Shaded Vision: An Otherworld Novel (22 page)

“Crap!” As the zombies came at me, two things became abundantly clear. One—these zombies moved faster than normal zombies. Not a good thing. And two—maybe, just maybe, Wilbur wasn’t the one betraying us. The jury was still out on the latter, but there was no time to dwell on it. As I rolled to the side and ducked away from a fist that came raging down to hit the floor, I was becoming more willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. That blow could have split my skull. Just like somebody had split Wilbur’s.

I came up, swinging with my dagger. As Lysanthra made contact with the zombie’s arm, it let out a muted roar and pulled back. A lot of undead didn’t like silver. And she sang with the metal.

“Menolly, get over here now!” As I shouted, the zombies surged forward again. I leaped to the side, trying to dodge both of them. Zombies were brainless, no better than automatons. They would fight until destroyed.

The Tregart stood in back of them, arms crossed, watching
with a bemused smile on his face. Apparently, he didn’t think much of my chances. And that assessment didn’t set well with me.

Realizing they were caging me into a corner, I decided it was time to get out of there and into some open space. The basement ceiling was fairly high—an advantage for me—and I’d been working out a lot over the past few weeks. I slid my dagger back into her sheath as I gauged how far I’d have to jump to get out of their way, then coiled and sprang. Using the wall as a springboard, I catapulted myself over the heads of the zombies. Only I miscalculated and ended up directly in front of the demon.

Crap. I pulled out my dagger again as he held up a heavy chain. Just then, Menolly appeared. She took in the situation and immediately attacked the demon, taking him down as she landed on his back. I wasted no time turning my attention back to the zombies and struck the nearest from behind, bringing the dagger up under its left arm.

The only way to kill a zombie was to take it apart and then destroy the pieces. If you cut it into enough pieces, you’d be good to go—they couldn’t reassemble, but the hands could run around on their own and grapple things. So: fingers cut from hands, toes from feet…hands cut off arms…basic slice-and-dice theory.

The zombie turned and, with its too-fast-to-be-normal speed, slammed me with its right arm, knocking me back.

“Damned undead are all too strong for their own good,” I muttered, picking myself up off the floor before it could land on me. I shook my head and circled, trying to gauge an opening. If only I fought with a sword, it might do more damage. But I was determined to take one of these suckers down.

I grit my teeth and made a headlong beeline for my opponent. Zombies are too stupid to dart out of the way, so we collided and my weight took him down. I promptly clamped his arms to his sides with my knees and began trying to slice through the neck to cut off his head.

It wasn’t pretty. If he’d been a mummy, wrapped in rags,
not so hard. But staring into the face of someone who had once been alive and deliberately sawing his head off with a dagger—rather gruesome.

I steeled my thoughts.
The life is gone from his body. There is no soul here, merely reanimated flesh. Don’t be squeamish. You can do this. You have to do this.

The other zombie was turning my way, but there wasn’t much I could do about it now. I wanted at least one of them out of the way. Menolly was thoroughly tangled up with the Tregart and I couldn’t tell who was doing what, but I saw blood and it wasn’t hers.

As I struggled to keep the zombie down, a noise sounded beside me as the other zombie slammed his fist into my back.

I lurched forward as he fisted my hair and yanked me back. As my scalp screamed, I let out a shout. He lifted me up and the next thing I knew, I was flying across the room like a spinning top. I turned head over heels in the air, barely able to comprehend what was happening before I landed with a thud against one of the shelves. Moaning, I shook my head and looked up in time to see Menolly backing away from the bloody Tregart. He was holding a piece of sharply pointed wood—not a stake, but a sliver he’d broken off a piece of splintered crate.

“Menolly, get away from him!” I jumped up, a little dizzy, and then stopped as the Tregart pulled out what looked like a large cherry. I recognized that—or at least the basic shape. “Firebomb! We have to get Wilbur out of here!” I turned to run, trying to evade the zombies that were now headed my way.

