Книга - A Mad Zombie Party

A Mad Zombie Party
Gena Showalter


Ashton "Frosty" Martin is both elated and despondent when his dead girlfriend Kat comes back as a Witness just like Ali Bell's sister Emma (who has helped Ali and friends throughout the series).Kat has a task for Frosty - help a fellow slayer and save him before it is too late. When Frosty gets to the place Kat directed him, he indeed finds a slayer - the disgraced Milla Marks, sister of neighbouring zombie crew leader River Marks - and the girl who betrayed the slayers to Anima Industries and caused Kat's death.Milla is the last person on Earth Frosty wants to help or have anything at all to do with. But although she's been banished from her home crew, Milla has learned that Anima has more tricks up their sleeves, and they've found a way to reverse or hinder Ali Bell's new zombie-saving abilityAnima is still out to find the cure for death and use the zombies to create an immortality serum. And Frosty, Milla, Ali, Cole and all their friends are about to be collateral damage again–unless they can find a way to work together and rebuild trust.It won't be easy. But Frosty never liked doing anything the easy way.







The battle rages on.

Ali Bell and Cole Holland’s crew of zombie slayers thought they’d won the war against Anima Industries, the evil company responsible for capturing and experimenting on zombies in an effort to discover the secret to immortality. In the last epic clash, the slayers lost many of their crew and closest friends. But Frosty, the ice man himself, has not recovered from one casualty in particular—the love of his life, Kat Parker.

On the path to self-annihilation, Frosty receives a message from beyond—Kat’s spirit returns, insisting he partner with rogue slayer Camilla Marks. Frosty will do anything for Kat. Except that. Camilla is the one who betrayed them all, leading to Kat’s death.

But when Anima rises from the grave to become a force the slayers may not have the strength to overcome, Frosty, Camilla and all the slayers will have to work together to survive. And one broken slayer will learn that sometimes, the line between hate and attraction is blurred...and the road to redemption isn’t through revenge, but in letting go of the past and grabbing hold of the future.


Praise for (#ulink_e9f84464-7eb3-5897-9cde-1d955275e54e)Gena Showalter (#ulink_e9f84464-7eb3-5897-9cde-1d955275e54e)

‘Put me down as a fan of Gena Showalter, I love her writing style and the attitude she gave Alice completely entertained me, there was never a dull moment and I loved every moment of ALICE IN ZOMBIELAND. I am so pleased that it lived up to my expectations.’—Book Chick City

‘Readers will love the brave girl trying to reclaim her life …’—RT Book Reviews

‘… a zippy story with crossover appeal that highlights the power of guilt, faith, and self-confidence.’—Publishers Weekly

‘Showalter has created a promising playground for future story instalments.’—Kirkus Reviews

‘… the novel was original, highly addictive and entertaining. Showalter is beyond good at what she does and I highly recommend reading other books she has penned.’—Parajunkee’s View


Books by Gena Showalter (#ulink_e981d680-742f-5f41-b322-a685746fab48)available from MIRA Ink

The White Rabbit Chronicles

ALICE IN ZOMBIELAND

THROUGH THE ZOMBIE GLASS

THE QUEEN OF ZOMBIE HEARTS

A MAD ZOMBIE PARTY

The Intertwined Novels

INTERTWINED

UNRAVELED

TWISTED


GENA SHOWALTER is a New York Times and USA TODAY best-selling author whose teen titles have been praised as ‘unput-downable.’ Growing up, she always had her nose buried in a book. When it came time to buckle down and get a job, she knew writing was it for her. Gena lives in Oklahoma with her family and two slobbery English bulldogs. Become a fan on Facebook and visit her White Rabbit Chronicles website at www.wrchronicles.com (http://www.wrchronicles.com).












www.miraink.co.uk (http://www.miraink.co.uk)


To Natashya Wilson—of course!—an extraordinary woman and editor who believed in this series from the very beginning. You rock my socks.

To Blue Romero, because you are awesome on every level.

To anyone who’s ever made a mistake you’re certain you’ll never recover from—no storm can last forever! The light will chase away the darkness.

To all the readers who said, “We want one more!” and “What about Frosty?”

THANK YOU!

To God, who is Love, and gives love.

Your mercies are everlasting, and I’m living proof.


Contents

Cover (#ubacadbfd-9c26-58cd-9bbf-cf6f31a90a0f)

Back Cover Text (#ufcc6a664-3862-5470-81fa-83ec2686e21f)

Praise for Gena Showalter (#ulink_2a006b4a-7f2e-5a63-91ea-e203f35f8607)

Books by Gena Showalter (#ulink_54350603-fbbd-5bf3-8b82-3fbb7cbd3a7d)

About the Author (#u695f47d4-5319-53f3-b95b-cff29cdc8bcd)

Title Page (#ucb2f698b-593d-5e03-975e-61566640f6b6)

Dedication (#ub794fa3a-c128-5525-a970-0db972893db0)

Quote 1 (#ulink_c259e0b6-ab98-5516-9e19-ee8aedeafdae)

Quote 2 (#ulink_4eb6b335-ed4d-533e-9f6a-0a39c5eaed0f)

A Note from Ali (#ulink_75bf80cf-cae2-5634-9d75-502187db1d02)

1: Frosty (#ulink_11a10194-ee2c-5339-a9aa-611dfae133c0)

2: Milla (#ulink_fe669200-224f-5dbd-9aa5-41b2902196f6)

3: Frosty (#ulink_9109afc6-1166-5eb8-8b02-c9e0451e9046)

4: Milla (#ulink_fbf46e7a-3a8a-5fbb-944c-70012fcf299b)

5: Frosty (#ulink_2a8b6793-f7a3-555f-9b67-b6325d48ad2f)

6: Milla (#ulink_f1faed02-5218-5a2f-ad07-33a0379cef2c)

7: Frosty (#ulink_2d979004-9ef2-5063-b1f9-77ce5e04951a)

8: Milla (#litres_trial_promo)

9: Frosty (#litres_trial_promo)

10: Milla (#litres_trial_promo)

11: Frosty (#litres_trial_promo)

12: Milla (#litres_trial_promo)

13: Frosty (#litres_trial_promo)

14: Milla (#litres_trial_promo)

15: Frosty (#litres_trial_promo)

16: Milla (#litres_trial_promo)

17: Frosty (#litres_trial_promo)

18: Milla (#litres_trial_promo)

19: Frosty (#litres_trial_promo)

20: Milla (#litres_trial_promo)

21: Frosty (#litres_trial_promo)

22: Milla (#litres_trial_promo)

23: Frosty (#litres_trial_promo)

24: Milla (#litres_trial_promo)

25: Frosty (#litres_trial_promo)

26: Milla (#litres_trial_promo)

27: Frosty (#litres_trial_promo)

28: Milla (#litres_trial_promo)

29: Frosty (#litres_trial_promo)

30: Milla (#litres_trial_promo)

31: Frosty (#litres_trial_promo)

32: Milla (#litres_trial_promo)

33: Frosty (#litres_trial_promo)

34: Milla (#litres_trial_promo)

A Note from Ali and Cole (but mostly Ali) (#litres_trial_promo)

A Note from Milla (and Frosty) (#litres_trial_promo)

A Note from Kat (#litres_trial_promo)

Endpages (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)





(#ulink_0c58059f-be96-53a5-9ff9-5ab9baa278d2)





(#ulink_1ff5354e-82e7-54a1-95a3-c7c070f335b7)





(#ulink_1186343a-8a6b-5769-a134-90c713c23759)

Check it. I’m only eighteen years old but I’ve already got the coolest résumé in the history of ever.

Mission statement: to save the entire world from the destructive forces of evil.

Abilities: seeing into the spirit realm, pushing my spirit out of my body, covering a person’s memories with a single swipe of my hand, predicting the future and moving at speeds the average human can’t even hope to track. Oh, and creating bursts of energy that toss zombies into the air.

Yes. Zombies exist. Get over it.

I’m a zombie slayer. While there are other slayers in the world, there are no others quite like me. (What? It’s not bragging if it’s true.) Two things we can all do? Set ourselves on fire with only a thought—without actually burning ourselves—and turn our enemy into a pile of ash with a single touch.

Don’t be jealous! Be re-e-eally jealous.

Just FYI, real zombies are unlike anything seen in movies or read about in books. They are spirits that have to be fought by other spirits. Like to like. They don’t hunger for blood and brains but for the very thing they’ve lost: the essence of life. My life...and yours.

They are pitiless darkness and we are shining lights.

But okay, okay, back to me. I won’t mention my other award-winning qualities...like my killer instincts. My rapier wit. Oh, oh, or the fact that I bagged and tagged Cole Holland, the baddest bad boy every girl in Bama—and probably the world—hoped to tame. Nope, not gonna mention. I’m humble like that.

But, despite all my amazing amazingness, there’s one thing I haven’t been able to do, and the failure is tearing me up inside.

I haven’t helped my friend Frosty.

I’ve tried. Oh, I’ve tried. Four months ago, Kat Parker—my best friend and Frosty’s girlfriend—did the unthinkable and...and...passed away. Exited earth. Kicked the bucket.

Good glory, there’s no easy way to say it, is there?

Anima Industries, the company determined to control zombies, bombed our house and gunned her down. (May they forever rot like their creations.)

Frosty witnessed every agonizing second of Kat’s death, unable to save her, and it changed him. The fun, sarcastic and wickedly irreverent boy I once admired is gone. Now he’s moody, and every mood is darker than the last. One moment he wants me to use my ability to cover his memories, the next he curses me for even daring to consider saying yes. He takes off for days, even weeks, at a time without contacting us to let us know he’s okay. He drinks at all hours of the day and night, and he’s sleeping around, discarding girls as if they’re sexual tissues. One and done. Bang and bail. Hit it and quit it.

I know he hates what he’s become. But how can I help him, truly help him, when I’m having so much trouble helping myself?

There’s an ache deep in my chest now, humming in tune to the movies playing in the back of my mind. Movies on a constant loop—memories of times I shared with my bestie, the coolest chick I’ve ever known.

The first time we met. “I’m Kathryn, but everyone calls me Kat. And do not make any cat jokes or I’ll have to hurt you. With my claws. Truth is, I stopped speaking meow a long time ago.”

My first day at my new school. “Well, well, look what the Kat dragged in. Get it? Of course you do. I only make awesome jokes. But enough of my brilliant banter. I’m so glad you’re here!”

When she first confessed to being sick. “My kidneys don’t exactly work right. I need dialysis, like, a lot.”

Our first squabble. “I told you about my illness, but you won’t tell me what’s going on with you? And I know something’s going on. You’re spending more and more time with Cole, you’re bruised all the time and I would think he was beating you if I hadn’t seen the bruises on everyone else you’re hanging out with. I know you’re involved in whatever Frosty’s involved in, and I know you’re keeping secrets from me.”

We’d made up quickly. We’d always made up quickly. We were sisters of heart rather than blood. But as much as I love those flashbacks of our lives together, I wish they’d stop. My heartache is almost unbearable. And if I feel this way, even though Cole soothes me—even though I occasionally interact with Kat’s spirit—Frosty has to be falling down a pit of never-ending despair. His only source of comfort has been taken away.

Crap! I need a sec to wipe my eyes. Got dirt in them...or something.

An indisputable fact: Frosty loves Kat the way I love Cole. All-encompassing, all-consuming, nothing held back—forever. I’ve heard him say he has nothing to live for, that death would bring him peace.

He’s never been more wrong. He also can’t go on like this. I’ve seen a glimpse of the future, and it isn’t pretty.

The worst is yet to come.

We thought we’d won the war against Anima. We thought wrong. And how freaking sad is that? During our last battle, we lost six of our closest friends, and only consoled ourselves with Anima’s defeat, certain they’d never again hurt another living soul. We should have known the company would rise from the grave just like the zombies they helped create.

Together we slayers must stand. Or one by one we will fall.

We have to— Argh! Kat! Did I forget to mention she’s a witness now? When she died, her spirit went up. She lives in a spirit realm with my biological mom, Helen, and my little sister, Emma. They watch over us, cheering us on and even helping when they can. Sometimes they’re even allowed to visit with me.

I can see and hear them while other slayers cannot. Yes, I did the sweet thing and shared the ability with every member of my crew—another ability to add to my résumé—but soon after, everyone lost it. Just boom, it was gone.

Emma once told me, her voice ominous, “There can be only one,” before she burst out laughing. She then added, “You slayers...you operate in the spirit realm, where faith is your only source of strength. Some of your abilities require more faith than others and right now, only yours is strong enough to see us. Yes, we can help the others out and reveal ourselves through faith of our own, but we need permission from the Supreme Judge for that.”

An-n-nd Kat is now snapping her fingers in front of my face. She won’t stop talking, even though I’ve told her a thousand times she’s probably the worst witness ever, always focused on her— Ow! She’s found a way to pinch my spirit inside my body.

She wants me to add that we slayers will do whatever it takes to save Frosty. And by “whatever,” I mean “whatever.” We have to find a way to reach him before it’s too late. And we will.

Did you hear that, Kat? We will.

We’ll strive for the best...but plan for the worst.

Ow! And save Frosty. Yes, yes. I get it. They get it.

Let your light shine,

Ali Bell

Ow! And Kat Parker





(#ulink_8fda2fa7-9200-5394-8daa-2de253eab82e)

I crawl out of bed like I’m one of the walking dead and rub my gritty eyes. My temples throb, and my mouth tastes like something furry crawled inside, nested, had babies and died. I’m on my way to the bathroom to brush my teeth with a gallon of bleach when I realize my surroundings are unfamiliar. Ignoring a flood of dizziness, I scan a bedroom that has pictures of flowers hanging on pink walls, sparkly shirts and skirts spilling from an oversized closet and a vanity scattered with a thousand different kinds of makeup.

Not exactly my style.

A sleepy sigh draws my attention to the bed, and memories rush in fast. I spent the night with a girl—the newest in a long line of randoms I’ve selected for one reason and one reason only. A resemblance to Kat. This particular hookup has dark hair and sun-kissed skin...or so I thought. Now, in the bright light of the morning, I see the strands aren’t quite dark enough and her skin is more sun-screwed.

My stomach clenches, and my hands curl into fists as hard as hammerheads. Usually I leave two seconds after the deed is done. Just enough time to zip my pants. What can I say? I’m a class A dick. But at least I’m at the top of my field. Counts for something, right?

I hate the things I’m doing, but I won’t stop doing them. I’m not sure I can. After a few shots of whiskey, I’m able to pretend the girl I’m with is my sweet little Kitty Kat, and I’m touching her again and she’s loving it, begging me for more, and everything will be okay, because we’ll be together forever. I imagine she’ll cuddle close afterward and say things like, “You’re the luckiest guy in the world and you don’t deserve me, but don’t worry, no one does,” and I’ll laugh, because she’s ridiculous and adorable and everything right in my world. In the morning, she’ll demand I apologize for doing bad things in her dreams.

