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The one Enforcer not attacking anyone is Virgil, Valerian’s acquaintance.
He just stands there frozen, a look of intense concentration on his pale face. Catching my gaze, he grits out, “I’m fighting it as best I can. He’s incredibly strong. Stay away from me.”
Who’s strong? What is Virgil talking about?
“So, this is the illusionist who’s been snooping around,” says a familiar creaking-floorboards voice.
I whirl on the speaker.
This must be Wrakar, the mortician. And surprise, surprise: he looks just like the mystery man in the puck mask.
The mask is missing now, revealing a thin, leathery face contorted in an ugly grimace. Looking at Valerian’s unmoving body, he sneers, “He tried to hide you all, but I can see through the eyes of the vampires.” He waves at Virgil. “Not to mention, my lovelies.” He raises his hands, and that same multi-colored energy streams from his fingers into the bodies on the slabs.
“I knew it!” Ariel shouts. “A necromancer. Again.”
She’s fought a necromancer before?
Wait. A necromancer? That explains a lot.
Necromancers can reanimate and control the dead, so hanging out at a morgue would be a natural choice for their kind. I also heard a rumor that necros are not allowed to live on Gomorrah—or most worlds where vampires have power—because they can gain control over vamps.
Sounds like that wasn’t a rumor, after all. All the Enforcers except Virgil are under Wrakar’s spell—and Virgil might lose his fight for freedom any second.
As I process all this, the bodies on the slabs jump down and face us.
Zombies. Freshly made.
My heart rate goes through the roof.
We’re so pucked.
Chapter Twenty-Two
A zombie who used to be an elderly elf lady rushes my way.
A surge of anger crowds out my fear. Elves live unfathomably long lives, so for Wrakar to disrespect this ancient woman’s body feels like a crime against something holy.
No wonder necromancers aren’t allowed on Gomorrah. They’re the worst.
Though I don’t expect it to work, I aim for the elf lady’s sagging bosom and pull the trigger.
Nothing happens. My gun can’t kill what is already dead.
Having no idea how strong zombies are, I turn to run.
In the corner of my vision, I see everyone dealing with the new threat.
Onassis dispatches an Enforcer with his sword, then slices off an arm from a dryad zombie. The dryad keeps coming. He slices off her head. The headless body keeps moving.
Great. Things are officially worse than I thought.
Two Enforcers and four zombies corner Felix. The chest section of the robot opens up, and two giant guns show up and fire at Felix’s attackers.
Boom.
In the enclosed space, the explosion is deafening.
Felix’s attackers are in pieces, but the other zombies and Enforcers near him all turn his way.
Puck.
The necro must now consider Felix the most dangerous target—he doesn’t realize those guns don’t have a reload.
Meanwhile, not far from where I stand, Ariel kicks a dwarf zombie, sending him flying into the air like a giant soccer ball. “Kill the necromancer!” she yells, panting. “That’s the only way to stop them.”
She must be talking to Felix, who’s kind of blown his chance to do what she says by already firing those guns.
Onassis must think Ariel is talking to him, though. Pulling out his gun, he tries for Wrakar, but the necromancer is hiding behind a wall of bodies, not allowing the Guard good aim.
Onassis shoots blind. Nothing happens. He shoots again. Same result. Before he can fire another shot, an orc zombie punches him in the face.
I lunge to the right, where I think I can still make the shot. As much as the necromancer deserves my gun’s current setting, I switch to the nonlethal mode—a dead necromancer can’t tell us where the bomb is. Hopefully if he’s knocked out, the zombies will stop as well.
I aim.
A gnarled hand grabs my gun by the barrel. It’s a zombie of an elderly uber—who looks hot even now, in a silver fox sort of way. With a jerk, the zombie rips the gun from my grasp.
I was wondering if zombies were as strong as the people they’re made from, and what the uber does next confirms my suspicion.
With barely an effort, he crushes the gun into little pieces.
Puck.
Gun destroyed, the uber zombie throws a lumbering punch at my head.
I dodge it with ease. Strong or not, this zombie is not as fast as he was when alive.
Using his lack of speed to my advantage, I jump away.
A thin, elderly female gargoyle zombie rushes me.
Dodging her, I also dive under the outreached hands of the cyclops zombie in the way.
An Enforcer nearly chops off my head when I pass him. Then two zombies try to ram into me with their bodies, and I barely avoid them.
Gritting my teeth, I keep dodging and running around the morgue, feeling like an anorexic elf playing American football with orcs.
When I get a moment of no one trying to end me, I pull out the sleep grenade. My mind spins frantically. Should I do it? In the confined space, all of us would go under, including the necromancer and Valerian—if he’s alive. The zombies should stop in that case, but if the necro wakes up first, we’ll be worse off than now.
