, zombies clinging to the outside, Ellen poking at them with her sword, trying to dislodge them until the elevator entered the shaft, scraping them off. Again, there was no screaming as they fell, just the crunch of bodies hitting the floor.
Ellen debated about whether to ride all the way to the top floor, so they would be as far as possible from the mob below, or stop on the second floor, where they might reasonably force their way out a window and survive a drop to the ground. It wasn’t a hard decision, though, because when they arrived at the second floor, shades were already swarming out of the stairwell. So she punched the button again, and they rattled up two more levels to the top floor. There she helped Madison out of the elevator, and sent it back down to ground level, hoping they would follow it back down. She could hope they weren’t smart enough to figu
re out where they were.
She used Madison’s scarf to wrap around the wound in her leg, pulling it tight to put pressure on it.
“Wait here,” Ellen said to Madison, which was stupid, because she wasn’t going anywhere. Ellen did a quick once-around the top floor of the building. It was nearly empty, save for a lot of dust, a pile of furniture pads, and a bunch of heavy barrels lined up on a pallet in one corner.
Returning to Madison, Ellen propped up her feet on a rolled-up furniture pad and covered her with another one. Then, she tipped the barrels, one by one, as quietly as she could, and rolled them to the top of the staircase.
Peering over the railing, she saw the zombie hordes boiling up the staircase. She waited until they’d crossed the landing on the floor below and were halfway up the last set of stairs, then sent the first of the barrels careening down toward them. It pretty much cleared the stairs of zombies on its way to the bottom. When it hit the concrete floor, it exploded into shards, splattering a sticky black substance everywhere. Some kind of pitch or marine oil, maybe.
The creatures were persistent, though, and they didn’t seem to feel any pain. If their bodies were intact enough, they would begin dragging themselves up the stairs again, only to be trampled by those coming behind. A couple of them even made it to the top of the stairs, where Ellen used Waymaker to cut them into pieces. Sometimes, she switched off, sending flame through her blade instead. Those that had been covered in pitch went up like a torch.
Ellen had a bad feeling she would run out of barrels before she ran out of zombies.
Even worse, she heard the rattle of the elevator on its way back up. There was no way she could cover the staircase and the elevator. Thinking quickly, she used her sword to smash through the lid of one of the remaining barrels, then tipped it so its contents slopped down the stairs. She raked flame across it until it caught, going up with a whoosh, effectively blocking the staircase.
This could be a big mistake, she thought, as she charged back toward the elevator, which was just arriving. Here’s an update, Jack: now the warehouse is on fire. Reaching the doors of the elevator, she directed a stream of flame at the latch, hoping she could fuse the doors shut before the zombies arrived. Instead, it melted and dropped away, rendering the door unlatchable.
That always works in the movies, Ellen thought. She pulled out the dagger she must’ve forgotten she had hidden in her boot and waited, her sword in one hand, the dagger in the other.
When the elevator arrived, she found herself face-to-face with Jonah Kinlock, pale and blood-spattered, his eyes as cold as glacial ice, a massive sword in his hand. And, all around him, the dismembered bodies of zombies. He was the only one standing.
Ellen was so startled that she nearly dropped her knife.
“Where’s Madison Moss?” he said. “That’s who they’re after. Though you’ll do, I suppose.”
“What?” Ellen said stupidly.
“The shades. They’re after blood magic, and she’s like the mother lode. That’s what drew them here.”
“She’s hurt, and...hey!” Ellen pivoted and saw that the shades had reached the top of the stairs, having broken through her wall of flame. Bringing the tip of her sword up, she sent flame ripping into them as she barreled forward, swinging Waymaker in a broad arc, neatly cleaving their heads from their bodies.
Behind her, she heard the cage door bang open, and then, moments later, an ear-shattering crash as the lift hit the floor three stories below.
He’s cut the cables, Ellen thought. Why didn’t I think of that?
The next thing she knew, Jonah was up next to her, whacking at the shades with his own two-handed swing. “It’s better if you swing low,” he said. “It really slows them down.” He demonstrated, cutting through three shades at thigh level. They toppled backward, impeding the progress of those behind. “If it makes it easier, you’re not really killing them; you’re just evicting them from borrowed bodies.”
Why would that make it easier? Ellen thought. It means I’m doing all this work for nothing. “Is there any way to, you know, permanently kill them?”
“Yes,” he said, but he didn’t elaborate.
Ellen stole a sideways look at Jonah’s sword. “That’s a named sword, isn’t it?” she said.
Jonah nodded. “It’s Fragarach, one of the Seven.” With his other hand, he ripped off a long piece of railing, and drove it, endwise, into the oncoming shades. It seemed that anything was a weapon in Jonah’s hands, and yet he hadn’t demonstrated any magical powers so far—only superhuman strength and agility. And fabulous moves.