She’ll make my life worth living.

Then morning will actually arrive, and I’ll realize she won’t be doing any of those things because she’s dead, and I’m the puss who couldn’t save her. A fact that still haunts me. But I deserve to be haunted. I deserve to be punished.

Kat deserved my loyalty until the very end—my end. And this crap? I’m cheating on her memory with girls I don’t know, don’t even like, and will always resent. They’re not my Kat, they’ll never be my Kat and they have no right to put their hands on her property.

Hell. Even still, they deserve better.

What I’m doing...it’s wrong. It’s seriously messed up. I’m not this guy. Only assholes use and lose, and once upon a time I would have been the guy who beat a prick like me into blood, pulp and powder.

Ask me if I care.

Before my newest mistake wakes up, I gather my discarded clothing and dress in a hurry. My shirt is wrinkled, ripped and stained with lipstick and whiskey. I don’t bother fastening my pants. The combat boots I leave untied. I look like exactly what I am: a hungover piece of scum who could pass for a zombie. I make my way out the front door and realize I’m on the second floor of an apartment building. I scan the surrounding parking lot but find no sign of my truck.

How the hell did I get here?

I remember going to a nightclub, throwing back one shot after another, dancing with the brunette, throwing back a few more shots and...yeah, okay, piling inside her little sedan. I’d been too wasted to drive. Now I’ll have to walk back to the club, because there’s no way in hell I’m waking Hookup to ask for a ride. I’d have to answer questions about my nonexistent intentions.

As I stride down the sidewalk, the air is warmer than usual, the last vestiges of winter having surrendered to spring. The sun is in the process of rising, igniting the sky with different shades of gold and pink, and it’s one of the most beautiful sights I’ve ever seen.

I give it the finger.

The world should be crying for the treasure it’s lost. Hell, it should be snot-sobbing.

At least I don’t have to worry about being ambushed by zombies right now. The scourge of the earth usually only slink out at night, the bright rays of the sun too harsh for their sensitive husks.

I come across a gas station and buy a toothbrush, tube of toothpaste and a bottle of water. In the bathroom, I take care of the furry thing and her babies still nesting in my mouth and begin to feel human again.

When I’m back outside, I pick up the pace. The sooner I get to my car, the sooner I can—

“What you doing here, pretty boy?” some guy calls. His friends laugh as if he’s said something special. “You want to see what real men are like?”

—get home.

I’m in a part of Birmingham, Alabama, most kids avoid if at all possible, scared by the graffiti on crumbling building walls, the parked cars missing hubcaps and wheels, and the plethora of crimes being perpetrated in every alley—drugs, prostitution, maybe a mugging or two. I keep my head down and my hands at my sides, not because I’m afraid but because in my current mood, I will fight, and I will fight to kill.

As a zombie slayer, I have the skills necessary to make “real men” curl into a ball and beg for their momma. Taking on a group of punk kids or even gang members would be like shooting fish in a barrel—with a rocket grenade launcher.

Yeah. I have one of those. Two, actually, but I’ve always preferred my daggers. Eliminating someone up close and personal comes with a better rewards package.

My cell phone vibrates. I pull the device from my pocket to discover the screen is blown up with texts from Cole, Bronx and even Ali Bell, Cole’s girlfriend and once, Kat’s best friend. They want to know where I am and what I’m doing, if I’m visiting anytime soon. When will they realize it’s too difficult to be around them? Their lives are picture-perfect in a way mine isn’t—and can never be. They have the happily-ever-after I’ve dreamed about since eighth grade, when Kat Parker walked into Asher Jr. High our first day back from summer break. In seconds, I gave that girl my heart.

Like Cole and Ali, we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. Like Bronx and his girlfriend Reeve, we worshipped the ground the other walked on. Now I have nothing but memories.

No, that’s not true. I also have pain and misery.

A big brute of a guy suddenly gets in my grille. I say “brute” only because the shadow he’s throwing is my size. I’m a big guy, loaded with heavy muscle and topping out well over six feet.

Clearly he thinks he’s tough. He probably expects me to crap my pants and beg for mercy. Good luck with that. If he isn’t careful, he won’t be walking away from this encounter—he’ll be crawling. But as I rake my gaze from his boots to his face, I lose the ’tude.

Here is Cole Holland in the flesh. My friend and fearless leader. I’ve known and loved him like a brother since our elementary school days. Over the years we’ve fought beside each other, bled with each other and saved each other. I’d die for him, and he’d die for me.

Too bad for him I’m not in the mood for another pep talk.

“Don’t,” I say. “Just don’t.”

“Don’t speak to my best friend? How about you don’t say dumb shit?”

Yeah. How about. “How’d you find me?”

“My super amazing detective skills. How else?”

“If I had to guess I’d say the GPS in my phone.” Technology is such an asshole.

Cole’s eyes are violet and freaky cool, especially as they glitter in the light of the sun—but they’re also a little too shrewd as they stare at the collar of my shirt.

“Lipstick?” He arches a brow.

“I’m on the hunt for my perfect shade,” I respond, deadpan.

“Ditch the magenta. Your olive skin tone screams for rose.” His deadpan is better than mine.

The old me would have been all over that. The new me just wants to be left alone. “Thanks for the tip. I’ll keep it in mind.” I try to move around him.

He just moves with me. “Come on.” He pats me on the shoulder, and if I’d been a weaker guy, I would have been drilled into the concrete. “Let’s go get something to eat. Looks like you could use a solid meal rather than a liquid one.”

As much as I don’t want to go, I don’t want to argue with him. Takes too much energy. His Jeep is idling at the curb, and I slide into the passenger seat without protest. A ten-minute drive follows, and thankfully he doesn’t fight the silence. What’s there to say, really? The situation is what it is, and there’s no changing it.

We end up at Hash Town, and as I walk through the doors, I suddenly wish I’d argued. Ali, Bronx and Reeve are at a table in back, waiting for us. Reeve and I have never been close; she was Kat’s friend, and like Kat, slaying has never been in her wheelhouse. She can’t see or hear zombies, but she’s watched us fight so many times, she’s accepted what other civilians never have: the monsters are real, and they live among us.

Reeve lost her dad—her only living family and our wealthiest benefactor—the day I lost Kat. For the first time, I’m struck by a sense of kinship with her. Maybe this forced interaction won’t be so bad.

As she smiles at me in welcome, however, I revert to my original unease. She has dark hair and even darker eyes, and for many years she and Kat pretended to be sisters from different misters. Right now it kinda hurts to look at her.

Who am I kidding? Everything hurts.

“Is this an intervention?” I take one of two empty seats and signal the waitress for coffee. I’m going to need it.

“No, but it probably should be,” Ali says. “You look like dog crap that’s baked in the sun a little too long.” Her mouth has always lacked any type of filter, a problem exacerbated by her refusal to lie about anything. Two qualities guaranteed to turn every conversation into a battlefield. But that’s okay. Give me blunt truth over charming flattery any day.

Cole sits next to her and kisses her on the cheek. She leans in to him, the action natural to her, wholly instinctive.

Kat and I used to do the same.

A sharp lance of pain rips through my chest, and I have to school my expression to hide my grimace.

“The good news is my dog crap is another man’s best,” I say.

“Oh, my friend,” Ali replies with a shake of her head, “you clearly haven’t seen yourself in the mirror.”

I shrug. “You look good, at least.”

“Obviously.” She buffs her nails.

It’s such a Kat thing to say, to hear. We both freeze.

This time, I can’t school my expression. What’s worse, I need a moment to steady my breathing. New conversations eventually kick off, friendly insults bouncing back and forth among the group.

Ali leans toward me and whispers, “I miss her, too.”

I hike my shoulders in another shrug. It’s all I can really manage at the moment.

In appearance, Ali is Kat’s polar opposite. While Ali is tall and slender with a fall of pale hair and eyes of the clearest, purest blue, Kat is—was, damn it—short and curvy with dark hair and mesmerizing hazel eyes that were a perfect blend of green and gold.

In storybook terms, Ali is the innocent snow princess and Kat is the seductive evil queen.

There’d been no one prettier than my Kat. Or smarter. Or wittier. Or more adorable. And if I continue along this path, I’m going to tear the building apart brick by brick.

The waitress finally arrives with the coffeepot and fills my cup. “Your order will be out in a few minutes, hon.”

I get a friendly pat on my shoulder before she ambles away.

“We took the liberty of ordering for you,” Reeve tells me. “Two fried eggs, four pieces of bacon, two sausage patties, a double helping of cheesy hash browns and a stack of pecan pancakes.” She nibbles on her bottom lip. “If you’d like something else...”

“I’m sure I can make do with so little.” I’m not hungry, anyway. “How’s Z-hunting going?”

“Better than ever.” Ali takes a sip of her orange juice. “Tell him your news,” she says to Reeve.

Reeve blushes. “I used my dad’s notes and Ali’s blood to create a new serum.”

Ali practically bounces in her seat. “It’s awesome because—drumroll please—she was able to extract and use the essence of my fire. We inject zombies with it, and it’s as if they’ve bitten me. In minutes, their darkness is washed away because I am so awesome— What?” she says when Cole nudges her. “You know it’s true. Anyway. When completely cleansed, the Zs become witnesses and float away into the hereafter.”

“It’s a miracle to watch,” Cole says.

All slayers produce spiritual fire—inner light—the only weapon truly capable of killing zombies. But after the leader of Anima experimented on Ali, shooting her full of untested drugs, she developed the ability to save Zs, too. An ability she then shared with other slayers by using her fire on them.

Multiple times she’s offered to share it with me, too, but I’ve always turned her down. I’m not interested in saving my enemy. Zombies bit Kat, which means I would have lost her to toxin even if I hadn’t lost her to a bomb and a hail of bullets. But the thing that really kills me? The toxin ensured she suffered a far more agonizing death, no matter the cause, every bit of her pain magnified. Therefore, zombies have to die.

The downside? I don’t just suffer when I’m bitten, I suffer, unbearable agony consuming me, the urge to destroy everything in my path utterly overwhelming me. I also can’t be healed without another slayer’s fire or an injection of a chemical antidote—and I have to receive either one within a ten-minute window of the bite or I’m toast.

“Do I sense a but?” I ask.

Excitement dwindling, Ali traces her finger over the rim of her glass. “Supplies are limited, so we more often than not have to let the creatures bite us. The more bites we receive, the longer we take to recover.”

“Makes sense. The more bites, the more toxin your spirit has to cleanse.”

“More coffee?” the waitress asks.

Ali and Reeve jolt at the sound of her voice. I just nod. My guard has remained on high since I walked through the diner doors. I’ve known the waitress’s location every second. The girls, both new to this life, are still learning.

As the coffee is poured, the waitress says, “Your order’s up, gang. I’ll bring it over.” She walks away without giving us a “you are so weird” look. We’re kids (technically) and we’ve discovered everyone assumes we’re talking about video games.

“We need to come up with a new way to help Zs and ourselves,” Bronx says. “After a battle, I’m drained for a week.”

“He basically falls into a coma.” Reeve rests her cheek on his shoulder, and his hand automatically sinks into her hair. “Not even true love’s kiss awakens him,” she adds drily.

Cole cracks a smile. “You must not be doing it right. Stop kissing his lips and start—”

Ali slaps a hand over his mouth. “Don’t you dare.”

He removes her hand and nips at her palm. “Punching them,” he says, finishing his sentence.

Everyone laughs. Everyone but me. I shift uncomfortably and look at the door. Too rude to leave?

The food arrives a few seconds later, the waitress placing steaming plates in front of each of us. My friends dig in as if they’ve been starved for months. While I was drinking and cheating on Kat’s memory last night, they clearly hunted zombies and did a little bite-fighting. The sleeve of Ali’s shirt has risen, revealing a wealth of bruises on her arm, just above a tattoo of a white rabbit.

There are bruises on Cole and Bronx, too, and the realization hits me hard. They went into battle without me. They could have been hurt, or worse. The Z-saving thing is new, as untested as the drugs Ali was given, and we don’t know all the ins and outs. Something could have gone horribly wrong, and I wasn’t there to help.

I swallow a curse. I need to get my act together. Like, yesterday. But just as soon as the burst of protective energy hits me, it leaves. My friends will be fine without me. Probably even better off.

The handle of my fork bends.

“So, I have another bit of news,” Reeve says, breaking through the sudden silence. “I bought a house.”

Bronx swallows a bite of red velvet pancakes. He’s always had a sweet tooth, and it’s always amused me. With his wild, spiked green hair and multiple facial piercings, he looks as if he’d prefer rusty nails and shards of glass. “It has everything we need. Big-assed bedrooms, each with its own private bathroom. Enough for everyone on our crew and everyone we’re recruiting. There’s a gym. A sauna. An indoor pool. Even a basketball court. Plus, when I’m finished, security will be top-of-the-line.”

My first thought: Kat would have loved living with the group. Hell, she would have loved my small, barely furnished apartment, paid for by the trust Reeve’s dad left me. He left one for all of us, actually. We’re all richer than we could have ever dreamed, and yet, the money is as much a curse as a blessing to me. What I can’t share with Kat, well, it isn’t worth having. Including my poor excuse for a life.

I grind my molars so forcefully I expect to swallow broken bits of enamel. As her image sparks to life in the back of my mind, I close my eyes. A memory begins to play with Technicolor clarity. She’s sitting on my lap, and I’m toying with the ends of her silky hair.

“If I only have ten more days to live,” she says, “what would you want to do with me?”

I guess her intention right away, know she’s trying to prepare me. She’s suffered from kidney disease her entire life, and she suspects the end will come sooner rather than later. “Hold on and never let go.”

“Boring.”

“Chain you to my bed.”

The corners of her mouth twitch. “A possibility.”

Getting serious, I say, “Die with you.” And I mean the words with every fiber of my being.

She climbs to her knees and cups my face to hold my gaze. As if I would ever look away from her. When she’s near, she’s all I see. “You’re going to live, Frost. You’ll go to college and make friends and play sports and yes, date other girls.”

“I don’t do any of that shi—stuff now.” I don’t like to curse in front of her. I want to be a positive influence, never a bad one.

“You’re going to meet someone else, someone special, and she’s—”

“There is no one else.” I’ve been lost for this girl since minute one.

Her head tilts to the side, strands of her hair lifting with a gentle breeze. “Granted, with her you won’t have as much fun and your kids won’t be nearly as attractive, but I’m sure she’ll make you happy...occasionally.”

Not gonna happen. Ever. “You’re it for me, kitten. That will never change.”

In the present, someone taps my shoulder. I meet Cole’s violet gaze, the concern radiating from his rugged features almost my undoing. He loves me. I know he loves me, and he only wants the best for me. But I can’t have the best, and I’m not going to pretend I have something else to live for. Well, something other than revenge.

“Come with us to see the house,” he says. “Pick a room.”

