Chapter 28
Chapter
Twenty-Eight
S tella trailed behind the floating ghosts of the three Medfield patients while holding the poppet tight against her chest.
She reminded herself that her previous ghostly encounter had worked out great. Abby never would have been rescued from seventeenth-century Salem if not for the valuable intel provided by Bridget Bishop’s ghost. Hopefully this odd trio would be equally helpful.
Stella’s rationalization, however, faltered on one critical point. Bridget had been comparatively sane. The three ghosts who were leading her, Ethan, Hawk, and Abby away from Building R had fallen into an unsettling pattern of babbling nonsense then breaking into maniacal laughter.
“Do we trust them?” Ethan whispered, bending close to Stella’s ear. “They’re not well.”
“Do we have a choice?” she whispered back.
“I think we do.” He glanced behind him at Building R, which was disappearing into the darkness.
“My mother wouldn’t lead us into trouble,” Stella said, and she clung to that belief like a lifeline.
She had to believe they’d come to the right place on the right night to do the right thing: the thing her mother had tried to do herself, and failed. Stop the Collector. End the carnage.
“Just in case,” Abby said. “Do you have that blackthorn handy?”
Stella reached into her back pocket and pulled out the two-inch, woody thorn. She had yet to attempt injury on her father—not because she was squeamish or emotionally conflicted, but because she believed she needed to do it when their confrontation was imminent.
This felt imminent.
She stabbed the blackthorn through the poppet’s heart. Twice.
“That’s it?” Hawk asked when Stella slipped the blackthorn back into her pocket.
“That’s a start,” Stella said.
“I thought the magic would be more…I don’t know… showy ,” he said.
“It’s quiet magic,” Stella said. “It’s not supposed to draw attention.”
“But he’ll definitely feel it,” Ethan said, weaving his fingers together with Stella’s. “Trust me.”
His tone reminded her that she’d once slept with the poppet she’d made in Ethan’s image, and it had caused both of them to have some pretty vivid, very sensory dreams.
The ghostly trio cackled, apropos of nothing.
“ Jesus ,” Ethan whispered.
“How much farther?” Abby asked.
“Here,” the ghosts announced, stopping in front of a large building. They slowly rotated to face them in creepy, hovering synchronicity.
Stella looked up at the building. Like all the others, it was constructed of red brick. The center section had a gabled peak, and two wings stretched out to the left and right.
The windows under the gable were boarded up, but the tall narrow windows in the two wings were mostly intact.
The building’s entrance was protected by a wooden pillared porch, which these days looked to be in need of its own rescue.
“What is this place?” Stella asked.
“The ward for excited women,” explained the first ghost. She jerked her head toward the hospital ward while yanking at her short hair.
“Excited women?” Abby asked, sounding like she was bracing for the response.
“Those needing restraint,” Ethan whispered. “That’s why they’re all wearing strong dresses.”
Stella took another look at what the three ghosts were wearing. She’d assumed the plain gray dresses with their quilted bodices were simply hospital-issued uniforms.
“The dresses were filled with weights,” Ethan said. “One step down from straitjackets.”
The ghosts’ eyes turned impossibly dark, and they held up their hands, palms facing out. The unbuttoned cuffs of their dresses fell open, revealing skin that had been rubbed raw. The third ghost still had a strap tied tightly around her left wrist.
“Tell me again why we need to go in there?” Hawk asked.
Stella gave the poppet another stab, and three pairs of black eyes snapped to her.
“That won’t kill him,” said the second ghost.
“I don’t expect it to,” Stella said, tucking the poppet into the back of her jeans. “But if I can wound him, I’m going to try.”
The third ghost smiled and pointed at the entrance. “You are to wait for him in there.”
“So, he’s not here yet?” Ethan asked.
“In there,” the first ghost said.
“You’re sure that’s what my mother wants us to do?” Stella asked, needing to hear it confirmed before she set foot on that crumbling porch. By the looks of it, it would be a miracle if they didn’t fall right through the floorboards.
“You are lucky your family wants you,” the second ghost said. “Not all of us are so fortunate.”
“You can’t trust family,” the first ghost moaned, long and forlorn.
“What did happen to you?” Abby asked as if she’d been waiting for an opportunity to ask.
“I got sad,” the second ghost said. “Then I got mad.”
“Not every man can handle sad,” the first ghost said. “They think you’re mad.”
“Was that the same for you?” Abby asked the third ghost.
“I stabbed the garden club president,” the third ghost said.
“ Christ ,” Hawk muttered.
“She survived,” the third ghost snapped. “ I’m the one who died.”
“Not for long,” the first ghost said.
“ Ohhhhhh ,” the third ghost moaned mournfully, and she looked up at the ward.
Stella didn’t want to burst their bubble, especially if they believed death was a temporary situation. Right now, the only thing Stella wanted was to get inside the building.
She might not have detected the Collector’s scent yet, but the creepy-crawly shiver down the backs of her legs told her he’d be there soon. And if her mother wanted them to wait inside the Excited Women’s Ward, well… She looked up at the gabled roof. So be it.
