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Except there are vampires in play. They don’t sleep. Would they become normal Enforcers as soon as the necromancer is under?
That would make sense.
In my contemplations, I forget to watch my step—and pay for it dearly. An orc zombie gives me a shove, sending me flying toward Valerian, while the unused grenade slips out of my hand and clanks on the floor.
I land so hard the air vacates my lungs, and a shock of pain reverberates through my entire body.
Stunned, fighting off nausea, I check the battlefield.
Looking increasingly pale, Itzel is shooting lightning balls at the attackers. This is not good. There are only so many times she can use that power before she’ll faint.
Felix isn’t doing much better. An Enforcer and a zombie are pummeling his broken suit, and he’s not responding.
The person doing relatively well is Kit. Now in the form of a giant, she’s fending off two orc zombies and four Enforcers.
A shadow covers me, and I look up
An Enforcer sword is swinging down at me.
Well, puck.
The necromancer is about to have a new corpse to raise.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Pain explodes in my body as I throw myself to the side, rolling for all I’m worth.
Except I don’t roll fast enough. The sword slices through my upper arm, the blade supernova-hot as it parts my flesh.
It takes all my will not to pass out as a wave of nausea crashes into me.
The Enforcer raises the sword again.
A dark patch shimmers in my vision. Before I can make sense of it, Onassis’s sword blocks the Enforcer’s blade.
Panting, I try to sit up and scoot out of the way of the clashing swords.
My body doesn’t cooperate. Must be too damaged.
Fine. Leaving puddles of blood behind me, I crawl. And crawl. And crawl some more. When I can’t move another inch, I peek over my shoulder.
The Enforcer headbutts the uber and rips into his throat with sharp vampire fangs.
Onassis staggers back.
“No!” Ariel yells from somewhere nearby.
The vampire thrusts with his sword. There’s a sound of breastplate breaking, and Onassis sags to the floor.
Puck. Poor guy.
The Enforcer blurs toward me and raises the sword again.
Only Ariel’s already there. Her beautiful face contorted with fury, she beheads him with a sword she must’ve taken from one of the other vampires.
Blood gushes out of the Enforcer’s headless body, spraying my face.
A thousand yucks. Of all the bodily fluids, blood is my least favorite. I can’t believe I used to swallow it to stay awake.
Ariel bends to help me up, but a cyclops zombie grabs her by the neck. She spins around and slashes at him, beheading him in one swift move.
The headless cyclops yanks on her sword, ripping it out of her grasp while continuing to choke her.
I grit my teeth. Puck this. I’m not letting Ariel or anyone else die.
I drag my finger through the vampire blood on my face and stick it into my mouth. Fighting my gag reflex, I swallow.
There is no pleasure this time, only the bliss of having my pain go away as my wounds mend in an eyeblink. I’ll have to be even more vigilant when it comes to vampire blood addiction going forward, but for now, I have the energy to leap to my feet.
Ariel looks paler than the dead Enforcer at our feet.
Grabbing a sword from the floor, I slice off the cyclops’s right arm, then the left.
Freed, Ariel gulps in a breath and grabs a sword, quickly turning the rest of the cyclops zombie into minced meat.
Leaving her to deal with the next zombie, I sprint for the sleep grenade. A reanimated elf lumbers at me, so I chop off his head. A dwarf zombie is next and gets the same treatment. Finally, the grenade is in my hand.
Are things desperate enough for this measure?
I frantically survey the battlefield.
Ariel is bleeding but still fighting off the zombies and Enforcers coming at her. However, Itzel is on the floor, unmoving; she either fainted from too many lightning balls, or was knocked out or killed. Felix’s suit looks like a tin can that’s been run over by a car, and even Kit looks weary in her giant form.
There’s no choice.
I have to act now.
Kit’s back is blocking Virgil from my view, but I assume he’s still standing where he was.
“Virgil, wake me up,” I shout, hoping he can make out my words despite the racket. “And don’t kill Wrakar!”
Of course, this assumes a sleeping necromancer will lose power over vampires—a premise I have no evidence for.
Well, here goes nothing.
Holding my breath, I activate the grenade and toss it in Wrakar’s direction.
Wrakar must fall under immediately because the zombies and the Enforcers freeze in weird poses. I guess they’re waiting for their puppet master to wake up from his nap.
Not good. If Virgil is standing there frozen, my plan is out the window.