A room I won’t be sharing with Kat. “I already have a place.” I breathe in...out...but I don’t calm down. I stand, my chair skidding behind me. “I have to go.”

A muscle jumps beneath his eye. “Where?”

Somewhere else. Anywhere else. “I just... I’ll see you guys around.” I stride out of the diner without ever looking back.





(#ulink_b0bf9ae8-8309-53e4-b635-9e4f3eb07c46)

I crouch on top of a tombstone gargoyle-style, waiting for the spirits of the recently dead to rise. I don’t have to worry they’ll be witnesses, the good guys. Witnesses leave the body at the moment of death and ascend. Zombies tend to linger for several hours, or even a day or two, and on rare occasions an entire week. Don’t ask me why there’s a difference. Zombie physiology isn’t my forte. All I know is that the creatures need time to gather enough strength to crawl out.

They are always starved for what they’ve lost, for the most precious thing on this earth. Life.

I’ve been listening to police scanners, sneaking into hospitals to examine death records and patrolling cemeteries for people who have died of Antiputrefactive Syndrome. The past few days, there have been six, and all six will result in brand-spanking-new zombies.

AS is what doctors call death by zombie bite. Not that anyone in the medical field actually knows an injection of straight-up evil is the reason portions of a victim’s skin turn black and ooze pus as their organs rot...until an excruciating death finally ends the torment. Well, until the real torture begins. Eternity as one of the undead.

No one would believe me if I explained the truth. Hell, I might even end up in a padded room, medicated to the max. It’s happened to a couple of my friends.

Former friends.

Anyway.

Fingers crossed I get to kill all six zombies tonight.

Killing is my business, and like anyone else, I’m happiest when business is good.

And I need a little good in life. I’m the most hated slayer in the state. With excellent reason. But even though my friends hate me, I haven’t stopped loving them, which is why I’m here. The more Zs I kill, the less they have to fight. I want to make their lives better, easier—to make River’s life easier.

For years, my brother protected me and my—

Can’t go there right now. Depression will set in, and I’ll want zombies to feed on me.

So. Rephrase. For years, my brother protected me from our abusive father, hiding me even though he would be punished for it, forced to take my beating as well as his own. I owe him. More than that, I adore him. There’s nothing I won’t do for him.

Steal, kill and destroy? Check, check and mate.

“Come on, come on, meat bags,” I mutter. “Consider this your official invitation to my boot party.” For my own entertainment and okay, okay, to let off a little steam, I plan to kick the rot right out of their brains.

I have everything I need. Earlier I pushed my spirit out of my body, leaving the latter perched at the edge of Shady Elms cemetery, concealed by thick foliage, waning moonlight and eerie shadows. (What the body wears the spirit wears, which means I’m still armed for war.)

I have to be careful, though; I can’t allow even the smallest scratch. Any injury a spirit sustains manifests on the body, the two connected through invisible tethers no matter the distance between them. That’s usually not a big deal, but I’m on my own and I’ll have to patch myself up. Basically, I’m the world’s worst patient.

Around me, locusts buzz and crickets sing, but the insects aren’t my only companions. A few headstones away, a group of underage kids are drinking beer and playing truth or dare. Definitely in the wrong place. Could be the wrong time. Zombies prefer to chow on slayers—we’re their catnip, I guess—but any human will do.

Play with fire, get burned. A truth as old as time.

The little hairs on the back of my neck stand at full attention, and I go still. Sometimes my spirit senses something that hasn’t yet clicked in my mind.

Zombies on the rise?

I search, but find no sign there’s an undead nearby. Another civilian intruder? Again, there’s no sign. Not that it would matter. I can dance, sing and shout, but to civilians, I’m nothing more than a ghost.

Another slayer, perhaps, come to help me?

Yeah, in my dreams. As an exile of River’s crew, I’m as good as dead to all our kind. And I get it. I do. In my single-minded bid to save my brother, I made terrible life-and-death mistakes.

Commit the crime, serve your time.

My nails dig into the headstone beneath me, the entire thing doused with Blood Lines, the chemical needed to make the living world tangible to the spirit world. My brother keeps stashes of Blood Lines all over the state as a just-in-case. Used to be, I would have called him to ask for what I need, and he would have ensured I had more than enough. Now I have to raid his stashes.

Part of me wants to curl up and sob for all I’ve lost. Friends, a home. Acceptance, safety and security. A family. The other part of me, the stronger part, tells me to suck it up and deal. What’s done is done.

Besides, I have a purpose, and that’s more than most.

Laughter erupts from the kids. I call them kids and yet they’re only a year or two younger than me. While they’ve probably spent the bulk of their lives having fun, I’ve spent the bulk of mine fighting to save the world. I’m nineteen, but my experiences have aged me.

“You gonna back out now?” one of the boys asks the only dark-haired girl. “You chicken?”

“I know what you’re doing, Mr. Manipulator,” she says with a smirk. “You can’t goad me into doing something I don’t want to do.”

“Stop talking and show him your tits.” Another boy throws a handful of leaves at her. “A dare is a dare.”

The others chortle.

“Thankfully, I want to do it.” She stands in the middle of the group and, while Chicken Boy uses the flashlight app on his phone to illuminate her, she lifts her top to expose her boobs.

The other boys high-five and whistle. The other girls catcall and fist-pump the sky.

I want to shout, Stop living in the dark and open your eyes to the light. A whole other world exists around you.

A shadow rises from the freshly packed grave site in front of me. I reach over my shoulders to palm the handles of my short swords, the kids forgotten. Metal slides against leather, whistling a beautiful tune, and I start drooling at the thought of a new kill.

Pavlov nailed it.

Another finger pokes through the dirt...soon an entire hand. There’s a dull gray tint to the skin, and my heart leaps with excitement.

The creature sits up and shakes her head, clumps of dirt falling from her tangled salt-and-pepper hair. I smile with anticipation, until I note the open wounds on her forehead and cheeks, each revealing the rotted muscle and splintered bone underneath. First-time risers usually appear human, their only visual tells red eyes and graying skin. Why the change?

She locks on me, her lips curling up, showcasing yellowed teeth and thick black saliva.

Kill now, ask questions later.

She swipes a hand at me and snaps her teeth.

“Sorry, honey, but I’m not on the menu.” I leap off the tombstone and end up where I want to be—in the circle of her arms. Mindless with hunger, she latches on to my waist to yank me closer, but I’m already swinging my swords. The blades crisscross at her neck before I’m in any danger, and her head falls backward, black goo spraying from her severed artery.

The civilians continue playing their silly game.

Despite the decapitation, both the zombie head and body remain animated, arms clawing at me, teeth snapping at me. Time to finish her off for good. I’ve been fighting the undead for so long, summoning my fire—my dýnamis—is as easy as breathing. By the time I sheath one of my swords and flatten my hand over her chest, flames are crackling all the way to my wrist. One minute passes, two... Dýnamis sinks past her skin, into her veins, traveling through her entire body. Then, suddenly, she explodes, dark ash floating through the air.

I move on to her head, making sure her teeth are firmly planted in the ground before I perform the same “fire up and wait” routine. When a second round of ash floats away on a cool spring breeze, I sheath my other sword and slap my hands together in a job well done.

I have to walk through the circle of civilians to get to the next name on my list of AS victims. Each boy has paired off with a girl, the couples making out on top of blankets, uncaring about the potential audience. Longing mixes with envy, cutting at me. I haven’t had a “boyfriend” in forever. River is so protective—was so protective, I correct with a twist in my gut. Anyone interested in me quickly decided I wasn’t worth the hassle...but usually only after I’d given up the goods. At least, I like to tell myself River is the reason I’ve been rejected so many times, and not my mountain of personality flaws.

Now River wouldn’t care if I decided to screw anything breathing. Or hey, anything not breathing.

I never should have betrayed his trust in me, never should have tried to save his life by signing the death warrant of Ali Bell, the girlfriend of a rival crew’s leader. But trading one life for another had seemed acceptable at the time. If only that’s how things had gone down. Ali survived, but two innocents had not. Kat Parker and Dr. Richard Ankh. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to forgive myself for the part I played in their deaths.

Scratch that. I will never forgive myself.

A grunt sounds at my left, and I whip around to discover two other zombies have risen. Two zombies not from graves/names on my list. Well, hell. As I once again unsheathe my short swords, my heart slamming against my ribs, I study my newest opponents. Two males. One is morbidly obese, while the other is short and squat. Both have a grayish tint, like the female, the same advanced stage of rot.

They race toward me without stumbling, their bones not yet brittle enough to break.

I dart to the right, their gazes alert enough to follow me. Good. I keep going, drawing the two farther away from the civilians...but I don’t realize until too late that there’s a small headstone in my path. I trip, land on my ass and lose my breath. I’m laid flat for only a second, maybe two, but it’s enough. The pair dive for me. I somersault backward, coming up with my swords extended, ripping through each creature’s torso. Multiple organs plop to the ground, but neither Z seems to notice or care that they’ve been disemboweled. They just keep advancing.

I kick one in the groin, sending him stumbling to the side, at the same time removing the head of the other with a single swipe of my sword. The headless wonder, now behind me, manages to clench his fingers in my hair and yank me closer. Idiot! All he can do is paw at me. I elbow his chest and kick back. As he, too, stumbles to the side, I hack at his left arm, spin and hack at his right. Both limbs hit the ground with a thud.

Pressure on my boot draws my gaze. The severed head is attempting to chew through my leather soles. I jerk my leg away and slam my sword into his ear canal, and if we were in an episode of The Walking Dead, my favorite show despite the inaccuracies, he would be dead. Again. But we aren’t, and he isn’t; he just keeps chomping at me. Now, at least, he’s trapped in place. He can do no real damage while I fight the other—

A stone wall knocks me to the ground. The other zombie, back for more. I lose my grip on my swords, air exploding from my lungs and stars winking in front of my eyes. But I manage to hold him off, the heel of my palm planted firmly on his forehead. His legs move between mine, both of his hands wrapping around my neck, which he clearly hopes to use as a snack pack.

If he were human, all I’d have to do is clasp my hands together at my midsection and shoot them up, between his arms, at the same time placing my feet behind his ankles and applying enough pressure to spread his legs. He would struggle for purchase and lose his grip on me. I would then place one of my hands behind his head and smash the other underneath his chin to close his mouth, pushing with one and pulling with the other to create a counterforce, turning his body and allowing me to roll on top of him. I would balance my weight on one knee, slam the heel of a hand into his nose, breaking the cartilage and, while he writhed in pain, I would stand and stomp on his stupid face. Game over. But he isn’t human, so I can do none of those things; his teeth would be too close to my vulnerable skin, and he would feel no pain.

All I can do is wiggle my free hand between our bodies. There’s a dagger sheathed at my waist...there! Once the weapon is free, I wrench it up and jab it into his neck, again and again. Black goo sprays my flesh, burning me, blistering. Steam curls through the air. When his spine is the only thing holding his head in place, I drop the blade and rearrange my hands, placing one behind his head while smashing the other under his chin, careful to avoid his teeth—looks like I can use one of my moves, after all. With a push and a pull, the counterforce snaps his stupid head from his stupid body.

Panting, I toss the brand-new boxing bag several yards away and fight my way from beneath his heavy weight. Dizziness sweeps over me, but this is not the time for a break. I summon dýnamis and place my palm over the zombie’s back. In my weakened state, my fire is not as potent and the zombie’s metamorphosis from rot to ash takes longer than usual, but it does happen.

I push up onto shaky legs and stumble forward, relieved, searching for the head I threw. Gotta rinse and repeat. Only, I come face-to-face with more than a dozen pairs of red, glowing eyes—and every single set is locked on me.





(#ulink_9a7e744a-9127-5f83-a629-e6c991d4c009)

Surprise surprise, I’m back at Hearts, looking for my next hit and run.

Out of habit, I scan my surroundings. Four months ago, just days before Kat—

Yeah. Anyway. A section of the club was destroyed by Anima. Their agents bombed a wall, swooped in and attacked. We fought back hard and dirty, but damage was done. Thankfully, it took us only a month to rebuild. Out with the old, in with the new. There are now black light halogens in the ceiling, making glow-in-the-dark paint come to life around the stage, where a live band plays. The walls are covered with murals of a magical woodland, a floating Cheshire cat with a toothy grin, and a rabbit with a pocket watch. Ali’s suggestion. A tribute to Kat as well as Ali’s younger sister, Emma.

Once, Reeve’s dad owned the club. When he died, he left most of his possessions and wealth to his daughter—his only living relative—and a million dollars each to the rest of us. The club, though, he gave to Tyler Holland, Cole’s dad. I’m on the VIP list, even though I’m only eighteen years old. My ID says I’m twenty-four.

My phone vibrates, and I check the screen to find a text from Cole.

The club again? Really? Why don’t U be a good boy & use UR spank bank? Yeah. I went there. Stop screwing around & come home. UR real home.

One of the employees must have called him. Friends who care are great—until they suck.

There are other texts, too.

Ali: Thought of a title 4 a zombie dating book. Ready... DYING TO MEET YOU. Thoughts???

My boy Gavin, a slayer as irreverent as I used to be: I hear UR plowing UR way through brunettes. Dude! That’s my game. Play w/blondes—they R better 4 UR health. (meaning I will kill U if U don’t make the switch)

Bronx: A new recruit just asked—what’s the #1 thing an average person does when fighting a zombie? I told him—taste delicious. He almost soiled his pants. U should be here.

Ali again: Question. If the zombie apocalypse happens in Vegas, will it stay in Vegas???

Ali yet again: If Chuck Norris gets bitten by a zombie, will he turn in2 a zombie—or will the zombie turns in2 Chuck Norris??

There’s even a text from Derek, who moved to Oklahoma to train and lead another crew.

Consider this an eternal invite 2 come C me. Miss U, man

They want to help me because they love me. When will they accept it’s already too late? I’m far too damaged to be repaired.

I ignore the texts and glance at the time. It’s a few minutes past midnight, and I’ve already had one shot of whiskey too many. If one is the new word for four. Whatever. I don’t want to be here anymore. I want to be in bed, pretending.

Who’s the unlucky girl tonight? I spot a possibility on the dance floor. She’s twentysomething with long dark hair. Are her eyes green? Doesn’t matter, I suppose. When I close my eyes, they’ll be any color I want them to be.

I finish off my newest shot and stand, already drowning in a tidal wave of guilt and shame. I shouldn’t be doing this. I’ll regret it tomorrow. But I’m in desperate need of blackout bliss, and this is the only way to get it.

I move toward the random only to stop halfway, my heart shuddering inside my chest. I think I see... Kat? My Kat? Her gaze meets mine, and she offers me a tremulous smile. I know that smile. I know all her smiles. The good, the bad and the oh, so sad.

I’m paralyzed as I drink in every detail. The sable shine of her hair. The beauty of her hazel eyes. The delicacy of her features. The wonder of her curves. The pale skin I’ve caressed and kissed so many times, the texture and heat are imprinted on my soul.

