Salem's Revenge Complete Boxed Set (91 page)

But, whereas spontaneity in that situation earned me matching black eyes and a week away from school, the same mistake now could earn me the unwanted opportunity to become the next Reanimate in the Reaper’s growing collection of zombies. And that’s something I definitely want to avoid.

So as Bil counsels Chloe to “Stay here and hide, we’ll come and find you when it’s over,” and Hex sniffs at a clump of Shifter fur stuck in the brambles of a bush, I consider what the hell is happening. Why are the humans gallivanting in the middle of nowhere at night, and why are they screaming? And are these the same humans I left behind in Alliance, or is this a different group, hunted by an even deadlier foe?

No reasonable answers come quickly, so I squint and try to make out any details I can. Nothing except torchlight and heads bobbing in the grass, moving swiftly across the field, right toward us, until—

Two dark shadows race across the edge of the field, one of them moving swiftly ahead of the other. I strain to make out their identities in the gloom. Just as my eyes feel like they’re going to pop out of my head, there’s movement from the magic-born army before us. They snarl and roar and stomp and take off, streaming into the field. At almost the exact same moment, one of the shadows on the edge of the field charges into the high grass, silver flashing.

I’d know that sword anywhere, its blade splitting into three with each stroke. Rhett is here.

I almost cry out, scream his name—God knows I want to—but I manage to restrain myself, pointing like an obsessed fan at a celebrity, breathlessly hissing “Rhett! Rhett!” until Bil and Hex both follow my gaze and see him.

Hex’s tail wags furiously and Bil says, “Well I’ll be damned.”

