Bloody Bones (40 page)

Stirling and Ms. Harrison were coming in after us.
Stirling pushed among the dead as if they were trees and he was wading through. The dead didn't move for him. They stood there like stubborn, fleshy barriers. I hadn't told them to move, so they wouldn't.

Ms. Harrison had stopped trying to force her way through. Moonlight glinted on her shiny gun as she used a zombie's shoulder to sight on us.

“Kill her,” I whispered.

The zombie she was using as a sighting post turned towards her. She made an exasperated sound, and the dead closed on her.

Larry looked at me. “What did you tell them?”

Ms. Harrison was screaming now. High, frightened shrieks. She fired her gun again and again. It clicked empty. Slow, eager hands and mouths latched onto her body.

“Stop them,” Larry said. He grabbed my arm. “Stop them.”

I could feel the hands tearing bits of flesh from Ms. Harrison. Teeth sank into her shoulder, tore that tender neck, and I knew when blood flowed into that mouth.

Larry was along for the ride. “Oh, God, stop it!” He was on his knees pulling at me, begging.

Stirling hadn't fired a shot. Where was he?

“Stop,” I whispered.

The dead froze like automatons, stopped in mid-action. Ms. Harrison slid to the ground in a moaning heap.

Stirling came in from one side, the big gun pointed very steadily at us, out in a two-handed grip like it was supposed to be held. He'd made his way behind us while the zombies worked over Ms. Harrison. He was standing nearly on top of us. It took a lot of nerve to come that close to the zombies.

Larry's fingers dug into my arm. “Don't, Anita; please don't.” Even staring down the barrel of a gun, Larry stuck to his morals. Admirable.

“If you say a word, Ms. Blake, I will kill you.”

I just stared up at him. I was so close to him I could have reached out and touched his pants leg. The .45 was pointed very solidly at my head. If he pulled the trigger, I was gone.

“Careless of you not to have the zombies attack both of us.”

I agreed with him, but all I could do was stare up at him. I still had the machete in one hand. I tried not to tighten my grip on it. Not to draw attention to it.

I must have made some betraying motion because he said, “Take your hand away from the knife, Ms. Blake, slowly.”

I didn't do it. I stared up at him and his gun.

“Now, Ms. Blake, or . . .” He thumbed back the hammer on the gun. Not necessary but always dramatic.

I let go of the machete.

“Hand away from it, Ms. Blake.”

I moved my hand away. I didn't move away from him and the gun. I wanted to, but I made myself be still. A few inches wouldn't make the gun less deadly, but it might make a big difference if I tried to jump him. Not my first choice, but if we ran out of other options . . . I wouldn't go down without a fight.

“Can you lay these zombies to rest, Mr. Kirkland?”

Larry hesitated. “I don't know.”

Good boy. If he'd said no, Stirling might have killed him. If he'd said yes, he'd have killed me.

Larry let go of my arm and moved just a little away from me. Stirling's eyes flicked to him, back to me, but the gun barrel never wavered. Damn.

Larry was on his knees, still moving away from me, forcing Stirling to keep an eye on both of us. The .45 moved an inch from the center of my forehead, towards Larry. I took a breath and held it. Not yet, not yet . . . If I tried something too soon, I'd be dead.

Larry lunged for something on the ground. The .45 swung towards him.

I did two things at once. I slipped my left hand behind Stirling's leg and pulled, and I grabbed his groin with my right and shoved with all I was worth. I was doing the wrong thing to cause a lot of pain, but it tipped him over. He fell flat of his back with the gun swinging back towards me.

I'd hoped he'd drop the gun, or be slower. He didn't, and he wasn't. So I only had a split-second to decide whether to
try to pull his privates out of his body, and cause as much pain as possible, or go for the gun. I went for the gun, not trying to grab it, but sweeping my hands into his arms. If I could control his arms, I could control the gun.

The gun went off. I didn't look. No time. Larry was either hit, or he wasn't. If he wasn't, I had to get that gun. Stirling's arms were on the ground, my hands keeping them there, but I had no leverage. He raised his arms off the ground, and I couldn't stop him. I shoved my feet into the ground and forced his arms over his head, but it had become a wrestling match now, and he outweighed me by sixty pounds.