It’s really her.

I’m drunker than I realized and confusing a memory with reality, or maybe I’m straight-up hallucinating. I don’t care which. I’ll take her however I can get her. I’m across the room in seconds. Just before I reach her, she turns and glides away. I give chase. There’s no way I’ll allow her to escape me, whatever she is. I’ll die first.

She pauses at the back exit and glances my way, even waves me over. I’ll go anywhere she leads, but—she’s gone a second later, vanished in a puff of light.

In a panic, I shoulder my way outside. A cool night breeze greets me, tinged with unsavory odors: old food, urine and vomit. A streetlamp illuminates the alley, revealing a row of Dumpsters and a mouse scurrying between them. Bits of shredded paper float through the air like snow.

Kat died soon after a snowstorm.

Can’t lose her again. “Kat,” I shout, desperate now. A few feet away, a black bird takes flight. “Kat!”

“Dude. I prefer your indoor voice. Let’s tone it down a notch—or twelve.”

Her voice is soft and comes from directly behind me. I swing around, every muscle in my body knotting with anticipation...but there she is. The love of my life.

Suddenly I feel as though an elephant is sitting on top of my chest. I’m struggling to breathe. I’m trembling. I want her to be real. I want her to tell me she faked her death, just to see how many people would show up at her funeral—I put the “fun” in funeral, Frosty. But she remains quiet, and I reach out.

She’s stoic as she awaits contact. Then—

My fingers ghost through the tendrils of her hair, and I unleash a stream of profanity.

“Wow,” she says with a grin. “I’m not sure some of those things are anatomically possible.”

Her burst of humor calms me.

She’s wearing what she died in, a white shirt and a pair of my boxers, looking adorable and beautiful at once. She’s no longer littered with wounds caused by falling debris as the Ankhs’ house crumbled on top of her, or the gunshots she took to the chest; she’s injury-free and radiant with health.

She’s everything my life has been missing.

“You’re here,” I say, awed to the core. “You’re really here.”

“Yep. But you, Frosty, are an idiot.”

I smile. My first since her death. “Even your hallucination is mouthy. I like it.”

“I’m not a hallucination, dummy. I’m a witness, and—get ready to be humbled by my greatness—I’ve come to help you.” She fist-pumps the sky. “Super Kat to the rescue!”

Now I frown. My millionth since her death. I’ve never seen a witness, but Ali and Cole have, so I know it’s possible. But my Kat has been gone for four months, and she never would have stayed away from me so long if she could get to me. Not on purpose, at least. So...maybe she is a witness, but maybe she isn’t. Even my fractured mind would demand a logical explanation for the presence of a hallucination.

I still don’t care. She’s here, she’s with me and that’s all that matters.

“You want to help me,” I say, the words nothing but gravel. “You stay with me. Don’t leave my side.”

“Tsk-tsk. Thinking only about yourself.” She walks around me, just as she used to do, pretending to be a predator who has selected the evening’s prey. An action she learned from me. “I know you’ve had trouble parting with me. Who wouldn’t? I’m amazing! But du-u-ude. I didn’t expect a total meltdown. You used to dine on prime filet and now you’re nomming on old cuts of mystery meat.”

A very Kat way of mentioning my parade of girls. I bow my head, shamed by my behavior. A thousand apologies will not be enough. “I’m sorry, kitten. I’m so sorry. You were gone... I think I tried to punish us both. But I hate what I’ve—”

She holds up her hand to silence me. “Enough. I don’t want to hear your excuses. You’re ruining your life, and that is not acceptable to me.”

“Are you kidding? Ruining my life? Kitten, without you I have no life.” The words explode from me with more force than I intend. “I would rather cut off my left nut than yell at you. I’m sorry,” I repeat. “I shouldn’t have raised my voice.”

“Well, you are not forgiven!” She anchors her hands on her hips. “Since I’ve been living up there—” she hikes her thumb toward the sky “—I’ve had the opportunity to watch you behind the scenes. And guess what? You’ve turned Beefcake TV into Bama’s Crappiest Videos. Starting today, you’re going out there and doing good deeds.”

For her? Anything. “What do you consider a good deed?”

“To begin, you’re going to help your friends by participating in the zombie-human war. And you’re going to do it with a smile!” She stomps her foot. “Do you hear me?”

“Yes. Help friends. Fight. Smile. If I do these things, you’ll stay with me?”

She closes her eyes for a moment, sighs. “And I told the council I had this in the bag. Bad Kat. Bad!”

“Council?” If she’s a figment of my shattered imagination, shouldn’t I have some sort of control over her? Shouldn’t her logic match my own, considering it’s, well, mine? Clearly, I have no control over this girl, and I definitely have no idea what she’s talking about.

It suddenly hits me with the force of a baseball bat. She is a witness, real though not corporeal, and she is here.

Joy floods me. “Never mind.” I stalk forward.

She backs into the brick wall. A wall I help douse in Blood Lines once every week, making it solid to spirits. That way, zombies can’t ghost inside the building.

When she’s almost within reach, I push my spirit out of my body, an action that requires faith—the spiritual power source for all slayers, just like food is a power source for our outer shell—believing I can do it before I actually do it.

Now, without my flesh to act as insulation, the air seems a thousand degrees colder. I endure because spirits can be touched only by other spirits, and I want to touch Kat with every fiber of my being. But the second I stretch out my arm, she jumps to the side to avoid contact.

“Hold on there, grabby.” She gives a shake of her head, dark hair dancing over her shoulders. “I haven’t always followed the rules—or ever followed the rules—but all that’s behind me. You have no idea what I had to do to get here, or what will happen if I mess up, and there’s no time to explain. Not during this visit. Just know that one touch of your spirit to mine will ensure I’m never allowed back.”

My fists clench and unclench as I return to my body. We can’t touch, fine. We won’t touch.

However I can get her, I remind myself.

Her expression gentles. “I’m your past, Frosty, and for now, I’m your present. But you need to come to grips with the fact that I will never be part of your future.”

“You are my past, present and future, kitten.” I’ll never come to grips with anything else.

“Frosty—”

“Kat.” I flatten my hands at her temples. “Why am I just now seeing you? Why did you stay away so long?”

Her gaze remains on me, but for several heartbeats of time, I’m certain she’s no longer seeing me. Her attention is far away, somewhere I’ve never been. Somewhere I can’t go. “Like I said, there’s no time to get into the nuts and bolts during this visit.”

“But you will visit me again?”

She gives a sharp incline of her head. “For the next few months, you’ll be the lucky recipient of one visit a day, every day.”

That’s not good enough. “I won’t be satisfied until you’re surgically attached to my side.”

She rolls her eyes. “This isn’t a negotiation, and you didn’t let me finish. I will visit you once every day...as long as you’ve done something productive for our cause.”

I arch a brow. “You’re bribing me?”

“Oh, good. You understand.” She beams at me, making my chest ache. “And no, tonight wasn’t a bonus. You still have to earn the privilege.”

That’s my Kat, always determined to get her way. It’s one of the thousand things I love about her. She takes what she wants when she wants it, damn the consequences.

I wish I could kiss her, but if touching her means losing her, I’ll keep my hands—and my mouth—to myself. “Get ready to see a whole lot more of me, kitten. I’ll do anything to spend time with you.”

“Duh. I’m so cake I’m the cake.” Her image begins to fade, and I shake my head violently.

“Kat!”

“Listen, Frosty, I’m almost out of time and I haven’t told you what you need to do. It’s imperative—”

“No. You stay with me. Do you hear me? We’re not done.”

Her head whips to the side as if she hears a noise I do not, and her eyes widen. I follow the line of her gaze...and see a ghostly image of Ali’s younger sister, Emma, whose mouth is moving. Still I hear nothing.

“Crappity crap crap. It’s worse than we thought,” Kat says as she faces me again. “She’s alone, and they’re surrounding her. She desperately needs your help, Frosty. You have to go to her.”

“Who? Emma?”

“No, just—”

“Who?” I demand again.

“It shouldn’t matter who she is,” Kat says, and she’s peering up at me with a wealth of concern and dread. “She’s a human being and she needs help, so strap on your big-girl panties, get to Shady Elms and freaking help her! It’s almost too late.” A moment later, Kat is gone.

Cursing, I slam my fist into the wall. My knuckles scream in protest, but okay. All right. My girl is gone, but she won’t stay gone. Not this time. She’ll be back. I just have to help the mysterious “her.”

Shady Elms is roughly ten minutes away. Five if I break speed records. I race to my truck, only to stop once I’m behind the wheel. I’ve been drinking. There’s no way in hell driving will end well. Fine. I arm up with the weapons stored in the vehicle and shed my body, leaving it in the driver’s seat.

As I run at a speed no human can ever achieve, pedestrians amble along the sidewalk and unwittingly move into my path. I’m forced to plow through them or spin around them. I spin, otherwise my spirit would pass through their bodies and hit their spirits, and that wouldn’t do anyone any good. Dizziness plays chicken with my mind and nausea knocks on the door of my stomach, but I refuse to slow. The row of buildings eventually gives way to a long stretch of road, paved and smooth. I’m on constant alert for the telltale signs of the undead—grunts carried on the wind, the fetid stench of rot and the crimson glow of hunger in eyes that are windows to evil.

When the edge of the cemetery comes into view, I veer off into a patch of trees. As I pass a towering oak, a chorus of grunts assaults my ears. Then a feminine shout of frustration sounds and I pick up the pace. I leap over tombstones and shoot around a mausoleum...until finally I spot the horde. At least twenty zombies have zeroed in on a single meal while countless others writhe on the ground, cut up like pieces of old lunch meat.

The mysterious “her” is a slayer. Good. She can help me help her.

I palm my semiautomatics and push through the masses, putting a bullet in every rotting brain that moves into my way. Not a fix-all, but at least the enemy will be slowed down, impact sending the bodies to the ground.

As the creatures catch my scent, they face me. I whirl the guns in my hands to grip the barrels. With a press of my thumb against a hidden button, serrated axes pop out at the end of each handle. I start hacking, my arms remaining in a constant sate of motion. Rotting flesh tears and limbs detach.

Because spirits are not bound to the same physical laws as bodies, I’m able to fight at a speed the hunger-fogged zombies cannot track. By the time a creature reaches for me, I’ve already removed its hand...followed by its head. As more and more walking corpses are cut into parts, a sea of goo and gore spreads over the ground. But at least a path opens up, granting me a good look at the slayer’s backside. She’s a blonde.

She’s fluidly graceful, fighting with a ferocity and viciousness I admire, her short swords extensions of her arms as she slices and dices with perfect precision. Her body is lithe, displayed to perfection in pink camo, and I smile despite the situation. Kat might have worn something similar, had she been a slayer.

For once, I can think about my girl without praying I die, too.

The blonde takes down three Zs with a single swing but doesn’t see the last two getting to their feet...now sneaking up behind her. I whirl my guns and squeeze off two quick shots, the boom of gunfire echoing through the night, the creatures flying backward. I race forward, there when the two hit the ground, slamming my axes into their mouths to separate their jaws. They won’t be biting me or anyone else ever again.

Panting, covered in sweat and goo, I turn toward the girl. Our gazes meet—and suddenly I’m struck dumb. She must be, too. Her mouth drops open.

A shoulder-length cap of white-blond hair frames a face more delicate than a cameo, despite the silver hoops in her jet-black eyebrows. Her eyes are a dark golden brown, like honey, her bronzed skin tattooed heavily in black and white. She’s beautiful in a punk-rock Barbie kind of way. I’ve always thought so.

When we lived in the same twenty-thousand-square-foot mansion for several months, we never had a conversation; I never had time for her, never paid her more than a passing, admiring glance, my sights always on Kat or a mission, very little else worthy of my time. But there’s no doubt I’m standing before Camilla Marks. Milla to her friends.

I am not her friend.

She is River’s sister, and she was once second-in-command to a group of slayers who haven’t always seen eye-to-eye with Cole and me. She’s the one who betrayed her own crew, and mine, destroying an entire security system so that Anima could get to Ali, all in the name of saving her brother— offering Ali’s life in exchange for River’s.

She’s the bitch responsible for Kat’s death.

I understand the need to protect your family, but I will never be okay with putting innocents at risk to do it. And okay, yeah, that’s a lie. I would have done anything, betrayed anyone, to save Kat. That doesn’t mean I’ll ever forgive this girl.

There’s no way in hell Kat would have sent me to save Camilla Marks. My kitten must not have known who needed aid. She made a mistake. One I can rectify.

“Thank you.” Camilla wipes at the sweat on her brow, and I notice the word Betrayal scripted in bold black letters across her wrist. “You saved my life.”

“Keep your thanks. I don’t want it.” My tone is pure grit and menace. I’m close to snapping, and there’s no telling what I’ll do if that happens. I’ve never hated anyone more than I hate her—not even myself. “And why are you wearing pink camo? You’re not trying to hide in Candy Land.”

She blinks at me, though she doesn’t appear surprised by my malevolence. “I guess you remember me.”

“I’m fighting a killing rage right now, so, yeah, I remember.” I want to shout, You’re a traitor and the scum of the earth, but I know whatever is spoken in this spirit realm comes true in the natural realm, always and forever, as long as it’s believed when it’s said. I believe she’s a traitor and scum, but actually voicing the accusations will give power to them, perhaps making her evil side even stronger.

Sometimes it’s best to keep an opinion to myself.

She flinches but says, “I’m not taking back my thanks.”

The metallic twang of copper coats my tongue, and I realize I’ve bitten it. I spit blood at her feet. “Have you spoken to a witness? Kat Parker? You remember Kat, don’t you? My Kat.” What I really want to know: did Camilla lie to her? Convince my girl to aid the enemy? “The innocent you helped murder in cold blood.”

Another flinch before she lifts her chin. “Of course I remember her, but no, I haven’t spoken to her.”

“You’re lying,” I snarl. She has to be lying.

A zombie head rolls toward me, teeth snapping, and I punt the thing in the nose, sending it soaring like a soccer ball over a hill littered with tombstones. One point, Frosty.

“I’m not.” Camilla shakes her head for emphasis and rubs at her wrist. The one with the tattoo. “Trust me, I’ve learned my lesson about betraying other slayers.”

I don’t believe her, but I know I’m not doing this. I’m not having a conversation with her. I turn away and stride out of the cemetery, saying to the sky, “I’ve done my good deed for the day. I let Camilla Marks live. I expect to see you tomorrow, Kat. Or else.”





(#ulink_af2cbe58-c99f-5eda-8d5b-ea9c66a38190)

I’m not a crier. When you’ve watched multiple friends die in the most horrendous ways, your ability to hurt is often desensitized and your emotions numbed. And when you’ve had to stitch your own wounds and set your own broken bones, your threshold for pain skyrockets. But tonight, as I go through the sea of zombie parts, using dýnamis to ash the evil—light always chases darkness away—a single tear slicks down my cheek.