With a final shout to Chloe to “Stay here!” we race forward into battle.

~~~

Rhett

Despite the fact that I can sense massive forms looming in my peripheral vision to the right, I’m much more concerned with the barely visible shifting of grass in the field in my direct line of sight, moving toward the humans with nearly imperceptible speed.

Well before I can get there, the ripple of grass reaches them and one of the human heads—a gray-bearded man wearing a snowcap—is sucked down amidst a cut-off scream and a vicious snarl. It’s like he’s there and then not, pulled into the earth itself by an invisible hand. The raw jerk of the downward motion causes his arm to shoot up in the opposite direction, flailing, flinging his torch high in the air. The flaming stick arcs, spinning end over end in a fiery sphere. Even as the torch continues its strangely beautiful flight path, more heads are sucked under as a cacophony of screams and snarls blasts the night to pieces.

I don’t stop, ripping the field to shreds, fighting my way into the bloody scene before me. Dozens of human bodies already litter the ground, leaking blood from slashed open throats and torn out hearts. Weapons are strewn about, and torches too, lighting small fires that are already growing, probing through the bent grass, seeking food to satisfy their insatiable appetites for destruction.

The Shifters’ first wave included the big cats, leopards and panthers and cheetahs and other powerful beasts I can’t readily identify, all of whom are ripping through the humans as if they’re no more substantial than a string of paper dolls. Some of the humans are firing weapons, both normal and magical, and I recognize some of them as Floss’s witch hunters. Though there’s an occasional yelp and the slamming of a fallen beast to the ground, for the most part the Shifters are able to dodge their bullets with seemingly supernatural speed.

Rage that’s as hot as the brushfires burns through me and I charge forward into the fray, stabbing my sword into the back of a panther that’s chewing on a woman’s lifeless leg. The animal spins and collapses, its own blood welling from its fanged mouth and mingling with the woman’s blood already on its lips. The Shifter isn’t Flora.

I whirl around, seeking my next target, hacking at a cougar that attempts to pounce on me, each of my sword’s three magical blades embedding themselves deeper and deeper into the animal’s thick muscled neck, until with a wet gruesome gurgle, I sever it completely, watching with morbid interest while the disembodied head sprays a rainbow of blood as it tumbles to the earth, bouncing twice before being stopped between a pair of dark claws. As I raise my chin to lay eyes on my next Shifter opponent, her deadly yellow eyes burn into mine.

Flora.

With unbridled force, she bats the head of her fallen comrade away, stalking toward me bearing a wicked smile. My muscles tense as I raise my sword, which has once more converged into a single blade. The Shifter leader looks like she’s about to say something, but her jaw snaps shut when the others arrive, hitting simultaneously from both sides, the tall grass crumbling beneath them.

From one end, the Necros drive their Reanimate army, a swarm of darkness carrying the foul breath of death, throwing themselves on the big cats without regard for their undead bodies. Amongst them are beacons of light, glowing angelic forms, the Claires, who scream, high-pitched keens that threaten to obliterate my eardrums. I’ve heard such screams before from their Mother. Trish saved me from certain destruction using just such a scream. This time, the screams douse the fires and seem to penetrate the flesh and bones of the Shifters, blasting apart their bodies in gory animal explosions, splattering ichor and bone fragments across the battlefield. The violence of the Claires is something I never really believed until I saw it with my own eyes. Other magic-born allies arrive, too, firing spells and curses at any Shifter that moves. Mags’s ghouls fill the air, shrieking with pent-up aggression, hurling inanimate objects in all directions.

From the other end comes the thunderous churn of animal feet, their roars and screeches and growls only just preceding their claws and fangs. Elephants and gorillas and buffalo and snakes and great winged beasts, which swoop down from above, plucking their enemies from the ground with sharp talons and carrying them high in the air before dropping them to their deaths. Bodies are literally falling from the sky, a human hailstorm. Running amidst the Shifters are their promised magic-born allies, teased away from their previous support of President Washington. Pyros and Mediums—whose poltergeists careen across the sky with bloodcurdling howls, tossing boulders and entire tree trunks to the ground below, crushing dozens of Reanimates—and Volts and Destroyers and Spellcasters and Slammers, as tall and wide as the elephants, join the battle.

Chaos. It’s the only all-encompassing word to describe the scene I find myself in. Suddenly my sword isn’t my only weapon, although I’m still forced to slash it from side to side constantly, until my biceps and forearms are screaming for respite. No, my most important weapon becomes the innate Resistance I have to the magic swirling around me. Pyros launch fireballs and I turn them back, sending them crashing into the animals, lighting their fur on fire. The Volts’ lightning bolts suddenly change direction when I
want
them to, angling off harmlessly into the ground or frying the insides of one of their allies. When a Destroyer tries to send a petrification spell at a young child curled in a ball crying for her mother, I reverse the spell back at him, turning him to stone.

When adrenaline pushes my body to its absolute limits, I dive between two Pyros advancing on a trio of humans, sending their well-aimed fireballs spinning away, erupting into flame when they hit the broadside of a black bear that’s in the process of mauling a group of Reanimates clawing at its face. Turning toward the threesome, I immediately recognize them as Cameron Hardy, his wife, and their daughter. The girl is in tears, and my heart seems to fold in half. On this day alone, the poor girl has had enough terror for a lifetime. “God,” Cameron says, his face contorted with horror.

