Dark Strike, page 6
I looked over my shoulder at the necromancer as I pointed my blade at him. “This is just a temporary setback,” I warned him. “I’ll be seeing you soon, Morty.” I had to give him a name. I needed to know what to call him before I killed the skinny SOB.
The necromancer just stood there, his expression blank. These guys were weird.
A loud growl shook the temple, and I spun around. Where a Siamese had stood seconds ago was a three-hundred-pound black panther. Now that was a big kitty.
“Mine!” cried Layla as she vaulted at the nearest zombie, a dark-skinned male, with her weapons high and a mad look in her eyes.
It was really hard to take her seriously when she looked like that.
The herd broke away into a loose fighting formation, and some shifted toward me, reeking of undead and hungry for blood.
Okie dokie.
As they neared, I felt a cold, evil magic cling to them, fueling their rage. The necromancer magic. Their Death magic.
A female zombie with half her scalp missing charged me. I ducked and rolled. My blade slid into the flesh of its gut. A dark blood gushed out from its from front, and the sudden spilling of rotten innards plopped to the floor with a sickening suction sound.
“Okay. That was gross.”
Never stopping, I jammed my blade through its ear and pushed into its brain. I yanked out my blade just as another zombie lunged at me.
I rocked back and then swung my soul blade across the zombie’s throat, putting all my weight into it.
The zombie’s head vanished, replaced by a spray of ugly, rotten gore hitting me in the face and all over my front. Great. The zombie’s body thrashed for a second and then fell drunkenly to one side, collapsing into stillness.
I wiped some of the zombie blood from my eyes. “Can’t say I’ve missed this.”
“Two!” came Layla’s happy cry and I caught a glimpse of a zombie’s head slip to the ground as she yanked back her whip, managing to slice the dead thing’s head right off as though she’d used a sword. That was one sharp whip.
I heard a growl to my left and whirled around.
Tyrius, the black panther, leaped into the air and tackled a zombie that had flung itself at me. He met it with an ugly sound of impact. The panther and the animated corpse dropped to the floor. The zombie rolled up on its feet and charged at Tyrius, but the panther lunged and got his massive teeth into the corpse’s neck. He shook his head violently while the zombie stumbled and reeled under the ferocity of the attack. With his powerful jaws, Tyrius clamped down on the thing’s neck. In a horrifying snap, the head popped off and rolled to the ground in a spray of blood. Tyrius let go of the body and then he lifted a great paw and slammed it down on the head, crushing it.
Attaboy.
A moan brought me around. Another zombie bypassed the herd and reached out for me, its horrid mouth gaping open.
I sidestepped, lunged, and grazed its chest with my soul blade. I missed. The zombie spun around, and I winced as it scratched my throat with its decomposed, gnarled nails. Yikes.
I leaped back. “I’m not sure if I should be impressed that you managed to miss that or disgusted at the way you smell like you’re sweating feces.”
“Uhhggghhh,” groaned the zombie as it shuffled forward.
“Uhhggghhh,” I mocked and rammed my soul blade into its throat, severing the arteries and slicing through the bones of its neck. The zombie’s mouth gaped open, spewing dark blood. I jerked my blade back and shoved it into its frontal lobe.
I kicked it in the stomach and the zombie dropped to the floor.
“Five!” I heard Layla’s excited shout over the groans and moans of the remaining zombies. Dark blood spotted her face and chest, staining her pretty outfit. She caught me looking and grinned. She even took the time to give me a little wave.
The woman was mad.
Two zombies rushed me at once. No rest for the wicked.
I plunged my blade right into the nearest zombie’s open mouth, sliding smoothly between its upper palate and up into its brain. I yanked my blade back just as the other zombie hit me.
I staggered to the side but kept my blade swinging. I sliced into the gut of the other zombie with a wet sucking noise, giving me a show of its intestines as they slipped through the cut like giant spaghetti noodles. Nice.
