Exhumed

by Skyla Dawn Cameron

  “I’m not leaving you here.”

  “I think I’ve effectively pissed them off sufficiently that they’ll chase if I leave them alive.”

  “How are you going to kill all—”

  “This is what I do for a living, baby.”

  I froze when steps echoed on stairs in the distance, a shadow in the shape of a person cutting over the stone. I shifted, glanced around—I had nothing. No weapon, other than the switchblade. Maybe if we took the cot apart—

  Maximilian appeared in the doorway, walking slow and steady, his hands locked behind his back casually. He grinned as he approached the cell.

  “You have some fucking nerve,” Nate said darkly behind me, and if he hadn’t been blocked, I’d bet money on the air charging enough to zap our new guest.

  “You’re about as threatening as a hissing kitten right now, O’Connor,” Maximilian said. “Very adorable.”

  I rose, tensed. “Is this the part where you gloat?”

  He stopped in front of the cell. Nate shifted behind me, annoyingly comforting to have at my back.

  “When the car turned to the valley, I honestly thought you were playing me,” Maximilian said. “Well done, though. I did not see your endgame coming.” He relaxed his hands and brought one up in front of him, where he dangled a ring of old keys.

  It could be a trap but it was damn preferable to hanging out locked away any longer so I nodded and Maximilian slipped a key in the lock.

  “Your friends are held in the upper level,” he said as the door squealed open. “Kept in a room off the main hall. A meeting has been called, all members to weigh in now that we’re down yet another participant.”

  Dread sank in my gut as I stepped out. “Another vote?”

  He tipped his head in a nod. “And not to let you in, I’m afraid. Against the apocalypse, the sisters die. For, they live.”

  And Lachlan, I’d been pretty sure, was anti. There seemed a good chance it would tip towards rain of toads in the next while. I started toward the door, men flanking me.

  “How much time do we have?” Nate asked.

  “A half hour, maybe,” Maximilian replied. “I think they’re all nearly here.”

  Oh yay, a full deck. “This is why they let you come back?” I asked.

  “As a member in mostly good standing...”

  Right. And I didn’t even want to know where he was voting. Hell, I planned to kill everyone I could before it even took place.

  Maximilian stopped by the door, reached for me before I hit the first step. His hand wrapped around my arm and I jerked away, shuddered. Nate’s hand lashed out at the same time and tugged Maximilian away, inserted himself between us.

  A slight frown crossed Mr. Vasquez’s face but he said nothing, and at least his confusion suggested he didn’t know about what the fuck went on down here. “One more thing.” He reached into his coat and withdrew my Desert Eagle.

  I wrapped my fingers around it, enjoying the weight, the heft of it. Like it gave me back a little bit of me. “No coat?”

  “Alas, it was harder to sneak out under mine.”

  I started forward again, when his hand jutted out across the doorway to stop me. My hackles rose, fingers tightened on the grip of my gun, and I slid my gaze back to him.

  “I would’ve voted in your favour.”

  I swallowed thickly. “You know I’m going to kill everyone upstairs.”

  He tipped his head in a nod. Nate shifted beside me and Maximilian’s eyes flickered, like he was about to double check the position of the other man there, but resisted. “I do. In fact, I’m counting on it.”

  “Why?” Nate asked before I could, voice nearer than I thought he was.

  But Maximilian’s gaze didn’t waver this time from mine. “It’ll be in my best interest, of course.”

  I shook my head, shouldered past him, and jogged up the steps. I so needed a goddamn vacation after this.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Don’t Fuck with Zara Lain

  The underground prison was two flights of stairs lit with torches, of all things, below the main level of the house. Climbing was good, though—gave me something to do. Something to focus on. My shaking hands had calmed at last, now with the gun gripped tightly. I had most of the rounds in there but a lot of people to kill and no idea where the rest of my gear was. I’d have to make each bullet count. Plus I had a knife. I’d gotten out of worse scrapes.

  Pity Peri didn’t bring explosives.

  We crept through a door at the top of the stairs; when we stepped through it, I realized it was set in the wall, partially hidden. So bizarro old manor in another dimension with a passageway to a dungeon in the drawing room.

