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Hull let out a hiss of frustration. Something moved at the far end of the alley. Jaime had come out and was standing with her back against the wall. I gestured for her to get back before Hull saw her, but her eyes were closed, squeezed shut. Her face was ashen, almost glowing in the moonlight, shiny with sweat. Eyes closed, concentrating so hard she was sweating...
My gaze swung back to the zombie, who was tottering there, confused. Confused by a conflict of commands. A conflict of control.
But that couldn't be. According to the stories, a necromancer couldn't control someone else's zombies.
The zombie lunged at Hull, knife flying. Hull fell back, already casting. Casting a spell at the zombie. Protecting his own life. Mine forgotten. Nick's forgotten.
I saw my chance...and waited. Attack now, and all he had to do was redirect the cast my way. The last words left his mouth and the zombie fell back, then I flew at Hull.
I hit him in the side. As we fell, I grabbed for his hands. I caught the right one, but my fingers only brushed the left. He cast a knockback spell, the best he could manage when he was low on power. It still hit me like a blow to the solar plexus. Any other time, I wouldn't have let go, but my brain screamed "the babies!" and my hands shot to my stomach.
Before I could grab Hull again, he backed up, putting distance between us as his hands lifted, starting a fresh spell.
The bowler-hatted zombie struggled up, knife in his grip. Hull looked from him to me, hands hovering, spell uncast. Only enough power to repel one of us. Which to choose--the knife-wielding zombie or the pissed-off werewolf? Before either I or the zombie could take advantage of his hesitation, Hull made his choice...and bolted.
Cover
HULL GAVE THE ZOMBIE A HARD SHOVE AS HE RAN PAST. ALREADY unsteady, the zombie fell. I raced after Hull.
"Elena!"
I stumbled as I wheeled back to Jaime. "Stay with Nick."
"But I can--"
"Please."
She hesitated, then nodded. "Once I wake him up, we'll be right behind you."
I'd seen Hull turn right, onto a side street, but there was no sign of him. I jogged along the sidewalk, sniffing and listening. When I reached the first corner, I peered around a building to see Hull fifty feet away, casting a spell at a door. An unlock spell.
I rocked on the balls of my feet, holding back until he was inside. Then I stole down the sidewalk. At the still-closing door, I paused. All was silent within. I grabbed the handle before the latch caught, then eased the door open.
Inside the small, dark vestibule, there were stairs leading down to my left. So Hull had taken refuge in a windowless basement, probably with one exit. I smiled.
The stairs stopped at a landing, then doubled back. I peered over the railing into the gloom. A dim security light at the bottom illuminated a time-card rack and punch on the right wall, and an open doorway to the left.
Down the steps, stop and look. A cavernous room opened before me, so big that in the near dark, I couldn't see the other three sides.
As my night vision kicked in, I could see enough to know where I was. The room--at least fifty feet square--was filled with cheap office tables, arranged like pews. On each desk was a row of telephones and headsets. A telemarketing pit.
I'd worked in telemarketing at fifteen, too young for something better and needing more pay and hours than a fast-food job would provide.
There were two exits, not counting the one I'd come in. One opened into a small room with a curtained glass wall. The supervisor's office. The other led to a hall--lunchroom and supply closets if this setup was anything like my old workplace.
Which had Hull picked? Office or hall? Or was he still here, huddled behind a table, waiting to slam me with a knockback spell when I passed? I went still, sniffing and listening. His scent was here. Been here or still here, it was impossible to tell.
Something clattered in the back hall. I hurried forward. At the hall entrance, I paused and peered through. It was a short corridor, no more than fifteen feet, with two closed doors to my left and one open doorway to my right.
Hull's scent hung in the air, giving me no directional clues. I considered bending to check for a trail, but these days I couldn't fly up from a crouch. Better to stay standing and rely on my other senses.
The open doorway led to the lunchroom. I could tell by the stink--food that probably smelled just fine on its own, but when combined and left to mellow, was enough to revolt the hungriest stomach.
Edging against the door jamb, I glanced inside. It could have been a carbon copy of my old lunchroom--little bigger than a walk-in closet with a sauce-spattered microwave, a Goodwill rescue dinette set and an ancient refrigerator.
No hiding places even for a small man like Hull. Well, there was the fridge, but he'd need to clear out all the condiments and unwanted food.
The first closed door was locked. I checked the second. Also locked. Back to the first. I twisted the handle hard and fast, snapping the simple key-lock.