Menolly turned on her heels and headed opposite the demon. At that moment, Smoky appeared. He stared at the scene as I frantically motioned to Wilbur.

“Get him out of here. Now! Firebomb! Firebomb!”

Smoky sprang into action, letting out a roar that brought Shade and Camille halfway down the stairs.

“No! Go back. Run!” I evaded the grasp of the zombies,
dodging to the right and the left as they closed in on my tail. There was a thud and I glanced over my shoulder. Menolly had grabbed one of them and tossed him against the wall in back of her.

Camille saw the demon and what he was holding and squeaked. She turned tail and headed up the stairs. Shade was at my side the next second and he grabbed my wrist and dragged me forward, away from the remaining zombie.

Menolly caught up with us and, seeing that Smoky was headed up the stairs with Wilbur in his arms, we raced across the basement.

At that moment, the Tregart let out a bark of laughter and there was a flash, so bright that it brought a cry of pain from Menolly even though she wasn’t facing it. The timbers shook and groaned, creaking, as flames burst against one wall, engulfing the wood.

This was no simple torch or match—magical firebombs were made to catch hold and burn. Water wouldn’t always put out the flames. And when they licked against the skin, they stuck, eating away at the flesh.

A cloud of hot smoke billowed around us, so thick it was hard to see. I began to cough as the haze surrounded us. Shade tightened his grip as I stumbled, pulling me back to my feet. I couldn’t see anything. Not the turns, not the shelves, not the crates scattered on the floor. I tripped over something and went down again, my knees landing hard on a metal box. It felt like an army trunk. But Shade never let go; he just pulled me to my feet again, and I skirted the trunk.

The flames were licking the basement walls now, crackling as they caught purchase. Somewhere in the mess, a bottle exploded and a rush of fire and heat swelled up, along with the smell of ammonia. Hell! Wilbur probably stored his spell components down here, and no doubt a number of them were flammable.

My eyes were burning and I couldn’t stop coughing as Shade rumbled, “Stairs. Watch your feet.”

I gently kicked forward and my toes met the first stair.
I felt with my foot and got my bearings. Then, with one hand on the railing and Shade still firmly gripping the other, I struggled up the stairs.

As we stumbled into the kitchen, I saw that the back door was open and headed for it, with smoke spewing out of the basement stairwell behind me. From the kitchen, I could see that Camille was standing outside, along with Martin, whom she’d managed to persuade to come with her. Wilbur was lying on the grass. Morio and Rozurial were running around from out front.

Smoky headed past me, back toward the basement. “I’ll be back in a moment. I might be able to quell the flames.” He passed Menolly on the stairs as she came racing up them. She was covered with soot, but she held something in her hands.

“What’s that?” I headed down the back steps, with her following me.

“I don’t know, but it was sitting near Wilbur and at one point, he pointed to it. I thought I’d bring it up, just in case it’s important.” We stopped beside Camille, who was closing her cell phone.

“Sharah’s almost here. And I called the fire department. If Smoky can quell the worst of the flames, the firemen might be able to take care of the rest when they get here.” She frowned. “Wilbur is unconscious, but he’s still breathing. He’s been hurt pretty bad.” She knelt beside him in the mud and wet grass and wiped his forehead. “I need a blanket to cover him with.”

Shade nodded. “I’ll be right back.” He headed for the house, and my first instinct was to say, “No, don’t go,” but then I realized he had the best chance of making it in and out of there without any repercussions.

As we waited, there was another explosion and all the windows on the left side of the house blew as flames billowed out, engulfing the entire length of the walls. Camille gave a little cry and moved forward, but I stopped her.

“They’ll be okay. You know they’ll be okay.” I was scared, too, but we didn’t dare go into the tangle of burning timbers and broken glass.

She bit her lip, nodding. “I hope so. I don’t trust anything, anymore.”

“Not even the Moon Mother?” I tried to cadge a smile out of her as we waited for our men to emerge from the flames.