That boy... Frosty. I remember every interaction I’ve ever had with him. How could I not? He’s one of the most beautiful males on the planet. He steps into a room and all eyes gravitate to him, mine included. Girls want to bang him, and boys want to be him.

He’s deliciously tall with the muscle mass of a professional football player, and the bad-boy attitude to match—snarky, maddening, yet somehow charming. He’s strength personified and as lethal as the guns he carries.

So many slayers climb into a boxing ring to learn new tricks or even to play with their friends. He climbs in, and it’s clear there’s only one thing on his mind: delivering pain.

Why did he walk away from me, when he craves vengeance?

The way he stood before me, proud and furious, covered in battle grime, his hair pale but several shades darker than mine, the strands plastered to his cheeks, his hands twitching as he considered reaching for his weapons...yeah, he wanted to take me down. His eyes, navy blue, piercing and ice-cold—the kind of eyes you’d see on a serial killer as he explains how he’s going to hack up your body and store the parts in his fridge—had stared at my heart, as if willing it to stop beating. And yet, I couldn’t help remembering other times, when he looked at his girlfriend, Kat, the ice melting, his irises burning hotter than flames.

No one has ever looked at me that way. As if I’m worth something. Worth everything. As if I’m more precious than the sun, moon and stars. As if I’m a prize beyond value. I can’t imagine anyone doing so now. Or ever. Not after the things I’ve done.

And that’s okay. I sowed death, and now I’m reaping a harvest of it.

I glance at my newest tattoo. Betrayal. A permanent reminder of the worst thing I can do to my loved ones. The price is too high. I sigh and get back to work. By the time I finish ashing Z-parts, the civilians who never realized a war was raging around them are gone and I’m utterly exhausted.

I trudge to my body and, with a single touch, join my spirit to my body. It’s as easy as slipping a hand into a glove. A few scratches are bleeding on my arms and there are bruises on my legs, but other than that I’m injury-free. All thanks to Frosty, who hates me with the passion of a thousand suns. Without him, I probably would have died tonight.

Probably, ha! There’d been too many zombies to track on my own.

I trudge forward, but stop just outside the cemetery. There are piles of ash all around me. Wonderful. Dead zombies. Except, I didn’t kill any undead in this location. So...someone else did it. Frosty, on his way out? Or maybe someone who’d come with him? I spin, but find no footprints other than my own. Not many slayers think to cover their spiritual tracks. Why bother?

Whatever. I’m too tired to care. I need a shower and a few thousand hours of sleep.

I’m staying at a run-down motel a few miles down the road. It’s all I can afford. When I was kicked out of the home I shared with River just outside of Birmingham, I had nothing but the clothes on my back, but I’d been socking wads of cash away for years. Just in case. A girl has to be prepared for anything. I have only fourteen hundred and thirty-seven dollars left, and I have to make it last. I can’t stay up all night fighting zombies if I’m grinding away at a nine-to-five.

As I trudge up and down hills, sticking to main roads, the little hairs on the back of my neck rise again. I bend down as if I need to tie my shoe, and push my spirit out of my body to look at what’s happening behind me without an onlooker knowing. But there’s no sign of a tail. No moving shadows or snapping limbs. No click of a gun being cocked. No grunts or groans.

Relieved, I return to my body and motor on. Finally I reach the motel. In the parking lot, there’s a guy leaning against a beat-up Nova, puffing on the end of a cancer stick. The night is nothing but a sheet of black, and there are no streetlamps nearby, so I can’t make out his features, but I can tell he’s roughly the same size as my brother.

My heart skips a beat. “River?”

“Excuse me?” A voice I don’t recognize.

Disappointment is overwhelming. “Never mind.” I reach my door and check to make sure the clear tape I placed along the frame is still intact. A split means someone entered my room while I was gone, despite the Do Not Disturb sign on the knob.

Years of being chased by Anima have made me paranoid.

But the tape hasn’t been disturbed, and I’m able to enter without fear. After rigging my own special lock on the door, as well as placing bells over the top to wake me if someone manages to bypass my security measures, I shower off the gunk and sweat, clean the scratches on my arms with antiseptic and dress in a white T-shirt and a pair of shorts.

The place doesn’t have a kitchenette or a microwave, so I slap peanut butter on two pieces of bread and call it good. Quick and easy with a decent amount of protein. Welcome to my breakfast, lunch and dinner. I think I’m single-handedly keeping Peter Pan in business.

I’ve consumed half the sandwich by the time I make it to the bed and sit. My back and feet ache like freaking crazy.

“For a villain, your evil lair sure does suck donkey balls.”

The voice startles me. I’m on my feet in a blink, the precious sandwich on the floor and a 9 mm in my hand. I’ve stashed weapons all over the room to ensure one is near wherever I happen to be.

A short brunette stands in front of the door. The closed door. Overhead, the bells are silent. I frown. I...know her. She’s the girlfriend. Frosty’s girlfriend, Kat Parker. But she’s...she’s dead. I secretly attended her funeral—glimpsed the body in the casket—and cursed myself for a past I will never be able to change.

I shouldn’t be seeing her here and now.

Is she my tail? The reason the hairs on my neck reacted? No, no, she couldn’t be. Otherwise I would’ve had a similar reaction before she spoke. And what the hell am I doing? I can’t afford to be lost in my head right now.

“How are...what are...?” Wait. Earlier, Frosty mentioned Kat—a witness. I’ve heard of witnesses appearing to loved ones from both slayers I trust and people working for Anima, so I know spirits of the dead do come back to the land of the living to proclaim good news...or issue warnings.

“I’m not a zombie, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m a witness,” she confirms.

“I know you’re not a zombie. If you were, I’d have already removed your head.”

“Well, well. Someone thinks highly of her skill. Too bad for you, I’ll never again be an easy target.”

“I never wanted to hurt you.” Keeping the gun trained on her, I close the distance. I reach for her with my free hand...and encounter only air. My eyes widen. She is what she says she is. I lower my arm, my heart thudding wildly in my chest. “You weren’t supposed to be harmed.”

“And that makes everything you did okay? Intentions mean nothing. Actions are everything.”

She isn’t wrong. “Are you here to punish me?”

As a witness, does she know what happened behind the scenes? Why I did what I did?

Does she care?

Anima had captured my brother weeks before. I broke into the facility, desperate to free him, but within minutes agents had me surrounded. Their leader, Rebecca Smith, had kept tabs on me for years. She knew my habits, knew what I’d do if River was threatened.

And she wasn’t wrong.

We were in different rooms, River and I, and while I could see him, he could not see me, a blindfold over his eyes. Rebecca ordered a gun be placed at his head, and I agreed to do whatever was asked of me, on two conditions. River could never know—he would have rather died than let me aid Anima—and none of our people could be hurt.

To this day, my brother thinks he escaped that facility on his own.

And yes, I could have backed out of my promise to Anima. I could have warned Ali instead of targeting her. But Anima wasn’t led by an idiot, and I’d already been informed what would happen if I failed my mission. River would be targeted in Ali’s place and no expense would be spared in the quest to end his life.

“I’m supposed to forgive you, and I have,” the girl finally says. “And shockingly enough, the worst of my anger has been washed away. When I died, I became part of something greater than myself, and the wrongs done to me no longer seemed—or seem—as significant. But I still don’t like you. You rid the world of a national treasure.”

Her overconfidence used to annoy me. Now? I kind of get it. Winning a guy like Frosty is a miracle feat. She’s in a class by herself.

I return the gun to the nightstand and sit on the edge of the bed. “Not to be rude, but why are you here?” If she wants a pound of flesh, I’ll give her a pound of flesh. Let’s just get it over with.

“How adorable. You actually think you’re in charge of this conversation.” She motions to my arms with a tilt of her chin. “Question. Why are all your tattoos black and white?”

Why not tell her? “River and I learned at a very young age that there’s right and there’s wrong, and there is nothing in between. The tattoos serve as a reminder.”

“Black and white,” she says and taps her chin. “No fifty shades of gray.”

I shake my head and realize I’ve just admitted there is no reason good enough to do what I did to her. Right: protecting the innocent. Wrong: putting them at risk. End of story. Shame floods me, sharpening already razorlike claws inside my chest.

“I want you to keep that lesson in mind as I get down to the nitty-gritty.” She prances throughout the room, looking over my meager belongings with an air of distaste. “I know you fought alongside Frosty tonight.”

“Yes.”

“And he saved your life.”

I sigh. “Yes.”

“So in a way, you owe him yours. Right?”

I don’t like where this is headed. “What is it you want from me? Spit it out.”

The very picture of determination, she crosses her arms over her chest. “All right. You asked for it. My friend Ali—you know her, right? The girl you betrayed. Well, she had a vision, and her visions are never wrong.” Kat looks away for a moment, her shoulders hunching in. A telltale sign of guilt. I know it well.

She has no reason to feel that way, but me? Yeah. Every reason. My shoulders sink in, too. “I’ve heard about the visions.” Anima also tasked me with finding out more about them, but in that regard, I’d had no luck. “Go on.”

Kat runs her tongue over her teeth. “In this one, you stop a woman from shooting Frosty. You save his life.” Again, she looks away for several beats of silence, and I have to wonder why.

She wouldn’t lie about something like this—would she?

“For that reason and that reason alone,” she continues, “I’m here to ensure you never stray far from Frosty’s side.”

I...don’t understand. “You, as in me?” I hike my thumbs at my chest for emphasis. “Guard Frosty?”

Her lip curls with a return of her distaste, but she nods. “Trust me. I’m as surprised as you are.”

Well, her weird behavior finally makes sense. She’s annoyed. “He can take care of himself.” He’s more than proved it. “Besides, he hates me. He’ll never allow me to get close to him.”

“We’ll just have to make him. I can ensure he tolerates your presence, but I don’t think I can stop him from killing you. That’s your part.”

Great. Wonderful. “Why don’t I lasso the moon while I’m at it?”

Kat’s eyes narrow on me, her hazel irises focusing with laser sharpness. “When did you become such a baby?”

Ouch. “You’ll trust me not to betray him?”

“Yes, but only because of the vision. Meanwhile, I’ll be watching you, and if I suspect you’re doing anything wrong, my next visit won’t be so pleasant.”

I rub at my wrist. I didn’t lie to Frosty. I’ve learned my lesson and won’t betray him. More than that, Kat is right. I owe the boy my life. He saved me tonight. I’ll gladly stand guard over him.

“I’ll take care of him as if he’s my brother.”

This soothes her, but only slightly.

“Do you know when he’s going to be attacked? Or where?” I grab a notebook and pen from the nightstand. “Any details you can give me about the vision will help.”

Silence greets me.

I glance up, but she’s already gone.

Sighing, I fall back on the bed. The mattress creaks, blending with the rhythmic thump, thump, thump of my neighbor’s headboard. Frosty isn’t going to like having me as a shadow. He’s going to protest. Loudly. He’ll insult me, and it’ll hurt like crazy, and like Kat said, he might even try to kill me, but I’m tough and I’ll handle it.

Who’s going to attack him? A female zombie? A former employee from Anima? A new employee from Anima?

Strike those last two. One, agents are cowards. When Anima was in operation, they only approached Zs while wearing a specially designed hazmat suit, the outer layer of material made of something akin to zombie flesh, rendering the human underneath it invisible to the undead. Two, I haven’t been contacted by anyone associated with the company, not since Cole and Ali burned down their facilities and wiped Rebecca’s memories—a woman who would happily eat her own young if it meant surviving another day.

That memory-wiping thing... It is reversible. But again, if Rebecca remembered her past, or the war, she would have contacted me. Would have threatened River again.

What would I do then?

The stupid tears return to my eyes, stinging, and I roll to my side. My current situation is the sum total of the decisions I made in the past, I know that, just like I know I have to live with the consequences every day for the rest of my life.

This is no one’s fault by my own, and I won’t make the same mistakes. I won’t.

And I’m not helpless. I can do everything in my power to create a better future. Starting now, with Frosty. I would forever hate anyone who hurt River, just as Frosty will forever hate the people who hurt Kat.

I can’t ever make up such a loss to him, but I can damn sure try. And I will.





(#ulink_f39c1497-bd2f-591c-8395-71450673c78d)

I blink open tired, gritty eyes as bright light streams through the crack in my bedroom curtains. My temples pound, a memory knocking on the door of my mind.

I reach for Kat, intending to cuddle her close, but her side of the bed is cold.

Makes sense. She’s dead.

The thought hits me, a reminder of all I’ve lost, and agony nearly splits open my chest. But as bad as it is, it’s not as bad as usual. Another memory surfaces, and I grin. Yesterday, she came to visit me; she asked me to fight zombies for another slayer, not realizing she was sending me to Camilla Marks. She promised to visit me again.

I jolt upright and scan my bedroom, hoping she’s already here. Beige walls. A small bed with blue sheets and brown covers, a large dresser, the drawers hanging open. My clean clothes are piled in one corner and my dirty clothes piled in another. I’ve been meaning to do laundry for, oh, about four months.

There’s no sign of Kat.

Still, I jump up and race into the bathroom, a small space with only a sink, toilet and shower stall. I brush my teeth and hair, but I don’t bother to change my clothes. I’m shirtless, but wearing a pair of running shorts. I’ve worn worse.

“Kat,” I call, not even trying to hide the desperation in my tone. “Kat.”

She appears in a blink, as if she’s been waiting for my summons, and my knees almost buckle. I step toward her out of habit, only to stop myself as yesterday’s warning plays through my mind. Touch her, lose her.

No touching. Ever.

“Congrats! Today’s your lucky day.” She’s dressed in the same T-shirt and boxers as before, but it doesn’t matter. She’s beautiful in a way no other girl can ever hope to be. “You call, I answer.”

“I missed you,” I say.

“You’d be crazy if you didn’t.”

I try for a scolding expression but only manage to smile at her. “When you aren’t with me, where are you?” I want to know every detail about her new life.

She points to the ceiling...and then she waves her arm and whips her body into the most hideous dance of all time.

I laugh—really laugh—and say, “Stop. Before I have to bleach my eyes.”

“Because your moves and grooves don’t compare to mine, and watching me only reminds you of your failure?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

Smiling, she wraps a lock of hair around her finger. “I had no idea how much pain my failing kidneys were causing until I was dead. Now I can walk and run and dance without a single twinge. It’s... Frosty, there are no words.”

“Not even cake?”

“Not even.”

It’s clear she’s happy with her situation, and I love that she’s happy. I do. I crave her happiness above my own. But I also...don’t love it. She’s happy without me. I’m miserable without her.

More tales from a grade A douche-purse.

“Are you treated well up there?” I ask.

“Dude! The best! You seriously have no idea.” She saunters to the bed, which is covered in Blood Lines, and plops onto the edge. As usual, she’s pure energy and excitement. A force of nature. “It’s like a perfected version of here. Earth 2.0. And guess what? Contrary to popular opinion, it’s not the end.”