  I needed a house like that.

  Only a single light was on in the corner, a table lamp with a brass base, and shadows flickered across the wall as Maximilian walked toward the door. “Do as you will and try not to hit me.”

  “One question,” I called after him.

  He glanced over his shoulder and arched one brow.

  “Arabelle DePaul. She knocked me out. Was she responsible for any dreams I had?”

  “Ah.” He nodded. “Nightmares I imagine, yes. She keeps sleep demons as pets.”

  I had my first target, then.

  He spared me another long look, like he was about to ask what happened, but pressed his lips together again and slipped through the door silently. Nate shut the door to the dungeon and I gave into a shiver tickling my arms.

  “You don’t need to do this.”

  “I need to be the fuck away from you and get my aggression out for a while.” Such a lie, though. I knew—I remembered. Remembered killing my husband, remembered killing so, so many people who had wronged me, and all it did was leave me still broken and alone.

  “Zara—” He reached for me.

  I flinched before he could make contact, bile rising in my throat. I met his gaze because I had to—because dragging me out of hell had earned him that much. “I am not holding it together very well at the moment. So just...don’t. Now, I very, very rarely give anyone a head start. Take it and use it.”

  “You don’t have to be here alone—”

  I jerked back, started walking for the door in case he decided to try to touch me again. If he touched me, I’d break. I’d collapse. I was dancing on a surface, like a thin coating of ice over a cold lake, and if I put too much weight down, this layer keeping me above would snap and I’d fall. Drown.

  And I couldn’t drown. Not yet.

  “Get Peri out. She will try to fight me on this—”

  “Then let her and me help—”

  “—and she’s stupid and will get herself killed. Nic will never forgive me if something happens to her.”

  “I’m not leaving you here to die.”

  “If you want to do something for me, get Peri out so that I don’t have to worry about her.

  “I can have your back—”

  I spun a foot from the door, almost squeezed out a shot at him for the hell of it. I grabbed hold of the anger, of the burning irritation—remembered distinctly, again, his lover’s touch on her shoulder, on how he didn’t fight when she kissed him, reached for him.

  “Do you still love her?”

  I didn’t know what the fuck I’d been planning to say, but that certainly wasn’t it. Still, it blurted past my lips, and I held on to it. End of the world, eleventh hour—perfect goddamn time to confess our feelings.

  His lips snapped shut and he stared at me. Held my gaze—god, was he ever good at just freezing me in place like that, and I didn’t think I could raise the gun if I tried. “I don’t know.”

  At least he didn’t lie to me. God, the whole damn thing would be so much easier if he was a regular douchebag. Of course, if he wasn’t insanely loyal and honest, I’d never have loved him.

  Great. Now I hated him even more.

  I straightened my spine, lifted my chin. I am Zara-Motherfucking-Lain. I am done in by no man. Maybe if I ke
pt repeating it, I’d believe it.

  I hauled out my switchblade and threw it at him; he caught it easily. “You’re not leaving me here to die. You are stepping out of the way so I can regain some goddamn control over this. Hopefully my killing the Court will weaken the block on you, so you can open the portal. Get Peri back to Nic. Take your son and your wife and your head start. Maybe you’ll figure out how you feel once I catch up and kill her.”

  I didn’t wait for a reaction, didn’t think I could stand to argue any longer; I hauled open the door and crept out into the hall. It was the corridor we came in and how the fuck Nate was going to open another portal to get home when his magic was blocked, without anyone else knowing, I didn’t know. Maybe once I’d decimated the Court, things would lift.

  Or maybe I’d have time to kill Mishka right away after all.

  I spared a glance at the framed paintings again on either side of the hall, as indecipherable as they had been before. Well, this mission was certainly a fail. Nate moved past me across the corridor to look for Mish and Peri, while I crept forward, toward the flickering light. Voices murmured, and the shuffling of fabric sounded as people shifted and settled. I edged a glance around, caught sight of the table mostly full of people—

  A subtle growl, just a low rumble beneath the murmur of voices, drew my attention to the far corner of the conference room. A thick, pale silver chain ran across the carpet and coiled around the neck of a...

