Undead for a Day (16 page)

“Oh, God, oh my God,” she breathed, lost in his embrace. “Colin, how?”

“Marica,” she said. “She did it.”

The cord around her wrist untied all at once and went slack, and Xavier’s arm dropped hard onto the stone. As the blood rushed back into her hand, the deep, stinging throb made her wince. She gritted her teeth and let go of Colin as she began to rub and flex it, even though it hurt like a son of a bitch. She turned back to Xavier to resume CPR.

“Are you hurt? Are you okay?” Colin asked, bending down and studying her face, pushing back her wild hair so he could get a good look at her.

As she pumped on Xavier’s chest, she looked up at her brother.

“A transplant?” she asked.

“No. Magic,” he said in a soft voice.

Marica bent over Xavier. She was wearing Versace perfume, detectable through the odor of rotting flesh. She looked up at Bridget and pursed her lips together.

“My condolences,” she said to Bridget. “You’re a widow.” To Colin, she added, “Your sister was his year wife. Same as me.”

“That son of a bitch,” Colin growled. “If he wasn’t dead, I’d kill him.”

“Are you sure?” Bridget asked softly.

“Trust me. He’s dead,” Marica declared, and firmly lifted Bridget’s hands from his chest.

“But can you…bring him back?” Bridget asked, even though with Xavier dead, at least one threat was also gone.

“No, and I wouldn’t anyway,” Marica declared.

Bridget stared down at Xavier. The reality of his death hit her hard. She had barely known him, and now she never would. To see him lying there, and to know that he would never get up, made her quake.

Then Bridget glanced around at the frozen corpses, and threw a questioning glance at Marica.

“If you’re wondering about Xavier, he won’t rise to be like them,” Marica said. “The veil between life and death is very thin tonight, and he’s already traveled to the underworld.” She cocked her head. “You’re grieving. Don’t waste your time.”

Her brother put a protective arm around his twin and kissed her temple.

“It’s okay,” Colin said. “Turns out Marica’s one of the good guys.”

That could be difficult to argue with, given the fact that Colin had two eyes again, but Bridget was willing to give it a shot. She wasn’t willing to trust anyone in this strange new bizarroland.

“I didn’t even know him,” Bridget said. “How come he died?”

“I cursed him,” Marica said, as if it were obvious. “I had access to his essence, and I declared that if he came onto our land, he would die. Then I diverted the bonfire’s path.”

“I was in his arms,” Bridget said. “He was carrying me.”

“It was very reckless of you to leave that note for her,” Marica chided Colin. “If you hadn’t confessed to me, I wouldn’t have been able to alter the curse. She would have died, too.”

Colin went white, and Bridget said again, “Colin, what the hell?”

“Same old story,” he said to Bridget. “Hot chick with baggage.”

“Hey,” Marica protested.

The corpse that Bridget had mistaken for her brother let out a slow, anguished moan. Other corpses in the graveyard seemed to answer in a despairing chorus.

“This is the night of the dead,” Marica told her. “These shades are inconsequential.” She turned her back on Xavier. “They’ll sink at sunrise.”

“But what about Xavier?” Bridget asked.

“He’ll never rise as long as he’s on Caracol land. That’s a just reward for his actions.” Her voice was flinty. “This isn’t the proper place for either of you.” She smiled at Colin, and then at Bridget. “For the Favored twins of the Flynn family.”

“And we’re back to that,” Bridget said carefully. “Xavier and his father said a few things—”

“About me, I’m sure,” Marica cut in angrily, dark eyes flashing. She was as beautiful as Xavier was handsome. Had been handsome. “Blaming me for stealing the sphere. What did you call me? An evil bitch?”

“They’re pretty pissed off at you,” Bridget allowed.

Marica raised her chin. “I only took what they stole from us in the first place. And I can prove it.”

“I don’t really care,” Bridget said. “This has nothing to do with us.” She looked at her brother. “You told me you needed help. I’ve found you. You’re safe. And you have two eyes now. But it’s time to go.”

Colin managed to tear his gaze away from Marica and wrinkle his nose as he regarded his sister. Guilt blossomed all over his face.

“Um, yeah, about that,” he said.