“Not the end?” My brow furrows as confusion overtakes me. “You can die again?”

“No, no, nothing like that. We’re in a holding zone where we’re allowed to watch over our loved ones.” She taps her chin with two well-manicured fingers. “We even get to help, but only by taking opposing parties to court and winning.”

“Actual court?”

“Yep. Only on a much larger scale, because it’s the final authority. We have to petition for answers and ceasefires and all kinds of other things. That’s where I’ve been all this time. In court. That’s where Helen is now. In fact, she rarely leaves the courtroom.”

Helen, Ali’s biological mom. “Why go through so much trouble for us?” What do they actually accomplish?

Kat kicks her feet, causing the mattress to bounce. “I know you won’t understand this, but sometimes to have victory down here, you first need to have victory up there. Helen, Emma and I do our best to ensure you guys have everything you need.”

Realization strikes me. “You petitioned to appear to me.”

“Uh, you mean I petitioned the crap out of the court to appear to you. Which is why I got a yes. But—boo, hiss—there are rules. More than you know.”

“Such as?”

“Such as what I’m allowed to tell you...and what I’m not.” She blows me a kiss. “Finally I know things you don’t, and for the same reasons you couldn’t tell me about the zombies once upon a time—I couldn’t handle the truth—I can’t tell you everything.”

I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all. “What happens if you break the rules?”

“I can be forced to leave the holding zone. Some witnesses opt not to stay when they first arrive, like Miranda, Ali’s adopted mom. Others, the troublemakers, can be booted out before their time.” Resignation glints in eyes I want filled only with happiness. “I don’t want to be booted.”

Do I detect an unsaid yet?

“I’m helping you guys for the first time ever,” she adds, “and I’m not ready to stop.”

“Why would anyone opt to leave?” I cross my arms and lean against the bathroom door. “And where are the booted ones sent?”

“To the highest heaven...the True Rest. Trust me, everyone in the holding zone wants to enter into the True Rest. Peace beyond your understanding. Joy. And there’s no such thing as heartache or pain. Only love and light exist there.” She smiles wide...then frowns deeply. “But in the Rest, I will no longer have any influence over your situation, no longer be allowed to petition, so, I’ll do whatever it takes to remain in the holding zone.”

My mind whirls with possibilities. “Do people in the holding zone date?”

“And marry. And have babies.”

Excitement blooms. If I’m in the holding zone, I can be with her again. We’ll be a couple. With a future.

But she knows me well, knows the direction of my thoughts, and shakes her head. “Don’t you dare. It’s not yet your time, Frosty.”

“It wasn’t yours, either.”

“I know. I went too early and you are now living with the consequences. And it sucks, doesn’t it? So don’t make your friends live with the consequences of your early death. They need you too badly.”

“I want to be with you.” Whatever the cost.

Her eyes narrow, her temper clearly pricked. “Well, I want a pony, but we don’t always get what we want, do we?”

“Kat—”

“Frosty.” She sighs. “I want you to date other people.”

I blink. Surely I misheard her. “There’s no way you just said—”

“Zip your pie hole, okay? Kitty is still talking. You knew I would die before you—”

“I didn’t! I expected to die in battle long before your kidneys shut down.”

“Please,” she says with a roll of her eyes. “Like anyone could defeat you in a fight. But no matter how you slice it, you knew you wouldn’t get a happily-ever-after with me.”

“I’m not dating other girls, kitten.” I’m pissed that she even suggested it.

“What about the legions you’ve banged since my death, huh?”

I flinch as though I’ve been punched by a five-hundred-pound, steroid-addicted hulk. “They were mistakes I will forever regret.”

“Screw your regrets.” Remaining on the mattress, she rises to her knees, her gaze heartbreakingly earnest. “You have to open your heart to love again.”

“No, I—”

“You’re a somewhat attractive guy,” she interjects. “A good, solid five. And now that you’ve got money, you can probably bag a six...maybe a seven.”

“Thanks,” I reply drily, even as I crumble inside. She can’t want me with someone else. Not really. She just can’t.

Her smile is all about sadness, no hint of amusement. “All I’m saying is, there’s someone out there just for you. The one who’s meant to be. She won’t be as good as me, of course. I’m a rare ten. Practically a unicorn. But she’ll give you a reason to keep fighting in the war.”

“I’ll fight in the war for you.” My tone is as rough as sandpaper. “Don’t you want me anymore?”

She exhales a heavy breath. “I’m not saying that.”

“Then I don’t need to—”

“But,” she interjects forcefully, shutting me up and erasing every bit of my relief, “I can see what you can’t. The bigger picture. The endgame. The only thing that matters.”

My hands fist. “We are what matters.”

She looks away from me, as if she can no longer bear to hold my gaze. “I love you, and I’ll always love you, but the moment, the very second my spirit left my body, I became part of... Well, I don’t know how else to say it—I became part of one mind. A collective consciousness. I saw that you and I...we were never meant to be, Frosty. Not in a romantic sense.”

Are you kidding me? She’s just given me the afterlife version of the “It’s not you, it’s me” speech. Clearly, despite her “I’m not saying that,” she no longer wants me the way I want her. It’s a blow I wasn’t prepared to take.

Acid drips through my chest, burning an already broken heart, but not by word or deed do I reveal the destruction taking place inside me.

This is another crime to place at Anima’s door. A crime to place at Camilla’s feet.

“Do you still want to see me?” Kat asks quietly.

“Yes.” I don’t have to think about my answer. I need time to change her mind and win her back, that’s all.

“Good. That’s good.” She crawls from the bed to stand. “Now, sadly, I’ve got to go. The longer I’m with you, the less I know what’s happening around you.”

Stay, I almost roar. Steady. Calm. Aggression and neediness will do me no favors. “When can I see you again?”

“Tonight. You’ve been such a good boy, I’ll gift you with another visit. But not here. Get out. Go do something. Introduce yourself to a group of cute girls. I’ll find you.”

* * *

I return to Hearts. Kat said she’d find me, and I want her to find me here. I want to replace the last memory she has of me in this location—going after a brunette I intended to use and lose.

Urgency is like a whip inside me, striking at me, keeping me going when all I want to do is find my girl. I’ve been here an hour already, but I haven’t touched a single drop of whiskey, and I won’t. Ginger ale is my new drink of choice.

Where is she?

A female sinks into the chair next to me. I look past her, scanning the club. The same black-light strobes flash. The same people writhe on the dance floor. The same crowd of onlookers appears a little too turned on for anyone’s good. No sign of Kat, and while patience has always been one of my stronger virtues—I waited three years for Kat to say yes to a date, then another year to get her into bed—I’m hanging at the end of a very frayed rope.

“Logan?” The woman beside me nudges my shoulder. “Hi.”

Logan isn’t my real name. Nor is Frosty, for that matter. To be honest, I hate my real name almost as much as I love it. It’s been a source of teasing most of my life, but also of envy. Tonight, however, I am who my ID says I am. Logan. The name I’ve been using with the girls I’ve bedded.

And despite a foggy memory, I know I’ve bedded this one. She has straight dark hair and green eyes, the reasons I would have picked her.

“How are you?” I ask, going for the polite approach. I’m still a douche-purse, I know this, but with Kat back in my life, I’m determined to be a nice douche-purse.

“I’m good. I was hoping I’d run into you again.” Smiling coyly, batting her lashes at me, she traces her fingernails along my arm. “Want to go back to my place? We never got to finish that bottle of Macallan.”

“No thanks.” I pull away and her cheeks heat with embarrassment. Rejection stings, no getting around that, but I won’t flirt to be nice. I just won’t.

Over the years, Kat and I had many conversations about the different nuances of sex. About the expectations of the guy versus the expectations of the girl. What was physical for me was probably emotional for this girl. Despite all her protests to the contrary.

Like so many others, she probably hoped I would enjoy being with her so much, I would want another night...hell, a few weeks...maybe several months with her, forgetting my “I only want one night” claim. Kat called that particular mindset “the exception fantasy.”

It’s a fantasy with a low rate of success.

“Are you sure?” She runs a finger between her breasts. “You’ll have fun.”

“Sorry, but I’m here to meet someone.” The love of my life.

“That would be me. Get lost.”

The newcomer leans in to my other side and waves at Macallan. I stiffen, a very dark curse exploding from me. Camilla Marks.

Her platinum hair is a wild fall of curls, the sides clipped back from her face, revealing locks of jet-black at her temples. Her ebony lashes are a mile long and spiked, a complete contrast to the glitter sparkling around her honey-colored eyes. Her cheeks are flushed to a deep rose, her lips painted bloodred.

Guys are staring at her as if she’s the last piece of candy in the candy store.

I can understand why. She’s wearing a black leather vest, the center veeing between small but perfect breasts, revealing more of her tattoos than it conceals. Haunting 3-D images come to startling life. My favorite is the one over her heart. The face of a little girl. Perhaps even Camilla herself, only much younger. The bone structure is similar, though the etching has jet-black ringlets.

Like the vest, her pants are black leather, and they look like they’ve been painted on her. Silver zippers cover both articles of clothing, and I know a blade is hidden underneath each one. Just as I know every piece of jewelry she’s wearing doubles as some kind of weapon. The pendant hanging from the silver chain around her neck can be turned into a small dagger. Her bracelets have two hooks in the center. Pull them, and create a garrote.

“Who are you?” Macallan asks her. “Because he doesn’t look happy to see you.”

Camilla ignores her, turning to snipe at the guy behind her. She reveals a back completely bared, the vest held on by a prayer and a tie at her nape and waist. There are more tattoos, and the designs enthrall me. A tree of life growing from the center of a river, every branch sprouting a different type of bloom. A frying pan, of all things. A fist. A key, star and dagger. Birds are perched on several of the branches, and a flock flies above the tallest branch.

I want to trace the images with my fingers. Then she’s facing me again, and I remember she’s a traitor. My hatred overshadows every bit of my admiration.

“What are you doing here?” I demand.

She signals for a drink. “Ask your girlfriend.”

She’s spoken to Kat?

“Wait. You have a girlfriend?” Macallan asks. She’s clutching her glass of froufrou whatever, clearly planning to toss the contents in my face.

Camilla acts fast, reaching over to knock the glass out of the girl’s hand. “Looks like someone needs to learn her manners. I’m happy to—”

“Excuse us,” I say to Macallan. I grab Camilla by the arm and yank her toward the stairs that lead to the VIP lounge.

Halfway up she wrenches from my hold. “There’s no need to be so rough. I don’t plan to run away. If you haven’t noticed, I’m not resisting.”

“Do you seriously expect me to trust you?” I say, but I don’t reach for her again. The less contact we have, the better.

I march the rest of the way up. If she doesn’t follow, I’ll go hunting for her and she won’t like what happens when I catch her.

And I will catch her.

The lounge has a bar of its own with waitstaff paid to ensure a glass never goes dry and a smile never fades. I’m recognized immediately, a waitress rushing over to greet me. I step around her and head toward the office in back. An office Ankh—Reeve’s dad—once kept just for us, in case we had zombie business to discuss.

Even with the club’s remodel, the pass code on the door is the same. I put my back in front of Camilla to punch in the numbers, then motion her inside. With her head high, she sweeps past me. I’m hot on her heels, shutting the door with a hard kick of my leg. When the lock engages on its own, a wave of satisfaction hits me. Now she’s stuck. She can’t escape without the code. Not that the office would make a good prison. There are plush leather couches and oversized chairs. Another wet bar. A desk with multiple computers and a three-line phone system.

Camilla faces me, her dark eyes throwing venom. “Before you start hurling demands for information, yes, Kat appeared to me last night and again about an hour ago. She told me to come here and stick by your side.”

“You’re lying.” Kat would never torture me like that.

“That’s the second time you’ve accused me of deceit.” She takes a step toward me, the menace she’s throwing a match to mine. “Do it a third time, and you’ll find your balls in your throat.”

“I’m sure I’ll love the taste of them,” I retort.

“Children, please. She’s not lying, Frosty.” Kat appears beside Camilla, and my knees go weak with relief. She has returned, as promised. “I want Camilla at your side every minute of every day. Starting now.”

What the hell? “Is this a joke? A game of ‘would you rather’? Well, I’d rather play tonsil hockey with a zombie than spend another minute with your killer.”

Camilla flinches, but I refuse to feel bad for speaking the truth.

“Unfortunately for you,” Kat says, “this is a game of ‘what the dead girl wants, the dead girl gets.’” Her gaze pleads with me. “You’re doing it, and that’s final.”

Damn it. She’s serious about this. “Why? You know who Camilla is, right?”

“I do. Though you’re wrong about one thing. She’s not my killer. Not exactly.” The starch drains from her. “You just have to trust me. This arrangement is necessary.”

I shake my head, adamant. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Frosty.”

“Kitten.” How can I make her understand? “I’ll do anything for you. Cut out my own heart? Where’s a knife? Set myself on fire? Give me a match. But I won’t hang out with your murderer.”

“I didn’t set those bombs,” Camilla rasps. “I knew nothing about them. I’m also not the one who shot her.”

I spare her the briefest glance, and there’s nothing nice about it. “You destroyed the security system that allowed Anima to do those things. In my eyes, you carry the most guilt.”

The starch leaves her, too, and she withers. Good. Let her hurt for what she did. Let her stew in her shame. It’s what she deserves.

Kat steps toward me, claiming my attention. “I’m about to drop some knowledge, big boy, so listen up. I told you I would appear on the days you performed a good deed. Well, guess what? Those good deeds begin and end with Camilla Marks. From now on, you will have breakfast with her. You will fight zombies with her. You will...” Her teeth grind together. “Sleep in the same room with her.”

I give another violent shake my head. No way, no how.

“I’ve never asked you for anything,” Kat says, and I gape at her.

“You asked me for something every day since we met. Teddy bears. Roses. Apologies. My dessert. My lunch money. My car. Hell, even my soul. Nothing was off-limits.”

“I didn’t ask for anything important,” she amends, then clasps her hands together to form a steeple. “Do this for me. Please. It’s the only way we’ll get to see each other.”

The rules, I realize. Those stupid rules.

I have more questions for her, but I blink, and she’s gone. A roar of denial leaves me, echoing from the walls.

“I’ll do it,” I shout. I’ve been backed into a corner, and I know it. I feel like the mangy mutt the good people at animal control want to capture to test for rabies, but I’ll still do it. “I agree to your terms. You can come back now.”

But she doesn’t return, and desolation begins to weigh me down.

“Why would you agree to this?” I demand of the traitor.

Camilla strides to the wet bar to pour herself a shot of Grey Goose. “I owe her. I owe you.”

“Or you’re planning to spy on me.” Yeah. I bet that’s it.

“Your thought process needs retooling. Who, exactly, am I supposed to report to?” She drains the glass. “Anima is nothing but rubble.”