  Holy shit.

  It looked prehistoric. Bigger than any large cat in the modern world, this one was lying flat and had to be at least six feet long. Coat was shades of brown and blond with dark oval spots, though marred here and there, fur growing in odd patterns where injuries had occurred. Its fucking incisors curled out of its mouth and were at least a foot in length, and massive paws with glittering claws sat on the ground in front of it.

  Saber-toothed cat. Extinct for thousands of years. Perfect pet for a member of the Court.

  Cold dark eyes stared at me, its ears going flat. I looked away and made another quick scan of the room.

  Well across from me, on a table by the fireplace, sat my jacket, shotgun, and other gear. When I ran out of ammo, I could at least grab something...if I distracted the thirty people and giant saber-toothed cat around the table first. I could move fast as a vampire but someone might see the suddenly gone 12 gauge. At least Spot over there was on a leash and hadn’t alerted anyone yet.

  Back to the drawing board—or drawing room, at least.

  I stole back down the corridor, into the drawing room we’d come through. An array of bottles sat on a bar to the side: wines and liquors. I went to work dumping out some of the contents, mixing, and then tore fabric from the settees and pillows for rags to wrap around the necks. I found a box of matches in one of the drawers, snatched a candle in a holder.

  Time for a distraction.

  I wedged my gun in the back of my jeans where it was an awkward lump, gathered the Molotov cocktails and matches, and slipped back into the hall. Nate had Mishka and Peri already, the three of them gathered at the end of a corridor; I barely spared them a glance and kept going.

  But that wasn’t good enough for Peri, who jogged after me. In the low light I glimpsed rings around her wrists and chaffing at the corners of her lips, as if she’d been tied and gagged. Her gaze was dark and dangerous. “I can help,” she whispered.

  “Your magic suddenly isn’t blocked?”

  Her lips set in a straight line. Well, there was my answer, but she still argued. “I don’t need demon magic. I was a fucking mercenary.”

  “And now you’re a lesbian graphic designer who lives in the suburbs with your pacifist girlfriend.”

  She glared. Damn good thing she was useless.

  “Go home to Nic. I’ll get out, I promise.” But if I don’t, and I piss everyone off, you’ll be the only one who can protect the others. Jesus, Zara Lain on a kamikaze mission. Who would’ve thought? “One more thing,” I warned before she went and I leaned close to breathe in her ear. “If I don’t make it out, you fucking kill Mishka.”

  Sure, it would end the world. But she gave me a hard look, nodded, and I knew no matter what, she’d see it done.

  I lined up my bottles while she retreated and lit the candle; it was a votive and sat low, and I didn’t think the brightness would catch anyone’s attention in the next room. They still murmured and I glanced around the wall to catch them moving a box around the table, dropping marbles inside—an old school yay or nay vote. Spot was still staring at me but he hadn’t ratted out my presence yet. Maybe that chain confined him. Hell, maybe he didn’t like his owner and didn’t care.

  But my attention was drawn elsewhere: Arabelle DePaul sat at the end of one table, her cold, critical eyes following the proceeding.

  I lifted the gun, left hand supporting my right, and aimed.

  Her gaze moved up. Met mine just as I squeezed the trigger.

  The Desert Eagle spit fire, temporarily blinding me; I tucked it behind me anyway, dropped down, blinking against the spots playing over my vision and rapidly scooped up a bottle, lit the rag and tossed it into the room.

  Shouts, scuffles; I ignored, lit and threw another bottle. The stink of burning rose, someone shrieked. Apparently the Court didn’t think to have a sprinkler system.

  I threw a third and jerked out my gun again, running into the room, firing and making them kill shots. Fire leapt from the table, from a man flailing like he missed the stop-drop-and-roll lesson. The scent of blood tinged the air and crimson was sprayed over the far wall, Arabelle’s corpse on the floor. Two more bodies had thumped too and someone knocked over the box of marbles, black and white rolling, scattering across the burning Persian rug. The room took on a warm hue, shades of orange and shadows.