“Drop the gun.” Larry's voice behind me. I couldn't look. Couldn't take my attention from the gun. We both ignored him.

“I will shoot you,” Larry said.

That got Stirling's attention. His eyes flicked to Larry; for just a moment his body hesitated. I kept my grip on his wrists and shoved myself forward, up his body. I dug my knee into his groin, trying to reach the ground through him. He let out a strangled cry. His hands spasmed.

I moved my hands up and touched the gun. His grip tightened. He wasn't letting go.

I came up beside Stirling's arms and braced his arms against my hip. I pulled the arm against my body, just one quick movement, and snapped his arm at the elbow. The hand went numb, and the gun fell into my hand.

I crawled away from him, the gun in one hand.

Larry was standing over us with a gun pointed at Stirling. Stirling didn't seem to care. He was rocking back and forth over the ground, trying to cradle both injuries at once.

“I had a gun. You could have just moved away from him,” Larry said.

I just shook my head. I trusted Larry to shoot Stirling. I just hadn't trusted Stirling not to shoot Larry. “I had my hands on the gun. Seemed a shame to let it go,” I said.

Larry pointed the gun at the ground, but kept a nice two-handed grip on it. “It's yours; you want it?”

I shook my head. “Keep it until we get to the car.”

I looked up at the zombies. They were watching me with
calm eyes. There was blood on the mouth of the dark-haired woman. It had been her teeth that tore into Ms. Harrison's neck.

Ms. Harrison was lying very still on the ground. Passed out, at the very least.

The power was beginning to unravel at the edges. If I was going to put everybody back in the ground, it had to be now.

“Go back into the ground. Back to your graves. Go back, all of you, go back.”

The dead walked upon the earth, moving among one another like children in a game of musical chairs. Then one by one they lay down upon the earth, and it swallowed them like water. The earth moved and buckled in waves, until they were all tucked out of sight.

There were no bones protruding from the earth. The earth was smooth and soft, as if the entire top of the mountain had been dug up and smoothed over.

The power shredded, flowing back into the ground, or wherever the hell it came from. We had to get down to the Jeep and start making phone calls. There was a rampaging fey on the loose. We at least had to get cops out to the Bouviers' place.

Larry knelt beside Ms. Harrison. He touched her neck. “She's alive.” His hand came away stained with blood.

I looked at Stirling. He'd stopped rolling around and was just sort of huddled on his side, his arm held at an obscene angle. The look he gave me was part pain and part hate. If he ever got a second chance, I was dead.

“Shoot him if he moves,” I said.

Larry got to his feet and pointed the gun dutifully at Stirling.

I went to check on Bayard. He lay on his side, half-crumpled around the wound in his belly. A wide black circle showed where his blood had soaked into the thirsty ground. I knew dead when I saw it, but I knelt on the far side of his body so I could keep an eye on Stirling. It wasn't that I didn't trust Larry. I just didn't trust Stirling.

There was no pulse in his neck. The skin was already cooling in the soft spring air. It hadn't been an instant death.
Lionel Bayard had died while we were fighting. He'd died alone, and he'd known he was dying, and that he'd been betrayed. It was a bad way to die.

I stood up and looked at Stirling. I wanted to kill him for Bayard, for Magnus, for Dorrie Bouvier, for her kids. For being a heartless son of bitch.

He'd witnessed me using zombies as a weapon. Using magic as a killing weapon was punishable by death. Self-defense was not an acceptable plea.

I stared very calmly across at Stirling and the unconscious Ms. Harrison, and realized that I could have crossed that ground and put a bullet in both of them, and slept just fine.

Sweet Jesus.

Larry glanced my way, gun still steady, but he'd taken his eyes off Stirling for a second. Not fatal, tonight, but I'd have to break him of it. “Is Bayard dead?”

“Yeah.” I started back towards them, wondering what I was going to do. I didn't think Larry would let me shoot them in cold blood. Part of me was glad. Part of me wasn't.

Wind blew against my face. There was a rustling sound in the wind, like that made by trees or cloth. There were no trees on top of this mountain. I turned with the big .45 in a two-handed grip, and Janos was just there, on the edge of the mountain. Staring at his skeletal face, I think I stopped breathing. He was dressed all in black; even his hands were hidden inside black gloves. For one wild moment he looked like a floating skull. “We have the boy,” he said.

