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But sorcerers liked to control as much as they could of the world. They had no compunctions about summoning beings to do their bidding. But right now, I didn’t care, because Shamas’s rain and hail were drenching the flames. The water must have been charmed for it to quell the magical fires so quickly.
Whatever the case, as we watched, the flames died down, and within five minutes they were extinguished and the house sat, smoldering, a third of it in ruins. But at least it wasn’t burned to the ground.
I looked at Martin. “What the hell are we going to do with him? We can’t take him home like a puppy dog.”
Menolly groaned. “Oh fuck. Maybe we could tell Wilbur he burned up in the fire and put the guy out of our misery?”
Camille cleared her throat. “As much as I’d like to de-animate Martin, we can’t do that. It wouldn’t be fair. Not unless Wilbur dies. If that happens, then yes, we go ahead and put Martin to rest. But for now, until we know the truth, we owe it to Wilbur to keep his…pet…alive.”
I stared bleakly at the house. “Just what do you suggest we do with him, then? It’s not like we can chain him up outside on a leash. Can we?” A hopeful note crept into my voice. After all, I was the optimist of the group.
Smoky let out a snort. “I cannot believe you women are debating what to do with the creature. I think he should be destroyed, but I can tell you aren’t going to allow that. Therefore, it stands to reason that we need to lock him up somewhere. I suggest we store him in the safe room down at the Wayfarer.” He turned to Menolly. “What say you?”
She groaned and face-palmed. “Oh geez, do we have to? I mean, Erin’s living at Vampires Anonymous now, so it’s empty, but really, I don’t want a ghoul in my bar.”
“He won’t be able to get out,” I said, eager to have him anywhere but at our house. “He doesn’t need food or to go to the bathroom.”
“He doesn’t need food? Of course he does. Ghouls need flesh to feed on. If you think I’m cooking him a steak to keep him from taking a bite out of one of my customers…” Menolly stopped, grimacing. She looked from Smoky to me, then to Camille. “I see you have your minds made up. Fine. But I’m not taking him in my Jag. Somebody else has to take him down.”
Morio snickered. “We could put Rodney in there with him. Maybe they’d kill each other off.” Rodney was a twelve-inch-tall bone golem who could grow to life size. He could have been the love child of Rodney Dangerfield and Howard Stern…only worse.
“Oh gods, I can’t imagine that. I wish Grandmother Coyote would take him back. I suppose we should make more use of him, but I hate taking him out of the box, the little freak. I wish we could just bury him and leave him there.” Camille shuddered. She hated Rodney. So did I. So did Menolly.
“He’s supposed to obey me, but sometimes I worry that he’s on the verge of being able to break through my control.” Morio stood up and motioned to Martin. “Come on, you freakshow. Let’s get you somewhere safe until your daddy is out of the hospital.”>Crap. I pulled out my dagger again as he held up a heavy chain. Just then, Menolly appeared. She took in the situation and immediately attacked the demon, taking him down as she landed on his back. I wasted no time turning my attention back to the zombies and struck the nearest from behind, bringing the dagger up under its left arm.
The only way to kill a zombie was to take it apart and then destroy the pieces. If you cut it into enough pieces, you’d be good to go—they couldn’t reassemble, but the hands could run around on their own and grapple things. So: fingers cut from hands, toes from feet…hands cut off arms…basic slice-and-dice theory.
The zombie turned and, with its too-fast-to-be-normal speed, slammed me with its right arm, knocking me back.
“Damned undead are all too strong for their own good,” I muttered, picking myself up off the floor before it could land on me. I shook my head and circled, trying to gauge an opening. If only I fought with a sword, it might do more damage. But I was determined to take one of these suckers down.
I grit my teeth and made a headlong beeline for my opponent. Zombies are too stupid to dart out of the way, so we collided and my weight took him down. I promptly clamped his arms to his sides with my knees and began trying to slice through the neck to cut off his head.
It wasn’t pretty. If he’d been a mummy, wrapped in rags, not so hard. But staring into the face of someone who had once been alive and deliberately sawing his head off with a dagger—rather gruesome.
I steeled my thoughts. The life is gone from his body. There is no soul here, merely reanimated flesh. Don’t be squeamish. You can do this. You have to do this.
The other zombie was turning my way, but there wasn’t much I could do about it now. I wanted at least one of them out of the way. Menolly was thoroughly tangled up with the Tregart and I couldn’t tell who was doing what, but I saw blood and it wasn’t hers.
As I struggled to keep the zombie down, a noise sounded beside me as the other zombie slammed his fist into my back.
I lurched forward as he fisted my hair and yanked me back. As my scalp screamed, I let out a shout. He lifted me up and the next thing I knew, I was flying across the room like a spinning top. I turned head over heels in the air, barely able to comprehend what was happening before I landed with a thud against one of the shelves. Moaning, I shook my head and looked up in time to see Menolly backing away from the bloody Tregart. He was holding a piece of sharply pointed wood—not a stake, but a sliver he’d broken off a piece of splintered crate.
“Menolly, get away from him!” I jumped up, a little dizzy, and then stopped as the Tregart pulled out what looked like a large cherry. I recognized that—or at least the basic shape. “Firebomb! We have to get Wilbur out of here!” I turned to run, trying to evade the zombies that were now headed my way.
Menolly turned on her heels and headed opposite the demon. At that moment, Smoky appeared. He stared at the scene as I frantically motioned to Wilbur.
“Get him out of here. Now! Firebomb! Firebomb!”
Smoky sprang into action, letting out a roar that brought Shade and Camille halfway down the stairs.
“No! Go back. Run!” I evaded the grasp of the zombies, dodging to the right and the left as they closed in on my tail. There was a thud and I glanced over my shoulder. Menolly had grabbed one of them and tossed him against the wall in back of her.
Camille saw the demon and what he was holding and squeaked. She turned tail and headed up the stairs. Shade was at my side the next second and he grabbed my wrist and dragged me forward, away from the remaining zombie.
Menolly caught up with us and, seeing that Smoky was headed up the stairs with Wilbur in his arms, we raced across the basement.
At that moment, the Tregart let out a bark of laughter and there was a flash, so bright that it brought a cry of pain from Menolly even though she wasn’t facing it. The timbers shook and groaned, creaking, as flames burst against one wall, engulfing the wood.