“God hasn’t abandoned us yet,” I say. “And neither have the magic-born.”

Two more fireballs bounce toward us and, raising a hand, I stop them in midair, letting them hover, casting orange flickering light on the Hardy family.

“Why are you helping us?” Cameron says, the politician stripped from him, leaving an earnest, scared man.

“You already know the answer to that question,” I say, thrusting the fireballs back at the two Pyros. Although they’re immune to the magical fire, the force of the impact rocks them back, sending them ten feet into the air and twenty feet in reverse, where they crumple to the ground amidst an eruption of flames. “Go,” I say to Cameron and his family, and they run, retreating behind the wall of Necros and their creations, who are doing everything in their power to protect the humans that hate them, willing to die if necessary.

And many of them are, succumbing to the brutality of the attack, killing and being killed in at least equal number.

I feel a hand on my shoulder and I whirl around, slashing my sword toward my attacker, stopping inches from his neck. “Xave?” I say. “I could’ve killed you.” My chest is heaving, a Category 5 hurricane, my heart smashing itself to pieces in my chest.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I need your help.”

The battle swirling around us, we snake our way through the melee to a massive pile of flesh. Humans stacked on humans—a pyramid of death. I recoil at the sight, not in disgust—although I feel that, too—but in anger, hot biting rage pounding through me. Anger at Hardy for putting our people in this situation. Anger at Flora and her army for carrying out her plan of destruction.

I grab Xave’s shoulder and pull his face close to mine, my eyes boring into his. “What are you doing?” I demand.
Why did you bring me here?

“Please,” he says. “I have only one weapon. Protect me while I use it.”

Right away I know what he means and I know that this, above everything else, is my real test. I’ll accept help from the Necros but I don’t want to watch them use their magic, don’t want to understand it. I’d rather be oblivious and ignorant.

The funny thing is, the first thoughts that come to mind are the lessons Mr. Jackson taught me about Necros, back when Laney and I were imprisoned in the Necro dungeons. It takes a week for every year of life of the corpse you’re trying to raise. Building an army of Reanimates takes time. “You can raise them immediately?” I ask, already knowing the answer to my question. Xave is a prodigy even amongst his own magic-wielding people.

He nods. “Defend me.”

I spot Floss and a small group of her witch hunters fighting nearby. I call her name and she turns their course toward us, losing a handful of her warriors along the way, but eventually reaching our side. “Help me, help him,” I say. She nods quickly, immediately understanding, shouting orders to her troops, who immediately react like a well-trained army.

The magic-born attack in droves, throwing themselves at us with considerable force. But we’re not alone. The Reaper appears with dozens of Necros by his side, and along with the witch hunters, we form a ring around Xave and his pile o’ corpses, fighting off the enemy. I glance back whenever I have the chance, something drawing me to the spectacle I’ve typically avoided ever since witnessing Xave’s reanimated version of Beth.

It’s not what I expected. Although it starts kind of creepy, as Xave hauls the dead from the pile, lining them up, closing their eyes, and smearing dark paste on their eyelids, the next thing he does surprises me. He kneels before them, almost as if in prayer, laying his hands on each of their heads, whispering words that seem intended for each individual body. And when he does, a light appears, starting from their eyes, which flash open, and running down the lengths of their bodies, as if bringing each muscle, each tendon, each bone, and each limb back to life. The glow from their flesh is heavenly, like the light from the sun, moon, and stars combined into a single perfect moment of convergence. Vibrantly colored mist swirls around them, seeming to infuse itself in their skin. While I suspect the magic of the other Necros is dark and creepy and crude, I realize in this moment that what Xave is able to do can only be described as
beautiful
. Fear of the unknown and misunderstood will almost certainly lead to prejudice. Sometimes being open-minded is as simple as opening your eyes to that which you don’t understand.

The Reanimates push to their feet, no longer bloody and broken but whole again, and are quickly provided with weapons, facing Xavier Jackson, who stands before them, completely in control. There are children and fathers and mothers, young and old, strong and weak. They may have lost the fight, but now they have a chance to fight again, to defend their people even after death. And there’s no doubt who their master is, who they’ll follow. “Fight for me!” Xave says. Their mouths gape open and they roar their assent. Our circle of protection dissolves, and the new troop of Reanimates pour out and into the battle, hurling themselves with reckless abandon at the enemy, tearing and slicing and killing anyone who dares oppose them.

Xave’s eyes meet mine between the press of reborn bodies, and I fight my way to his side. “Thank you,” he says.

I nod. “It wasn’t what I expected,” I admit. “It was…beautiful.” Xave can’t hide the pride on his face, nor should he. I know the battle is waiting for us, but there’s something I have to know, just in case one or both of us doesn’t make it through the day. “What do you whisper to them?” I ask.

He grabs my hand and squeezes it tightly. “I give their souls a choice,” he says.

“What choice?”

Xave’s eyes seem to suck me in. “Whether to give their bodies to me. If they say no, then I bury them whenever I’m able to. You gave me the idea.”