“Leesha was right,” Ellen said “You’re good at this.”
“It’s what I do,” Jonah said. And it must have been true, since he dismembered corpses with deadly efficiency.
What about live people? Ellen thought. What about Halloween? It was really hard to think that about the warrior fighting next to you. The warrior with a cold, ruthless quality she hadn’t seen before. A chill rippled down her spine.
Not warrior. Enchanter. Savant.
Ellen wiped sweat from her forehead with her sleeve, then drove her blade forward again, using her booted foot to free the body from her blade. “Did you let me and Jack win that day in Trinity?”
Jonah shook his head. “Warriors are better fighters than hosted shades,” he said.
Eventually, the seemingly endless supply of zombies dwindled and ran out. Ellen looked down at herself. She was totally slimed, and so was Jonah. Stowing her sword, she sprinted back to where Madison lay and fell to her knees beside her. Madison’s eyes were open, but her pulse was thin and fast, her skin cool and clammy.
Jonah squatted beside her. “Did she get stabbed or—?”
“Shot,” Ellen said. “It’s a long story, involving wizards behaving badly. I’ll try Mercedes again. She’ll fix her right up.” She groped for her phone.
“Wait,” Jonah said. He reached inside his sweatshirt, pulled out a large, stoppered bottle, and set it on the floor beside him. Then a small tubular device that he balanced on his hand.
“What’s that?” Ellen asked, leaning closer. “Medicine?”
“Not exactly,” Jonah said. “Here, I’ll show you.” Quick as thought, he gripped her arm with his gloved hand and pressed the device against her skin. Ellen felt a quick pinch, like a mosquito bite, before she yanked her arm free.
“Hey!” Ellen said, pitching herself backward, away from him. She came up holding her knife. “What did you just do?”
“What I had to,” Jonah said. “That’s what we all do, isn’t it?” His voice was cool, matter-of-fact, detached. “Don’t worry. You’ll wake up in an hour or so, with nothing more than a headache. I’m speaking from experience here.”
Ellen rubbed at the tiny puncture on her arm. “But why, after fighting off the shades, would you turn on us?”
“It’s nothing personal,” Jonah said. “They were after blood magic. So am I. You want to keep Madison alive. I need to save my brother’s life. We both can’t get what we want. It’s as simple as that. A clear conflict of interest.”
“I was beginning to think you were one of the good guys,” Ellen whispered.
“That’s where you made your mistake,” Jonah said. “There are no good guys.”
He looked down at Madison and gently raked her damp curls off her forehead with his gloved hand. “I’m told that this doesn’t hurt a bit.”
Ellen lunged at him, but somehow she missed, and hit the floor instead.
Jack was surprised to find the door to the warehouse open, with some raggedy dudes milling around in front. As he got closer, though, he began to notice a stench that grew stronger and stronger the closer he got. Like something had died. His steps slowed a little as he realized that some of the dudes were missing limbs and had bones protruding through their rotting flesh. Some of them were carrying makesh
ift clubs and broken bottles.
He inventoried his weapons. He had Hackleford’s handgun and some concealable knives. He tried to remember what Fitch and Leesha had said in the hearing about the best defense against the walking dead.
Jonah said the best way to stop them was to take off their legs, so they can’t chase after you.
His sword, Shadowslayer, was what he needed, but it was back home in Trinity. He eyed a flagpole that protruded from the warehouse, but it looked too lightweight. But the cast-iron streetlamp pole looked plausible. He ripped it free from its base, then wrenched a length of chain from a decorative railing. He coiled the chain around his shoulder and advanced, holding the pole across his body like a staff.
Three of the undead charged at him. Jack swung the pole in a broad arc, aiming at knee level, and heard the cracking of bone as he connected. They went down like kingpins, and the rest scattered.
Inside, it looked like a major battleground, with dismembered corpses lying about. Burroughs lay on his back just inside the door, an expression of abject terror frozen onto his face, a pistol by his side. He was dead. Jack checked the pistol. Its magazine was empty.
All was quiet on the first floor—Jack saw nothing alive or even undead. But he could hear voices from upstairs. He recognized one as Ellen’s. He almost shouted up to her, but something stayed him. He looked for a way up. He could tell that the elevator was no longer in working order, but he climbed the outside of the elevator shaft, jockeying his body past the framework on each floor. He kept climbing until he heard the voices just above his head. Dropping to the floor, he eased up the last set of stairs from the third floor to the fourth level, picking his way through a minefield of charred bodies.
When he reached the top of the stairs, the voices had gone silent. The first thing he saw was Ellen, sprawled facedown on the wood floor nearby, Waymaker’s hilt poking over her shoulder. She was covered in blood and gore. His heart shuddered, then began to beat again, painfully hard. Tears burned in his eyes. She’d gone down without even drawing her blade?
The Sorcerer Heir (Heir Chronicles) Page 42