  I fired the last round, casing ejecting and pinging some guy on the face. Those motherfuckers burned straight out of the gun and he hissed through clenched teeth.

  The air rippled, magic humming. I ducked before a chair could strike me, rolled, went for the shotgun on the table. Fire licked my arm, burning my bare flesh; I brushed back the pain as, all things considered, it wasn’t the worst of the night.

  There was a growl, my attention drawn to the saber-tooth cat on its chain leash two meters to my left. He stood this time, four feet tall at his shoulder and I was relatively confident the thing could kill me very, very easily. The end of the chain was wrapped around the meaty fist of some tall, bald guy who looked like a bouncer. The chain sparked, flecks of white coming off it—something about it had to be keeping the beast in place, needed because Spot wasn’t even looking at me but glaring warily at his keeper.

  This might be a terrible idea, but...

  I dropped the empty Desert Eagle, locked on the Rossi, and fired.

  A bloody hole burst in the man’s stomach and he flew back, losing his grip on the chain. The cat’s mouth opened, spittle flying as it hissed. The chain whipped as the beast spun and pounced, its massive teeth sinking into its captor’s throat. Blood sprayed and the man’s body shook in its final death throes.

  It didn’t attack me. Yet. Score. Maybe it would take out other people.

  Across the room the air screamed, ribbons of magic coiling out of one of the black paintings on the wall. Clawed fingers pushed through, tearing, atmosphere humming around whatever creature tried to make its way through.

  I reloaded my shotgun and fired at that thing too.

  It shrieked again, the slug blasting through the painting. Canvas tore, frame broke and fell, and a big fucking hole was left in the wall.

  Good.

  Someone clocked me against the side of the head, latched onto my hair, and jerked me against the wall; my skull struck the frame of another black painting, something else come to life. I yelped, jerked, twisted the gun above my head until the barrel connected with something and I squeezed the trigger. The creature in the painting shrieked and I stumbled away, right into body of one of the Court.

 
It was the short old Korean guy, the one I’d pissed offer earlier, and he lifted me off my feet, shook me once like a dog jerking a small animal—a movement that might’ve broken a human’s neck. Pain tore down my spine but I was tougher than a mortal, stronger; I didn’t have a lot of room to maneuver with the Rossi but fury threaded through me and I kicked, my boot burying itself in his gut.

  He hissed, lips parted over rows of sharp teeth, lines of gold playing behind his eyes. Okay, so not Korean—not even human. I kicked again and swung the gun around, clocking him in the side of the head. A grunt of effort and I thrust both feet against his chest when his grip loosened slightly, throwing him back and me to the ground.

  Son of a bitch, my neck hurt. But I gave it a twist, bones creaking, and scrambled up again. I gave him a shotgun blast in the chest and blood poured.

  The rest of the room was pure chaos. Fire and blood, screams and scrambling, magic tearing portals and black paintings coming to life. I had a strong suspicion they didn’t get attacked head on like this. Modern day government indeed. I ran for my coat, fumbled around until I found another magazine, which I loaded into the fallen handgun.

  “Your friends have the doorway open.”

  I glanced up to see Maximilian at my side, teeth glittering white in a feral smile.

  He enjoyed this. Every second of it. And I wondered precisely how much he’d anticipated, perhaps even planned for. Maybe after he had me take out Nate and Mish, he would’ve pushed for destroying the Court next.

  But then I didn’t care. He hadn’t laid a hand on me so that put him on the ally side of my book. “Just a couple more. For the road.”

  His grin widened and I stepped past him, blasted someone else in the—

  Arabelle’s body, four feet away, was jerking and twitching, despite her blank stare and the hole from a .50 AE cartridge in her. I’d missed the forehead, shot out one of her eyes instead, and yet it didn’t seem to matter. She tensed and flopped again, like a meat puppet on strings, and then her flesh rippled.

  This would be very, very bad.

  Her skin split and tore, blood spraying, and blackness crept up, solidifying into a large, colourless shape with limbs and a torso, tendrils of dark magic rolling off it to taste the air.