She gave me a pensive look. “I trust her to do what she can. But I learned the hard way that even she can’t control the world, and can’t always stop evil when it rises. But she can comfort. The gods are not omnipotent nor omniscient.”

We waited—watching, hoping—until a movement at the kitchen door proved the answer to our prayers. Smoky and Shade emerged, both looking a little worse for wear. Camille jumped up and ran over to Smoky’s side while I stayed with Wilbur. She wrapped her arms around his waist as they walked back to us. Shade crouched beside me, staring down at the necromancer.

“How is he?”

“Not good, but Sharah should be here any minute. Is the house a goner?”

Smoky let out a sigh. “I don’t know, but even when I breathed an ice storm on it, the flames merely flickered. I think Wilbur’s house is doomed.”

Just then, the medic unit pulled up, siren screaming, and Sharah slammed open the door, heading toward us on the run. She glanced at the house. “You call the fire department?”

“Yeah, but what we need is someone who can counter sorcery. Shamas! He might be able to stop the flames!” Camille turned to Menolly. “Run home, as fast as you can, and get him.”

Menolly took off without a word.

Meanwhile, Sharah was examining Wilbur. She motioned to her assistants. “We need a stretcher here. Get his blood typed; he’s lost quite a bit and is in shock. His arm and leg are mangled—I suspect his leg is crushed, and his arm is broken in several places. He may have a skull fracture by the looks of things. He’s dehydrated and I doubt if he’s eaten in several days. I’m surprised he’s not dead.”

“Martin was trying to feed him, I think. We found plates of food down there. How long do you think he’s been hurt?”

She looked over at me as she started an IV drip of some clear liquid into his unhurt arm. “Several days at least. He lost a lot of weight due to dehydration. Okay, once he’s stabilized let’s get him back to the hospital.” She gathered up her stuff. “He must have the stamina of an elephant, to last through the beating he took. What happened to him?”

I shook my head as Menolly returned, Shamas on her heels. He headed toward the building, stopping just below the back porch steps. Camille and Morio followed him.

“I don’t know. We came over here, expecting to have it out with him, but Martin dragged us to the basement, where we found Wilbur. While we were down there, a Tregart and two zombies appeared through some sort of portal. The zombies attacked me while the Tregart let loose a firebomb.”

Sharah pressed her lips together. She gave me a wan smile and headed toward the ambulance. I crossed my arms in the chill night as a boiling cloud bank drove in around us. Unnatural and growing darker, it seethed with energy and I glanced over to see Shamas, his arms raised to the sky, with Camille and Morio beside him, hands linked, heads tilted back. I wasn’t sure how, or in what way, but they were all working together.

A tremendous crash broke through the night and rain pounded down, so hard it hurt against my skin. Hail quickly followed, as thick as snow, and I dodged the pellets, taking cover beneath a nearby tree with Shade and Smoky. Menolly was watching over Martin, and even though he seemed afraid of her, he obeyed when she made him move beneath the overhanging boughs.

So Shamas could work with the weather? Camille could call the lightning, and Iris and Smoky were adept at frost magic, but working with active weather systems was dangerous. Even I knew that.

But sorcerers liked to control as much as they could of the world. They had no compunctions about summoning beings
to do their bidding. But right now, I didn’t care, because Shamas’s rain and hail were drenching the flames. The water must have been charmed for it to quell the magical fires so quickly.

Whatever the case, as we watched, the flames died down, and within five minutes they were extinguished and the house sat, smoldering, a third of it in ruins. But at least it wasn’t burned to the ground.

I looked at Martin. “What the hell are we going to do with him? We can’t take him home like a puppy dog.”

Menolly groaned. “Oh fuck. Maybe we could tell Wilbur he burned up in the fire and put the guy out of our misery?”

Camille cleared her throat. “As much as I’d like to de-animate Martin, we can’t do that. It wouldn’t be fair. Not unless Wilbur dies. If that happens, then yes, we go ahead and put Martin to rest. But for now, until we know the truth, we owe it to Wilbur to keep his…pet…alive.”