More of the corpses moaned. Marica put her hand on Bridget’s shoulder. Bridget began to quiver uncontrollably, as if she’d been hit by a Taser, and her knees buckled. Colin caught her and she trembled finely, her teeth chattering

“Sorry, sorry,” Marica said quickly, jerking her hand away and cradling it against her chest. She went pale. “That must have happened because you’re both here, and you’re magnifying your powers. I’m so sorry.”

Bridget’s reaction vanished. Marica turned toward the gate again, and Bridget cleared her throat to get her attention.

“I don’t want to leave him here,” Bridget insisted.

“He’s not going back to the Amayas,” Marica said. She bent down and picked something up off the ground. It was Bridget’s fanny pack. She handed it to her. “So he may as well rot.”

“No,” Bridget said, taking the pack. “That’s not right.”

Marica narrowed her eyes. Bridget raised her chin.

“Very well. I’ll have him taken care of,” Marica said. “I promise.”

“You’ll give him a decent burial,” Bridget said. “You’ll let his father know.”

“Oh, he already knows,” Marica said dryly. “Now come with me. The Amayas shouldn’t be able to penetrate our defensive barriers but you can never be too careful.”

Bridget cast one last look at Xavier, then began to walk away—straight into one of the statue-like corpses. It fell over with a crash.

“Sorry,” she said automatically.

It groaned as if in response, and she blanched and reached out to set it back upright. But she thought the better of touching it.

Then she realized that Colin wasn’t limping. He saw the shock on her face and smiled at her.

“Yes. Got my eye back, got my leg back,” he crowed as he hopped from one foot to the other. “I can even run.”

She was stunned. In all the excitement, she hadn’t noticed. Holding back tears, she threw her arms around him again and they held each other in silence for a few moments.

“Colin,” she whispered. She looked at Marica. “Thank you. Thank you so much. Will it—will it last?” She was afraid to even ask.

“Yes.” Marica walked over and eased Bridget aside. Then she planted a long, lustful kiss on his mouth, grinding her pelvis against his. Colin looked embarrassed but he didn’t pull away. She looked playfully over her shoulder at Bridget. “It’s his wedding gift.”

“
What?
” Bridget cried.

“We’re married,” Marica said.

“It’s only for a year,” Colin said.

“So far.” Marica kissed him again.

Then there was a sharp, whistling sound and Marica bellowed “Incoming!”

And the graveyard exploded.

It was like the end of the world.

Bits of corpses and chunks of stone shot into the night sky and plummeted back down like bombs as Bridget, Colin, and Marica charged through the open graveyard gates.

“Hold hands! Hold hands!” Marica yelled. “You’ll be stronger!”

Colin gripped Bridget’s hand and she glanced up. A large, dead tree limb was falling their way. She yanked on him to dodge it. But the huge piece of wood angled left and landed five feet away from them. Bridget gave him a look and he smiled briefly, as if he had personally deflected the branch. Maybe he had.

Just outside the gates a beautiful black Jaguar XKE sat untouched. Marica yanked open the driver’s door and Colin raced around to the passenger’s side. Bridget tried the door behind the driver and barreled in, throwing her pack onto the seat. Before she had shut the door, the car was moving.

“Attack! Attack!” Marica said. “Duende incoming!”

“Roger that!” a voice crackled from a speaker inside the car.

Marica said something in Spanish that sounded like swearing. Then she swerved as the ground in front of the car burst into the air from a cannonball-like force.

“Thank God we got to you in time,” Marica said.

Another explosion rocked the car. Bridget braced herself for a rain of debris but nothing touched the car. Colin reached over the seat and waggled his fingers. She slid her hand in his.

They raced along a steep, narrow road lit by moonlight and bomb bursts. The road fell away into a deep valley on Bridget’s left. The Jag climbed toward jagged mountain peaks. On the right, huge boulders dislodged and roared down the adjacent cliff face. Bridget let out a shout.

The rocks seemed to hit something just outside the Jag, then soared up and over the roof, rocketing downward on the other side into the valley. The image of Colin’s Beretta hanging in midair flashed through her mind. Magic. Favored.

“Get us out of here,” she ordered Marica. “Send us home. This has nothing to do with us.”

“It does now,” Marica said. “You killed Xavier Amaya.”

“I did not!” she shouted. “
You
did!”

“Talk later. Let her drive,” Colin told Bridget.