35

T
HE CROSSES WERE
still in plain sight. They glowed with a soft white radiance. No burning light, not yet. We weren't in active danger, but the cross grew warm even through my shirt.

Janos put a hand in front of his eyes, the way I would
guard my eyes from the sun in the car. “Please put those away, so we may talk.”

He hadn't asked us to take them off. I could live with tucking my cross in my shirt. It could come out again later. I spilled the chain back down my shirt one-handed, keeping the .45 ready. I realized then that I didn't know if the gun had silver ammo. Now was not the time to ask. Stirling would probably lie anyway.

Larry slipped his own cross out of sight. The glowing night was just a little dimmer.

“Alright, now what?” I asked.

Kissa came up behind him, Jeff Quinlan in front of her like a shield. His glasses were gone, and he looked even younger without them. She had his arm behind his back, at an angle that could be painful with just a tug.

He was wearing a cream-colored tuxedo with a cummerbund done two shades darker to match the bow tie. Kissa was in black leather. Jeff stood out against her in wonderful contrast.

I swallowed; my pulse threatened to choke me. What was going on? “You alright, Jeff?”

“I guess so.”

Kissa gave a little tug.

He winced. “I'm okay.” His voice was a little higher than it should have been, a little scared.

I held out my hand to him. “Come here.”

“Not yet,” Janos said.

I'd tried. “What do you want?”

“First drop your guns.”

“If we don't?” I thought I knew the answer, but I wanted him to say it.

“Kissa will kill the boy, and you will have done all this for nothing.”

“Help me,” Stirling said. “She's mad. She attacked Ms. Harrison with zombies. When we tried to defend ourselves, she nearly killed us.”

That was probably what he'd say in court, too. And a jury would believe him. They'd want to believe him. I would be
the big, bad zombie queen, and he would be the innocent victim.

Janos laughed, his paper-thin skin threatening to split, but never quite doing it. “Oh, no, Mr. Stirling, I watched from the darkness. I saw you murder the other man.”

Fear flashed across his face. “I don't know what you mean. We hired him in good faith. He turned on us.”

“My master opened your mind to Bloody Bones. She freed him to whisper in your dreams about land, money, and power. All that you desire.”

“Serephina sent Ivy to kill me, or rather for me to kill her. So she'd be sure to have Bloody Bones free,” I said.

“Yes,” he said. “Serephina told her she had to rid herself of the disgrace of losing to you.”

“By killing me.”

“Yes.”

“What if she'd succeeded?”

“My master had faith in you, Anita. You are death come among us. A breath of mortality.”

“Why'd she want the thing freed?” I seemed to be asking that a lot tonight.

“She wishes to taste immortal blood.”

“This is all sort of elaborate for a little extra kick in your food.”

He gave another rictus grin. “You are what you eat, Anita. Think upon it.”

I did, and my eyes widened. “She thinks by drinking immortal blood, she'll be truly immortal?”

“Very good, Anita.”

“It won't work,” I said.

“We shall see,” he said.

“What do you get out it?” I asked.

He cocked his skeletal head to one side, like a decaying bird. “She is my master, and she shares her bounty.”

“You want immortality, too?”

“I want power,” he said.

Great. “And it doesn't bother you that the thing will kill children? That it's already killed some?”

“We feed, Bloody Bones feeds, what does it matter?”

“And Bloody Bones is going to just let you feed off it?”

“Serephina has found the spell that Magnus's ancestor used. She controls the fairie.”

“How?”

He shook his head and smiled. “No more delays, Anita. Drop the gun, or Kissa will taste him before your eyes.”

Kissa ran a hand through Jeff's short hair, a caressing gesture. It pushed his head to one side, baring a long smooth line of neck.

“No!” Jeff tried to pull away, and Kissa yanked on his arm hard enough that he cried out.

“I will break the arm, boy,” she growled.

The pain held him immobile, but his eyes were wide and terrified. He looked at me. He wouldn't plead, no begging, but his eyes did it for him.

Kissa's lips pulled back from her teeth in a flashy snarl, fangs visible.

“Don't,” I said, and hated it. I tossed the .45 to the ground. Larry threw my gun down. Disarmed twice in one night. It was a record even for me.