The ward was a decent spot. Any of its windows would give them a perfect view of the grounds, regardless which direction the Collector came from.
She stabbed the poppet again for good measure and, this time, gave the thorn a vicious twist.
Meanwhile, in Building R…
Stryker climbed over a pile of unconscious zombies and broken sheetrock, jamming his shoulder against the wall.
Jade had used some crazy-ass spell to bring the ceiling down on top of the zombies that were blocking the stairs, and while it had temporarily buried the enemy, it also made it harder for the rest of them to escape the hallway.
If Stryker didn’t break his own legs trying to climb the hell out of there, maybe, just maybe, they’d survive.
“Shift?” Dylan asked as Stella and Izzy continued to shoot spells at the zombies at the opposite end of the hall.
“Not yet,” Stryker said. There already wasn’t enough room to maneuver. Their wolf bodies would be like two furry corks in the bottleneck. “Once we get to the cafeteria.”
“How?” Jade asked as she shot off another explosive spell.
“Sheer will,” Stryker said as he reached the top of the debris pile and saw the stairs on the other side.
One of the zombies popped out of the pile of debris, and Stryker snapped off its head with his bare hands.
“Let’s go!” He raced for the stairs with Dylan, Izzy, and Jade clambering over the pile right behind him, but they weren’t home free yet.
They tore into the cafeteria. The space was large. Open. Mostly free of obstacles. The tables that once filled the space were folded up against the wall, though a stainless steel counter was still mounted in place and stacked with metal trays. An ancient looking refrigerator stood in the corner.
The floor was grimy and tiled with wide grout lines. Good for traction.
“Now?” Dylan asked.
“Now,” Stryker said, wondering when they’d decided—in Hawk’s absence—that he should be the default alpha.
Dylan shifted first and fastest, but Stryker was right behind him. Within seconds, he had four paws on the floor, and he licked his razor sharp teeth.
The cafeteria was dark, lit only by the moonlight reflecting off the stainless steel, but Stryker could tell that Jade and Izzy were crouched nearby with their hands held up in front of them.
He didn’t know if those were their offensive or defensive postures, but he was hoping for the former. He hadn’t been able to count how many zombies had been in the hallway in front of the witches. He only knew there had been more than five on the stairs.
As far as he could tell, nine and three-quarters zombies were pushing through the double doors into the cafeteria. Their gray, swampy figures were poised for the fight, even the one who was missing its head. Stryker could smell the green ooze pouring out of the cracked melon.
“Whose handiwork is that?” Jade asked, clearly referring to the oozy figure.
Stryker growled and snapped his teeth.
“If that’s what you do with your bare hands,” Izzy said. “Consider my optimism renewed.”
The witches’ ability to keep their humor light had the same renewing effect on Stryker.
The zombie at the front of the Collector’s reanimated army made a hand gesture that seemed to communicate “Charge!” because they all ran into the cafeteria, and the fight was on.
Jade shot both arms out toward the refrigerator and threw it at two oncoming zombies like the industrial appliance weighed nothing at all, though the sound of its landing dispelled that illusion. After that she was throwing cafeteria trays like ninja throwing stars.
Izzy jumped straight up into the air—a leap that would impress an NBA scout—and grabbed hold of a light fixture. Her weight pulled it off the ceiling, and she yanked out the wiring that dangled from the hole.
The wiring, which probably hadn’t been connected to a power source in decades, suddenly came alive with an ecstatic sizzling.
What she did next, Stryker couldn’t tell because he had his own attackers to worry about, but the choking sound made him think she’d created an electrified garrote.
Stryker pulled his lips back from his teeth. A tingling sensation ran down his spine as the fur on his back bristled.
The zombie that was headed for him threw his arms out wide as if he meant to grab Stryker around the chest. It was an obvious move and one Stryker had seen before. He dodged out of the way and grabbed the zombie around the neck from behind, closing his massive jaws with a lethal snap.
Bitter zombie ooze ran down the back of Stryker’s throat.
Dylan snarled and tore at another zombie, taking the dismemberment route.
A blast of light filled the room, fizzing and popping and temporarily blinding Stryker.
Cold clammy arms closed around his chest. He could feel the damp right through his fur.
Stryker writhed and twisted, trying to break free of the zombie’s grip.
Somewhere off to his right, a body crumpled to the ground. He couldn’t tell who or what.
The floor was now so slick with zombie blood that Stryker’s paws slipped under him, unable to get purchase on the tiled floor.
The zombie tightened his arms around Stryker’s chest, and he struggled to breathe.
He tried to pull oxygen into his lungs, but he was only getting the thinnest of streams, and if the room wasn’t already so dark, he would have thought he was going blind.
“There’s more coming!” Izzy cried as a blue jet of magic sliced through the cafeteria.
A terrified scream rent the night, but Stryker couldn’t tell where it was coming from. It sounded a helluva lot like Abby.