The wiser course, to be sure. Marica was taking evasive action, negotiating the twists and turns like a Grand Prix racecar driver. Bridget started to flop back in the seat but Colin held on to her hand.

“Stronger together,” he reminded her.

“Why? How does it work? What are the rules?” she asked.

“Just keep holding hands,” Marica said. “More later.”

Biting her tongue, Bridget kept silent as the wheels clung to a hairpin turn and on the other side, they headed toward a tunnel drilled into a huge craggy granite mountain. They zoomed into the tunnel and the Jag’s high beams flashed on. A bomb went off behind them, close enough to make the car jump in the air. Bridget gripped the armrest with her free hand, wishing she were in the driver’s seat. She felt like a sitting duck, at the mercy of this freak who was so very
not
Colin’s wife. Every bit of this was Colin’s fault, and when they got out of this—because they
would
—there would be serious payback. Forever.

The car accelerated flat out like at a million RPM’s. Bridget automatically braced herself, although if they hit anything going this speed, they would die. Unless magic saved them. As if in sheer terror, Colin squeezed her hand, and she waggled it to tell him to back off. He loosened his grip.

“I love you, Bridge,” he said hoarsely.

“Shut up. We are not going to die,” she snapped.

“I’m sorry—”

She batted his cheek with the back of his own hand. “Stop it. Make a wish. To live.”

“Yes. That would be a big help,” Marica said encouragingly.

There was a Y-intersection ahead. Marica forked left and the Jag hugged the curve like a lover. Then the road declined sharply and the Jag bulleted downward. Bridget had hated roller coasters all her life. Now she hated them more.

“Ouch,” her twin protested, and she loosened her grip.

Ahead, a large metal door ratcheted up and the Jag sped beneath it so closely Bridget swore the bottom of the door sheered off a few millimeters of exterior paint job.

There was no metallic squeal, just she and Colin shouting in unison. The Jag began to slow, then slid to a graceful stop inside a cavernous space in which were parked a number of other vehicles—Hummers, panel trucks, and something that looked like a flying tank from a science fiction movie.

Men and women in black catsuits and body armor surrounded the car. Their submachine guns were pointed directly at the Jag’s windows.

“Out,” Marica barked like a general.

Marica slid from behind the wheel. Colin let go of Bridget and both Flynns followed Marica’s lead. Bridget felt it was prudent to hold her hands above her head.

“Stand down,” Marica told the commandos. “I have the twins.”

The soldiers weren’t exactly jaunty as they lowered their weapons, but Bridget did take note of the heavy sighs of relief and big smiles flashed at her and Colin. No one bowed as Marica swept by, but they were deferential. Apparently she was in charge.

“Your brother’s in the war room,” one of the armed women told Marica. “He said to go on in.” She bobbed her head at Bridget and Colin. “They’ve been cleared.”

Marica snorted. “Of course they have.
Dios
, is he going to take credit for them, too?” She looked over her shoulder at Bridget and her brother, who were still holding hands. “You can let go now.”

They exited the cavern through a plain metal door painted brown, then trotted down a hall on a linoleum floor. The walls were painted a light gray-green, and there were framed photographs of people in dark blue uniforms. Air Force? More images from science fiction movies flashed through Bridget’s brain. These guys weren’t wizards, they were
aliens
! Favored was another word for extraterrestrial!

“This used to be a missile silo,” Marica said. “When we took it over, we thought it would be useful to keep all this as camouflage.”

Colin and Bridget exchanged incredulous looks. The bonfire on Shadow Island was clearly some kind of star gate and—

“Are we still in Miami?” Colin asked.

“Yes. The missile that used to be here was aimed at Cuba.” Marica opened a door. “Watch your step.”

As if on cue, the floor shook. Beyond Marica, Bridget saw swirling star fields and wispy purple and lavender spirals. Missile silo, her ass.

“Leonardo,” Marica called out. “I’m back. With the Flynns.”

Then Marica walked into the dazzling open space, seemingly floating, and Bridget hurried up to Colin and yanked on his wrist.

“Whoa,” she said. “Stop.”

“It’s all right.” Marica sounded amused. “There’s a floor.”

Keeping hold of her brother, Bridget opened her fanny pack and fished around for loose change. She tossed a couple of coins, and they clattered on something invisible.

“Okay,” she said, looking at her brother. “You go first.”