I barely had time to brandish my blade again as the undead came at me, hissing and snarling like a wild beast. The undead thing flailed around wildly, striking with heavy sweeps of its arms. I spun and sidestepped, coming up around it from the back, as I plunged my blade into the back of its head.
I jerked my blade back when the zombie sagged to the floor.
Panting, I took a moment to look around. Tyrius was sitting on the ground, washing himself with a pile of zombies at his feet. The zombies’ faces had been crushed and torn until they were no longer recognizable as something that had once been human.
All the zombies, or rather, what was left of them, lay in crumbled piles on the ground. They weren’t even twitching. The herd was finished.
“You owe me a hundred bucks,” said Layla, her eyes gleaming with a feverish glee and her chin dripping with blood that wasn’t hers.
The hall was drenched in blood, and so was I. The other thing I noticed was that Morty was gone. No big surprise there.
I heard something metal hitting a hard surface and rushed to the edge of the cavern’s walkway to glance down. The woman was on the ground next to the altar, the dark dagger still in her hand.
Shit. I didn’t know if those things would come back and kill her. I’d missed my chance at a wringing a necromancer’s neck, but I wasn’t about to let an innocent die.
I looked at Layla and Tyrius. “Come on. She needs our help,” I urged and then took off running along to the walkway. I made it to the other side and leaped down the staircase two at a time.
When I got to the altar, the woman was on her feet with the dagger pointed at her chest.
“Whoa, there,” I said, slowing to a stop. I sheathed my blade and raised my hands. “It’s all over now. You’re safe. Just… take it easy. Okay? Give me the knife.” If I was cold in this place with clothes on, this woman would be a human popsicle if we didn’t get her out of here soon. First, I needed to get that sharp knife away from her.
Tear-filled eyes looked at me. “You ruined everything!” spat the woman, her back stiff and her eyes angry.
Okay. I was not expecting that. A thank you, maybe? “Excuse me?” She was obviously delusional. “I just saved your life. Clearly, you’re on some heavy drugs and have no idea what you’re saying.” I didn’t want to have to argue with a naked, heavily drugged woman. Yet her eyes were clear and sharp.
Layla came around to my left side. “What’s going on?” she asked just as Tyrius appeared on my other side.
“I’m not sure,” I told her. At the sight of the black panther, the woman’s eyes widened, and she took a step back, the dagger shaking precariously close to her middle.
I put my hand up and gestured at the panther. “Tyrius. Stay right there. Okay, kitty?” I didn’t want to freak the woman out more than she already was. God knew what drugs they’d given her. The panther tipped his head in response and stayed where he was.
“Listen,” I said, turning back to the woman. Looking at her more closely, she was a bit older than me, maybe thirty, with brown curly hair and large hazel eyes. “Just give me the knife, okay? It’s all over,” I said again. “They can’t hurt you anymore.”
The woman let out a laugh. “Hurt me?” Her face was set in a wide and manic smile. “You should have minded your own business, you stupid bitch.” She pushed the tip of the knife against her chest. “I’m offering myself to Death,” said the woman importantly, like I was supposed to know what that meant.
Layla snickered as she sheathed her soul blade and whip at her waist. “The crazy naked lady is all yours.”
I frowned at the woman. “Enough with the stupid pills, lady.” I held out my hand. “Now, be a good girl and give me the goddamn knife.”
The woman held up her head in defiance. “Blood will be spilled. Death will be eternal, and balance will be restored. So shall it be.”
“Give me the knife,” I ordered again, my patience running out.
“Blood will be spilled.”
Okay. I’d had enough with the crazy talk. So, I did what I had to.
I slapped her. Hard.
The woman’s head snapped back to the side and she stumbled. She turned back to face me and said, “I am going to die. It’s what I was born to do. You can’t stop me.”
“Watch me.” I slapped her again and shook her for good measure. “Snap out of it! Are you crazy? You don’t want to die for these Voldemort wannabes. You want to live. Living is good.”