“Or so we think.” I run both hands through my hair, yank at the strands. What the hell am I going to do with this girl? I don’t want her in my apartment. I’ve had the place only a few months and it still doesn’t feel like home, but it’s mine and she’s not welcome to anything that belongs to me. But I don’t want her in Reeve’s new place, either. I don’t want her around my friends.

“Kat showed me where you live,” she says. “I’ve already dropped my backpack there.”

“The door was locked.”

“Yes, and I picked it.”

Rage sparks, and I punch the wall.

“Temper, temper.” She doesn’t look the least bit afraid of me as she strides to the exit. I’m a little surprised and a lot pissed when she plugs in the proper code and the door opens for her. “Let’s go home and talk logistics.”

“My home, not yours.” I race to her side to keep pace, barely stopping myself from grabbing and shaking her. “The code.”

She doesn’t pretend to misunderstand my meaning. “I memorized the numbers when you punched them in.”

“I had my back to you, blocking your view.”

“Was I not supposed to peek over your shoulder? Oops. My bad.”

I open my mouth to blast her.

“I didn’t know what you planned to do to me and devised an evil plan of escape,” she interjects. “I know, I know. How dare I take measures to protect myself. I should be ashamed.”

I’ll have to be more careful around her. Noted. She’s the enemy, and she’ll always be the enemy. Hostility and suspicion are all she’ll ever get from me.

“By the way,” she adds, “I’m not sorry.”

“I gathered. But hang around me long enough and you will be.” I’ll make sure of it.

The color drains from her cheeks, but she raises her chin. A defense mechanism. Good. Words can be weapons. Mine are arrows, and they just struck their intended target.

Downstairs, we push through the ever-growing crowd. Multiple perfumes and body sprays clash with the pungent odors of sweat and alcohol. I shift my head, getting a stronger whiff of Camilla...the roses and pecans embedded in her skin. I hiss. Talk about a prime example of false advertising. To fit her personality, she should smell like brimstone and sulfur.

We exit the building and enter the coolness of the night. I suck in the fresh air as if I’ve been drowning.

“If Kat wants you to stay with me, fine, you can stay with me.” I’ll just have to deal. “But you’ll have to walk there.” I climb behind the wheel of my truck.

She jumps into the bed in back, and I grit my teeth. Getting her out will be a major fight. If we weren’t in public, yeah, I’d go for it. But we are, so I’ll just have to deal—and make sure I hit every pothole between the club and my apartment complex. Which I do. With relish.

She doesn’t speak as we take the stairs to the second floor, and neither do I. I open the door and purposely step in front of her, ensuring I enter first. One, it’s rude. Two, I’ve watched Dog Whisperer, so I know the pack leader always enters first. Three, she can suck it. I don’t want her here, and I’m not going to pretend like I do.

When the front door closes, she says, “We should talk about—”

But I head into my bedroom and lock her out. Footsteps register. I’m pretty sure she’s pacing.

“Frosty,” she says through the door.

I put my earbuds in my ears and jack up the volume of my iPod, drowning out her voice.

* * *

As morning sunlight seeps through the center crack in my curtains, I finish my exercises. One hundred push-ups. One hundred sit-ups. One hundred lunges, and a thousand other things. I go and go until I’ve expelled so much energy I could pass for the undead. But at least I’ve got myself under better control.

Camilla Marks is a means to an end. A way to see Kat. I can endure her presence in my inner sanctum without killing her. Without wanting to kill myself. Surely.

I shower, dress and at last emerge. She’s sitting at the kitchen table with tubes of ink and bandages spread around her and a tattoo gun in hand. Her hair is piled into some sort of sloppy bun at the crown of her head, revealing the layer of jet-black hair usually hidden by all that snow white. Her face is free of makeup, making her look younger. So damn pretty it should be a crime.

Hate her.

She wipes blood from the image she just etched into her wrist. A compass next to the word Betrayal.

I won’t ask. I don’t care.

I make a bowl of cereal and shovel in one spoonful after another while standing at the sink. I don’t say a word or glance in her direction.

“Oh, no,” she says, her tone dry. “The mean boy is ignoring me. Whatever shall I do?”

“Say thank-you,” I mutter.

“You can’t ignore me and make implied threats.” She wraps a bandage around the new image, gathers up the equipment. “You have to pick one.”

I drain the milk from the bowl and wash my dishes, silent.

“Sweet,” she says. “You picked my favorite.”

Does nothing faze her?

Usually at this time of day, I run a million errands to keep my mind off Kat. Today, I park my ass in front of the TV and turn on the sports channel, hoping to annoy Camilla. When I realize she’s watching and actually engaged in the game, I flip to a “who’s your baby daddy” talk show. But she watches that, too, and even yells at the screen.

“You’re too good for him. Leave him!”

Next I try a soap opera, and she finally turns away, uninterested.

I smirk—until I realize I’m stuck watching a guy’s evil twin seduce his wife.

After fifteen minutes of praying for the world to end, I head into my room to do a little schoolwork. I’m a senior, though I left public school in favor of a homeschool program a few weeks before Kat died. Considering how many days I’d have missed as I was hunted and attacked by Anima, I’d had no other choice. Flunking out wasn’t—isn’t—in my life plan. What is? Graduation in a little over a month. College. Becoming a detective. According to Kat, I’ll be the youngest and hottest ever. One day I’ll hunt human bad guys rather than zombies. Not because I don’t like what I do now, but because I also plan to eradicate spirit-evil once and for all.

Somehow.

When I finish solving X, Y and Z, I return to the kitchen to make a sandwich. She’s still in front of the TV, watching a new game, eating a granola bar.

I walk over and snatch the bar out of her hand. “What’s mine is mine.”

Her cheeks flush. “We could be together for a few days or a few years. From what I gather, there’s no time stamp on Ali’s vision. Why don’t you pretend to be a mature adult and—”

I flip her off without glancing in her direction. I throw the bar in the trash, fix my sandwich and take an exaggerated bite as she peers at me.

“Wow. So mature,” she mutters. “Can you at least try to be civil?”

“You’re still alive. That’s all the civil you’re going to get from me.”

She looks away, her shoulders rolling in. “Fair enough.”

The sandwich settles like lead in my stomach. I return to my room, where I stay for several hours, just lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, hoping Kat will visit me. But she doesn’t, even when I call her name.

Where the hell is she? She owes me a visit. I’ve done everything she—

No, I realize. I haven’t. Help friends. Fight. Smile.

I arm up before returning to the living room. Camilla is still on the couch, but this time she’s cleaning a semiautomatic.

“We’re going out to hunt zombies,” I announce.

Her relief is palpable as she puts the gun back together. “I want to return to Shady Elms.”

The cemetery. “Why? Hordes take weeks and months to form, and we left nothing of the last one. At least, I’m assuming you weren’t dumb enough to leave the parts behind.”

“I ashed them, but...there was something odd about these zombies. They were more rotted than usual for first-timers.”

“Here’s an idea. They weren’t first-timers.”

“But they rose from graves. Why would zombies return to their bodies, just to rise again?”

“How would I know? I’m not a zombie.” But fine, whatever. “We’ll go to Shady Elms.” I grab my keys and head to my truck.

The moon is full, the sky completely black. No clouds, no stars. Just a sense of gloom and doom.

Nothing new.

Wait. A rabbit cloud whisks overhead, and I stiffen. Rabbit clouds—Emma’s way of warning Ali. Zombies are stirring tonight.

Adrenaline jacks me up. “There will be a battle tonight.” All I have to do is find the nest.

“How do you know?”

“I just do.”

Camilla jumps into the passenger seat rather than the back bed and casts me a mutinous glare, daring me to comment. I don’t. What good will it do?

We maintain terse silence the entire drive. I continually scan for any sign of zombies. Nothing...nothing...for a moment the scent of roses and pecans distracts me. A scent that clings to Camilla no matter where she is or what she’s doing.

When we reach the cemetery, I park between two towering oaks, surprised to find Cole’s Jeep there. Camilla and I exit, and I use my phone to shine light inside the vehicle. Cole, Ali and Gavin are sitting inside, as still as death, their spirits obviously elsewhere.

“Great,” Camilla says. “Now I have to fight the living and the undead.”

I know the words aren’t a threat, but I react as if they are. “Go after my friends, and I’ll end you.”

She sucks in a breath. “I’m not going to hurt them. I just—”

“Save it. Don’t want to hear it.” I stalk forward, listening for an indication a battle is waging. Searching...searching...

The sky is even more ominous out here, the sense of doom and gloom stronger.

A twig snaps about ten yards away. I palm two .44’s just as Bronx steps from behind a statue of an angel, .44’s of his own extended. The second our identities click, we lower our weapons.

“Frosty the Ice Man. You don’t call, you don’t write. You just show up to the battlefield unannounced.” His gaze flicks to Camilla and narrows. “At least you’ve spoken with Kat.”

He knows what’s going on? “What are you doing here?”

“Guarding the Jeep and the bodies inside it.” Bronx isn’t stupid. He knows I asked why he’s in the cemetery; he simply chose not to answer. “I’ll guard you and yours, if you want to join the others. But don’t be surprised if you have a few cuts and bruises when you return.”

He’s pissed at me. I get it. “If using me as a punching bag will untwist your panties, go for it.”

He flips me off, but he can’t hide the amused glitter in his eyes.

“Any zombies?” I ask.

“A few.”

I step out of my body as easily as breathing. As I wind through the cemetery, Camilla’s spirit catches up to me. We come across Cole first. He’s leaning against a gnarled tree, the limbs seeming to embrace him and push him away at the same time. His arms are folded over his chest.

“What the hell is going on out here?” I ask.

Just like Bronx, he flicks a glance in Camilla’s direction. I know he’s debating what to say in front of someone so untrustworthy.

Camilla notices, lifts her chin and squares her shoulders.

“We were on patrol and spread out all over the place,” Cole says. “Bronx found and cleansed three zombies, but more and more began to rise from the graves so he texted the rest of us and we rushed over.”

“You cleansed the rest.” Otherwise he wouldn’t be standing here. He’d be at Ali’s side. “So where are the other slayers?”

“Walking through the graveyard, watching for other zombies. Ali and I had a vision and we think at least a dozen more will rise tonight.”

“They shouldn’t. We obliterated a couple hordes just last night.”

“If we’re lucky,” Camilla says, “we’ll get to obliterate another one.” She withdraws two daggers from the zips in her pants. “Why don’t I start with the one sneaking up on Cole?”





(#ulink_41f1d0fe-0116-5905-9219-f7ad48e28783)

I reach the zombie, but he’s already writhing on the ground, restrained by an arrow in each hand. Realization dawns. Cole knew all along that the creature was rising, without ever turning around. He’d been stealthily aiming his bow as he spoke to us, and I’d had no idea. Ugh. These slayers are more dangerous than I ever realized.

I crouch beside the zombie and summon my fire.

“There’s no need for that,” Cole says.

I ignore him, pressing my hand against the creature’s sunken torso. A minute passes, my light working through the rot. Frosty stomps to the other side, bends down and punches his blazing fist straight into the chest cavity. Ash rains a few seconds later, the scent of death suddenly replaced by burning flesh.

I’m not sure which is worse.

“Thank you,” I say.

“You were taking too long,” he snaps.

No kind words for me, ever. Got it. “You should consider becoming a motivational speaker. In two seconds, you’ve inspired me to kill...everyone.”

“Funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

Cole steps between us and shoves us apart. “Enough.”

How did I not realize we’d gotten in each other’s face?

“Zombies can be saved,” Cole says. “This one didn’t have to die.”

Saved? Excuse me?

Not just no, but hell, no.

Frosty shrugs, his “I don’t care about anything” attitude firmly in place. “I’m sorry...that I’m not sorry. I didn’t want the bastard saved.”

“I’m still your leader.” Cole is more intense than the night, like a predator about to pounce. “You’re subject to my rules.”

Tension grows between them, so thick my swords couldn’t cut through it.

“Cole!” Ali calls, her agitation echoing from the trees. “It’s happening...worse than we thought... So many. Too many!”

In an instant, Cole is bounding forward. Frosty follows him, and I follow Frosty, determined to keep him in my sights at all times. He won’t die on my watch.

We grind to a stop as we take in the scene now before us. Zombies, so many zombies, all hovering in the air above Ali. Beside her is a guy named Gavin, and Gavin’s girlfriend/nongirlfriend Jaclyn. Ali’s arms are extended and trembling, the motion of her fingers controlling the motion of the zombies.

I’ve seen her do this a few times before, and it always amazes me.

“I’m expending too much energy...out of serum,” Ali gasps out.

“Drop them.” Cole moves beside her. “I’ll let them bite me.”

Bite him? Uh, what the what now?

“No.” Ali shakes her head. “Too many for that...we can’t—”

“There’s only one way this plays out successfully.” Frosty’s tone is hard as steel. “For our entire group to walk out of this alive, some of the zombies have to die.”

Tears well in Ali’s ice-blue eyes, making me think she actually cares about the creatures. And maybe she does. Her dad, adopted mom and grandfather died by zombie toxin. Good people dealt a crappy hand. Maybe she sees their final hours in these monsters. Maybe she sees who these monsters used to be—and who they could be again.

Not that I believe they can be “saved.”

Cole gives an almost rigid incline of his head. “You and Camilla do what you have to do,” he tells Frosty. To Ali, he says, “Gavin, Jaclyn and I will save as many as we can. You’re on empty, gator, so you need to work your way to the sidelines. And don’t you dare cross me on this.”

A minute passes, then another, and I suspect she’s holding out as long as she can, trying to come up with a different plan.

Finally, a sob escapes her. “Ready?”

“Do it.”

The moment she drops her arms, the horde crashes into the ground. They don’t stay down for long, jumping to their feet to glom onto Cole, Gavin and Jaclyn, who have formed a shield around Ali.

I’m stunned senseless as the trio just stands there, willingly allowing multiple creatures to use them as pot luck dinner. At least eight sets of yellowed teeth sink into Cole’s neck...shoulders...arms and legs. He’s going to be ripped apart.

As commanded, Ali begins to work her way out of the fray, stumbling and crying—but she isn’t trying to avoid being bitten, either.

I’ve seen enough, the urge to slay, to do what I was born to do, too strong to ignore. I launch forward. Or try to. Frosty grabs me by the waist to hold me in place.

“Not yet.”

“We have to help them.” Why can’t he see that? “Let me go or I’ll...I’ll...”

My eyes widen as, one by one, zombies begin to vomit and fall away from slayers. The soft glow of our cars’ headlights are powered by a special battery and illuminate what happens next, allowing us to witness the tinge of gray leave their skin and the red fade from their eyes. When the transformation is complete, all hint of rot gone, actual human spirits float into the air like balloons, ascending higher and higher before vanishing in the darkness.