The woman laughed even though two large handprints marred her face. Mine. Were my hands that large? “My life belongs to Death,” she said, importantly. “Who are you to take it from him?”
“Rowyn Sinclair,” I informed her and slapped her again.
This time the woman stumbled back, and when she looked up at me again, her eyes burned with fury. But then her face went calm, and her hands twisted on the blade’s handle, preparing to stab herself.
She was going to do it. I believed it. I also didn’t have time for this crap.
I made a fist, leaped forward, and punched her hard on her right temple.
Her eyes rolled into the back of her head and she went limp, crumbling to the ground as the dagger slipped from her hand.
I reached down and picked up the blade. As soon as my skin made contact with the metal, I felt it. The blade sang with a cold, buzzing power, reminiscent of the necromancer’s energy. It didn’t feel vile or ominous in my hand, just… different. It was pretty to look at. And the more I stared at it, the more I realized it wasn’t forged from metal but of a gleaming black stone that looked a lot like glass. Very, very pretty. And now it was mine.
I looked at the unconscious woman on the ground and said, “So shall it be, you crazy bitch.”
CHAPTER 9
By the time we made it back to the church, it was close to midnight. We’d wrapped up the crazy woman in a spare blanket I had in the back of my Subaru and laid her across the back seats.
The plan had been to grab a necromancer—which didn’t happen—so the next best thing was the naked crazy woman who’d wanted to sacrifice herself to Death, which didn’t settle well with me.
I didn’t want her to know where I lived, so the only other logical place was the church. I’d already called the priest and told him what happened in great detail. When I was done, he’d suggested we bring her to the church, which was fine by me. Father Thomas’s church was also a sanctuary for all things supernatural, so it made sense to take her there.
I drove up the church’s parking lot and killed the engine. A man with a dark fedora and a long black trench coat leaned against the lamppost, his hands jammed in his coat pockets.
“Look, the elf’s here,” said Tyrius, his paws on the dashboard. The kitty had changed back to his Siamese self so we could all fit in the car. Then he’d curled into a ball on Layla’s lap and slept the whole way to recharge. His Hulk-out had drained him.
I opened my door and Tyrius jumped out before running over to the elf. “Dude, you just missed the zombie fight of the year!”
“Zombie fight?” Gareth came over to the car as Layla and I clambered out. He eyed me, his eyes rolling up my jeans to my splattered top and face. The light cast a shadow over the elf’s face, making him mysterious and uber-sexy. His dark brown hair peeked under his hat, which hid those cute pointy ears. I wanted to nibble them.
Concern creased his features.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “Not my blood.” I gave him a smile. “Long story.” I opened the back passenger door. “Can you help me with this woman? She doesn’t look it, but she’s a heavy one.”
“Don’t forget crazy,” reminded Layla as she crossed her arms. “She was about to kill herself if Rowyn hadn’t stopped her. Total nutjob.”
Gareth leaned inside the car. “What did you do to her?” he asked as he pulled away.
I shrugged. “I might have accidentally knocked her out.”
The elf squinted at me. “You accidentally knocked her out?”
“That’s right. I tripped and then I accidentally made a fist and accidentally hit her on the head.”
Tyrius snorted. “Good one.”
“Thank you.” I took a bow.
Gareth raised a skeptical brow and then reached in, carefully pulled the woman closer, and lifted her in his arms. Her head lolled back against his big, strong arms. I was totally turned on at how strong he was but also a little jealous I wasn’t the one in his arms. It looked comfy.
I frowned. “You’re making it look way too easy.” It had taken Layla and me lots of cursing and sweating and yanking just to get her up the stairs and out of the temple. It didn’t help that she’d been naked the whole time.
“Just get the door.” Gareth strolled towards the church’s side door as though he wasn’t carrying the weight of another human being in his arms.
“I’ll get the door,” said Layla as she jogged ahead of the elf with a spring that shouldn’t be possible in those six-inch heels.
“Come on, lazy butt,” prompted Tyrius as he padded forward to catch up with Gareth.
When I got to the door, Father Thomas was already there holding it open for the elf.
“Hurry,” urged the priest as he cast his gaze around the neighborhood, though I didn’t know who would be up at this hour and watching the church.
The priest did a double-take at the state of me, not Layla because she’d managed to mysteriously wipe off the blood from her face and clothes during the car ride over here. Me, well, I looked like an extra in a b-rated zombie movie—the first ones to die, you know the ones.
“You should see the other guy,” I said, smiling and hoping to lift the mood. He didn’t smile back. Now I felt like an idiot. It’s not like I had time for a change of clothes and a shower. I would have to smell like zombie guts. Yay me.
Feeling a little self-conscious, I wiped my boots on the grass. It was the best I could do.
We all went inside, and Father Thomas led us to the back and up to the level where the offices were. The priest was practically running, and I was very curious when he ushered us inside his office, shut the door, and locked it behind him.
“Put her here.” Father Thomas pulled out one of his upholstered chairs with a chunky cushion in brown leather. His expression was grim.
Gareth did as the priest instructed and laid the unconscious woman in the chair, careful not to pull on the blanket that hid her nakedness. We all crowded around her as her head continued to loll to the side. She was still very unconscious. I must have hit her harder than I’d thought. Double whoops.
The elf reached out and squeezed my hand. I squeezed back.
“I’m going to need to ask her some questions,” said the priest. His expression was tight, and he kept curling and uncurling his fingers. I’d never seen him so agitated. He’d always been cool and collected, and if I were to guess, he looked a little freaked out. I didn’t like it.
“No problem.” Before I could stop her, Layla smacked the woman across the face, grabbed her shoulders and shook her hard. “Wake up! Wake up or I’m going to smack you again.”
It did the trick.
The woman’s eyes fluttered open though her gaze was distant and unfocused. She blinked a few times and when her eyes settled on me, she frowned.
I smiled at her. “There you are. Did you have a nice nap?”
The woman glowered at me and then looked around the room. “Where am I?”
“Somewhere safe,” said Father Thomas. He grabbed an identical chair, placed it in front of her, and sat down. He leaned forward on the edge. “What’s your name?”
The woman shifted in her chair and gave a short laugh. “You’re going to be sorry.” Her eyes moved around us. “You’re all dead. They’ll be coming for you now. You just wait.”
“That’s nice.” I moved until I was right above her and leaned over. “How about you answer the nice priest before I play not-so-nice on your face?”
“Yeah,” said Layla as she blew a large pink bubble. The bubble burst. “What she said.”
“I’ve got to see this.” Tyrius chortled and leaped upon Father Thomas’s desk for a better view.
“I’m not telling you anything.” The woman’s smile was twisted, but her eyes were clear and bright. “You’ll just have to kill me.”
“Right. And finish the job for you? Not going to happen.” I knew her death meant something—a spell or some ritual—but I wasn’t sure what. Either way, I wasn’t about to help it along either. I crossed my arms. “Gareth. If you please.”
Layla took a step back as the elf pulled out his right hand from inside his jacket. Light pink dust spilled from his closed fist.
The woman’s eyes widened at the sight of the elf dust. “What is that?”
“Truth dust,” answered the elf.
“Stay away from me.” She leaned back in her chair, looking like she was getting ready to bolt. Which was a stupid idea because I would stop her.
That defiance I’d seen earlier in her was replaced by fear. She inched forward in the chair.
With a flick of his wrist, Gareth flung the dust over the woman.
Pink settled on her like a burst of faerie dust. The woman flailed her arms in the air and around her face in an attempt to escape the dust. Too late.
She coughed. And coughed again. Then she settled back in her chair with her eyes closed and her face scrunched up. When she opened her eyes again, her expression was blank and her eyes were distant like she was in a hypnotic state, staring at something that wasn’t there.
“What’s your name,” repeated Father Thomas after Gareth had given him an encouraging nod.
The woman stirred like she was trying to recall something. “Cynthia.”