I am baffled as the process repeats...and repeats. “How...” I begin. Only I don’t know what to ask. Slayers are actually saving zombies—Cole used the word literally—and they are doing so without becoming infected by the toxin or needing an antidote.

Cole stretches his arms wider, offering both limbs as snack packs to the next line of hungry fiends clamoring forward.

“I don’t think the slayers can take much more,” Frosty says. “Work your way in front and force zombies to back off.” He isn’t done issuing the order before he’s pounding forward, shooting every creature he passes in the back of the head. The undead drop like flies.

I pull myself from my awed stupor and stay close to his heels, slashing at any teeth and hands aimed in his direction. Along the way, the fine hairs on the back of my neck rise, and I stiffen. I’m being watched again, I know it, but I can’t pause to look around.

We make it in front of the slayers without a scratch, but I see zombies coming in hot from behind the group and keep going, meeting the newcomers head-on. I slash, elbow and kick, always ducking to avoid fingers snagging in my hair, hopping to the side to avoid being grabbed by the ankles.

“Gavin,” Cole calls. “Car!”

They’re leaving? Yeah, probably for the best. By now, they have to be as weak as newborns. I only fight harder. Retreat isn’t in my wheelhouse. A few minutes later, the sound of squealing tires registers, then high beams are shining up close and personal. Zombies stumble backward to avoid being burned by the light, and suddenly I’m without an opponent.

Panting, I take stock. The horde has backed away from the slayers. Ali and Jaclyn are lying on the ground and moaning in pain, more riddled with bites than the others. Guess they tasted better.

Girls are made of sugar and spice and everything nice. Boys are made of snakes and snails and rattlesnake tails.

The childhood song plays through my head as Cole, Gavin and Frosty fire up their hands. The group wasn’t abandoning ship, after all. And now, I’m once again awed as the flames on Cole and Gavin extend to their shoulders...correction, all the way to their rib cages. All three boys crouch beside the girls and flatten one hand on the chest of one girl and the other hand on the chest of the other. The girls catch fire and scream, bucking and fighting to get away, but eventually they settle down, their wounds healing right before my eyes.

“Sorry about this, my man, but you need it whether you agree or not,” Cole says, then flattens his palm against Frosty’s chest.

Frosty grunts and lurches backward, quickly severing contact.

“Hey,” I shout as I bound over. “You don’t get to touch him without his permission.”

“This isn’t any of your business,” Cole snaps at me. “Stay out of it.”

I open my mouth to reply—

“Stay out of it,” Frosty repeats. With less heat, but still. A rebuke is a rebuke.

Boys!

I look away, the hairs on the back of my neck practically dancing now, and spot a girl standing beside a tombstone. Her face is cast in shadows, but I can see her hair stretches all the way to her waist, where the light shines. The strands are so black they gleam blue. Is she a civilian?

When I take a step toward her, she scrambles backward. If she can see me, she’s not a civilian. One of Cole’s new recruits, here to observe the battle? To learn?

“Hey,” I call, and she bolts. Nope. Not a recruit. I give chase. Anima wouldn’t be stupid enough to send someone to observe us so openly. Right?

Right, because Anima no longer exists. I wonder how many years I’ll have to remind myself of that fact before it actually feels real.

Maybe the girl witnessed the fight but doesn’t know she’s a slayer. Maybe she’s freaked out. Or, maybe she’s a spy from my brother’s camp, because River still cares about me and wants to know I’m okay.

A pang of homesickness nearly slices me in two.

A zombie steps into my path and I twist to the side, nailing him in the eye with a dagger as I whiz past him. Only then do I realize I’ve moved out of the light. My heartbeat picks up speed. Am I headed into a trap?

At my right a shadow shifts, and I stop, turn. A sharp sting explodes in my neck...my arm...my neck again. Definitely a trap!

A wave of dizziness nearly topples me as I pull three darts out of my skin. Well, well. Two of my theories are now vapor in the wind. The girl doesn’t work for my brother and she knows she’s a slayer. For her weapon to affect me, she had to shoot it from the spirit realm, where I’m currently located. That’s not something civilians can do, even by accident.

The only other option that makes any sense is...Anima.

“Camilla!” Frosty’s voice echoes through the night, anger causing the “a” to vibrate.

The dizziness fades, and I breathe a sigh of relief as I stuff the darts in my pocket.

I step toward the girl, who hasn’t moved from the trees. She steps backward, into a higher beam of light, and I see that she’s pretty, with wide frightened eyes and skin covered in freckles; one moment she’s standing in place, frozen in terror, the next she’s running away.

I kick into gear, prepared to follow her again—

“Camilla!”

But I can’t leave Frosty behind. I just can’t. Cursing, I backtrack. He’s my first priority, not the girl.

Cole and Frosty are nose-to-nose, arguing.

“—like I told you,” Cole is saying. “I had to make sure you’d heal from a zombie bite without the antidote. That was the only way.”

“And I told you weeks ago I didn’t want the ‘save the bastards’ ability. Camilla!” he shouts a second later.

I haven’t been spotted, I guess. “Guys,” I say. And...did Cole just admit he shared the ability by using dýnamis on Frosty?

Neither boy faces me. They just keep staring daggers at the other, but at least some of the tension has drained from Frosty.

Across the way, Ali is standing between Gavin and Jaclyn, pushing the two apart. “Enough!”

“I would slap you,” Jaclyn growls at the smirking man-boy, “but it would be considered animal abuse.”

“I’m sorry,” Gavin replies, “but I can’t hear you over the sound of your bitchiness.”

“Children.” Ali slaps Gavin’s shoulder before waving a finger at Jaclyn. “This is no place to continue your weird seduction of each other.”

“I’m not seducing. I’m punishing. She allowed too many zombies to bite her,” Gavin says. “I can still see the toxin under her skin.”

Jaclyn throws her arms into the air, clearly exasperated. “Don’t fight them, you told me yesterday. Fight them, you told me today. Why don’t you make up your stupid mind?”

“Guys!” I shout. “There’s a girl out there. She tried to sedate me.” I show them the darts. “We need to find her, like, now.” Before it’s too late. Hell, it’s probably too late already.

A twig snaps behind me, and my first thought is that she’s come back to finish what she started. I spin, a short sword palmed and raised. Not a girl, but a zombie on his hands and knees. He’s closer than I would have guessed, as if he just rose from the grave at my feet. He looks to be my age, maybe younger, a boy who never really had a chance to live. I hesitate—the younger ones always trip me up—and that single second of inactivity allows him to yank my feet out from underneath me.

I fall, landing with a thud, losing my breath. Having trained for this, I roll backward, into the light still shining from the car, and spring into a crouch while reaching out to swipe my sword across his neck.

His head tilts to the side before flopping onto a fresh mound of dirt. Frosty arrives on the scene, his entire arm already engulfed in flames. I blink, and his face, neck and chest are consumed, too. I gape at him. I think he gapes at himself. It’s hard to see his expression underneath all that fire.

“This is your fault,” he says as he turns to point an accusing finger at Cole, who spreads his arms, all I love you, so get used to it.

Oh, to be loved that way.

Frosty touches the zombie, just touches him—a brush of his fingertips against the creature’s head and body—and the pieces burst into black ash. The flames on Frosty’s arms die. He stares at the limbs as if he’s never seen them before.

“Thank you,” I say, only to remember he doesn’t want my thanks. But this time, he doesn’t reply. I guess he’s ignoring me again.

I push to shaky legs. Frosty’s shirt is unmarred by the flames but ripped at the collar, gaping all the way to his navel. You’d think I’d never seen a tanned, toned, tattooed guy before, because I suddenly can’t tear my gaze away, too star-struck by the beauty of him. An angel. A fallen angel. He’s my tormentor and my salvation—and what the hell is wrong with me? Did I hit my head when I fell?

“I could have saved that zombie.” Ali marches over to frown at me, as if I’m the problem. I hate how tall she is, and how tiny she makes me feel. “I could have turned him into a witness.”

“Could you really?” Gavin mentioned seeing toxin underneath Jaclyn’s skin, and I can see it underneath Ali’s, black lines branching from her eyes and mouth. “You were almost completely tapped before you started fighting. Now you’re telling me you’re good as gold?”

Up goes Ali’s chin—a defensive action I know well. “I’m not the problem here. You were supposed to stay by Frosty’s side, not run off to—”

“I told you. I saw someone. A girl. She watched the battle and bolted when I noticed her. I chased her. She shot me up with darts. We need to catch her and question her.”

“If there is a girl out there, and I’m not saying there is—we both know you could have brought those darts with you, intending to feed us this story—she probably doesn’t know she’s a slayer and that there’s a war waging all around her.”

I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste the copper tinge of blood. “She was in spirit form. She knows what she is.” Slayers can separate spirit from body naturally, but it’s something we have to learn. Anima long ago found a way to force the action through electronic pulses.

Ali gives me a once-over. “You don’t look like you’ve been tranqed.”

“That I can’t explain. Unless she shot me up with something else.” Like...what? The opposite of a tranq—happy juice? But I’m not exactly happy. Medication of some sort? Poison?

Oh, crap. Bile rises, burning again my sternum. The possibilities are endless, and very few are actually good for me.

“Take these,” I say, shoving the darts into her hand. “Have them tested. Tell me what she’s done to me.”

My panic must penetrate Ali’s suspicions, because she pales. “As soon as I get home, I’ll give them to Reeve and Weber, our new medical advisor.”

Cole massages the back of his neck. “It’s late. It’s dark. We’re all in bad shape. We’re in no condition to go after the girl. I’ll follow her tracks tomorrow.”

I grit my teeth, but also nod. He’s right. We’re all operating on fumes.

“One more thing. Don’t go running around just because you see someone,” Ali tells me. “Next time stick to Frosty’s side as if you’ve been glued.” Like Kat, she has trouble maintaining eye contact while discussing this particular subject. Why? “I want you with him every second of every day. Got it?”

“Am I allowed bathroom breaks?” I ask drily.

“No. Wear a diaper.”

I give her the finger. I’m not wearing a diaper. Ever.

Frosty closes in, the heat he radiates enveloping me, causing goose bumps to break out from head to toe. What the hell kind of reaction is this? I shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other, rubbing my arms to pretend I’m cold.

“Were you bitten?” he asks.

“Why, are you worried about me?” I hear the hope in my voice and cringe. I think a part of me longs to hear yes, someone—anyone—cares that I exist.

Fury claims his expression, twisting his features. “You are a means to an end. A way to see Kat. Never doubt it.”

Bile rises again, only hotter, but I manage a smile. “Don’t worry. I won’t.” Did I really expect him to soften so quickly—or ever?

This is my penance, my only means of atonement, and I’ll see it through to the end. No matter what.

“Let’s go.” His expression is softer, at least. But of course, he takes off without looking back to ensure I’ve followed.

I race after him.

“Don’t forget,” Ali calls. “Hash Town. Seven a.m. If you’re late, I’ll post naked pictures of you all over the internet. And I promise you I’m not bluffing. Kat told me where to find one of her old phones.”

He waves without looking back.

“You and Ali are having breakfast together?” I ask.

“Yes. You’re not invited.”

Ouch. “Try to leave me behind. See what happens.”

He has no reply, but then, he rarely does with me.

We reach our bodies and with a single touch, we’re paired back up. As he stops to answer a question from Bronx—what happened out there?—I pile inside his truck and buckle my belt.

Yesterday, Frosty demanded I walk to his apartment. Tonight, I’m not taking any chances. He’ll have to drag me out of the vehicle kicking and screaming—and then he’ll have to crawl back inside it, because I won’t leave him unscathed.

When he settles behind the wheel, he doesn’t even glance in my direction. And yet, it isn’t until he pulls out of the cemetery that I relax. Or try to. Every muscle I possess is knotted and trembling, the stress of not knowing what’s been done to me jacking me up.

“Great fight,” I say, hoping to make conversation and distract myself. “You worked magic out there.”

He turns up the radio.

I jab my finger at the button, switching the music off. “We’re partners, Frosty. You have to start—”

He speaks over me. “I don’t have to start anything. And we aren’t partners. You and I will never be partners.”

A painful burn returns to my chest. “Look. I’m sorry for my actions in the past. I am. You’ll never know how sorry. I hate what I did, I hate the outcome, but I was backed into a corner. Anima would have killed River, and he’s my only family. I wish I could go back and protect Kat with my own life, but I can’t. All I can do is protect yours now. But if I’m going to do so, you’ve got to start trusting me. At least a little. You can start by talking to me as if I’m a real person with feelings.” Because I am.

“That will happen in never. You aren’t a real person to me. You’re a murderer.” He sounds as cold and merciless as his navy eyes appear. “And just so you know, an apology means nothing without action to back it up.”

“I do know. I just need time to prove myself.”

“Time I’d rather not give you. I don’t need protecting.”

“Kat says otherwise. You heard her. Ali had a vision. At some point, I will save your life. Without me, you’ll die.”

He slams on the breaks as he pulls over to the side of the road. “Dying wouldn’t be such a bad thing. I’d be with Kat. So why don’t you do us both a favor and get out. Your services are no longer needed.”

“But—”

“Now.”

My lips compress into a thin line. My hand shakes as I open the door. I’m hurt by his refusal, yes, but as my feet hit the pavement, I’m also suddenly and inexplicably angry. “You would rather be shot in the chest than spend time with me?” I shout. “I’m that bad? I’m so despicable you feel it’s okay to abandon me on the side of a road, alone, in the middle of the night when light is scarce?”

I palm my daggers. Before Frosty can speed away, I stomp in front of the truck and, glaring at him through the front windshield, slam the tips of both weapons into a tire.





(#ulink_0c0ad8c0-380c-57c3-9bbd-a3a01aed10ea)

Maintaining a good mad is impossible right now. I’m just too freaking tired. Why did Camilla have to go and be all adorable and crap, throwing a bona fide slayer tantrum?

I stick my head out the window to yell at her, but all I end up saying is “Just...I don’t know...get in or something.”

A moment passes before she climbs back into the truck. She doesn’t meet my gaze. I get out and change the tire, then return to the wheel, gunning the engine.

“If we’re playing would you rather... I’d rather kiss a viper than continue our conversation,” I say. “So maybe let’s play the quiet game instead.”

No response. She doesn’t even stiffen.

This bothers me.

I’m the moron who keeps going. “Have you ever considered therapy? That temper of yours—”

“Doesn’t come out to play nearly as much as yours.”

Good point. “Difference is, rage is sexy on guys.”

As calm as can be, she says, “The guys you’re crushing on must not rage correctly. True rage? It’s a total loss of control, and it’s ugly. What I did to your tires? I meant to do.”

There’s a story there. One I’m strangely eager to hear. But I don’t ask.

Use her and lose her, don’t get to know her.

“Anything else you’d like to say before we get started on that quiet game?” I ask.

Silence.

Again it bothers me and I don’t know why.





Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Получить полную версию книги.


Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/gena-showalter/a-mad-zombie-party/) на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.