Chapter 4
For a second, nobody spoke.
The forge gave off a low, leftover warmth. Metal tools lay in neat rows, silent and patient, like they were waiting for a hand to pick them up and start shaping certainty out of chaos. I would have loved some certainty. Even a small, affordable amount.
Tegan’s expression tightened, eyes narrowing as if she could stare hard enough to force the universe to make sense.
Nishi went very still, the way she did when she was doing ten things at once in her head.
Faith’s jaw set, her whole body shifting into that ready stance that meant she was one surprise away from violence.
Eve’s fingers kept returning to her necklace, not fidgeting exactly, more like checking it was still there.
Andel watched us all, cautious again, like he’d said too much.
I cleared my throat. “Okay. So we’ve established the death magic is weird, and the necromancer is unusual. That’s… not comforting.”
Faith’s eyes flicked to me. “Save the humor.”
“I’m not sure I can,” I said. “It’s either sarcasm or sobbing. I’m trying to be considerate.”
Eve opened her mouth to respond, but her phone buzzed in her hand.
She glanced down, and her face changed. The tension in her shoulders turned brittle. Her lips parted.
“What?” Faith demanded.
Eve’s gaze lifted, locking onto all of us. “Hunter.”
My stomach dropped before she even read it out loud.
Eve’s voice went tight. “Another attack. Downtown.”
Nishi’s ring turned once, fast. “Location?”
Eve’s eyes flicked to the screen again. “On the main street. There are mundanes.”
Of course it was downtown.
Because if you were going to unleash undead chaos, why not pick the place with the most witnesses, the most phone cameras, and the highest chance of someone doing a livestream with dramatic music.
Eve swallowed. “He says people are filming. Social media is going crazy.”
I felt something cold and heavy settle in my stomach. That was not fear of the undead. That was fear of the internet.
Faith swore under her breath, vicious. “We’re going.”
Tegan’s gaze snapped up. “Now.”
Andel stepped forward, brow furrowing. “Downtown. That’s too open.”
“That’s the point,” Nishi said. Her voice stayed calm, but her eyes were hard. “Whoever is doing this wants exposure.”
Eve’s phone buzzed again. She glanced down, and her breath hitched.
“What?” I asked, already hating the answer.
“Several mundanes have been killed,” Eve said quietly.
The workshop seemed to tilt for a second. Like my body didn’t like the idea and tried to refuse it.
I had seen death. I had dealt with death. I had smelled it in quiet rooms and held it in my hands like a fragile thing that could be guided gently. This was not gentle. This was screaming in public.
Tegan’s face went pale, then she did what she always did when fear tried to take her. She got practical.
“Spencer,” she said, already pulling out her phone. “I’m calling Spencer.”
Faith started toward the door. “Do it on the way.”
Tegan didn’t move. Her fingers were already tapping the screen, calling. Her eyes stayed fixed, focused. “No. Right now.”
She lifted the phone to her ear, jaw tight. “Spencer. It’s me.”
A pause. I could hear Spencer’s voice through the speaker, urgent.
Tegan spoke fast. “There has been a downtown attack. Mundanes are filming. We need Delia.”
Another pause, then Spencer’s voice rose.
“Yes,” Tegan said. “Bring her. Bring reinforcements. Now. Please.”
Her voice softened on that last word. Not because she was weak. Because she was a mother with a sick kid at home, and she needed her husband to move like his life depended on it. Maybe it did.
She ended the call and looked up at us. “He’s getting Delia.”
Eve’s mouth tightened. “Good.”
Nishi was already texting, fingers flying. “My hunters will converge. I’ll have teams sweep streets and alleys. We stop the spread.”
Faith shot her a look. “Get going. We will meet you there.”
Nishi nodded once.
Andel stepped toward a workbench, opening a drawer with quick ease. He pulled out a handful of thin metal spikes, each etched with runes so fine they looked like hairline cracks.
He held them out to Nishi. “These are binding nails. If these are tethered into the bodies, it might interrupt the masking spell long enough to drop them.”
Faith reached for them too, but Andel’s gaze slid to her, wary.
Eve took a half step forward. “Andel.”
He handed the spikes to Nishi. “I’m not coming.”
Faith’s brows lifted. “Shocking.”
Andel ignored her. “If this is beyond typical death magic, my presence won’t fix it. You need speed and containment. Call me if you find anything that doesn’t belong. Ash. Metal. Residue. Anything.”
I watched his expression as he spoke, looking for tells. For guilt. For fear. For anything that suggested he knew more than he was saying.
All I saw was calculation and fear.
Maybe that was just him.
“Fine,” I said, because standing in his workshop debating his motives while people died downtown was not a great use of time.
Andel’s mouth tightened. “Go.”
We moved as a unit, spilling out of the workshop.
Faith took the lead, keys in hand, moving with the precision of someone who had lived through too many nights like this.
Nishi slid into her SUV, already on the phone, voice low as she issued orders to hunters I couldn’t see.
Tegan climbed into our vehicle with Eve and me, her movements brisk, controlled.
Faith started the engine and peeled out, tires grabbing pavement.
I braced myself as we surged into the street, the city’s noise hitting us in a wave.
Sirens. Shouts. Car horns. The ugly soundtrack of chaos.
As we drove, I saw clusters of mundanes standing on corners, phones raised, faces lit by their screens.
Their expressions were a mix of terror and excitement, which made me want to scream.
I understood fear. I understood shock. I did not understand the part of the human brain that saw danger and thought, content.
Faith cut through side streets, avoiding congestion. Her hands stayed on the wheel. Her eyes did not.
“You good?” I asked, because Faith rarely admitted weakness, but I could see the tension in her shoulders.
“I’m fine,” she answered automatically.
I stared at her.
Eve leaned forward from the back seat, phone in hand, reading updates. “Hunter says the undead are faster this time.”
My stomach tightened. “Faster than what?”
“Faster than the first wave,” Eve said. “They’re not just lunging. They’re running.”
Tegan’s voice went tight. “That’s not possible.”
I glanced at her. “Tonight has been a long series of impossible.”
Faith turned quickly at an intersection, the SUV rocking. “What about Victor?”
Eve glanced down. “Victor’s on scene with SNPD officers. He’s trying to contain the crowd, but people won’t stop filming.”
Of course Victor was there. Chief Thornwood did not hide when things got messy. He walked into it as if it owed him answers.
The downtown lights appeared ahead, brighter and busier than the quiet streets near my basement suite. Neon signs. Street lamps. Shop windows reflecting the chaos back at itself.
Then we heard the screaming.
It wasn’t one scream. It was many, layered, overlapping, breaking into sobs and yelling.
Faith slammed on the brakes, then maneuvered around a police cruiser parked at an angle, lights flashing.
“Stay close,” she snapped.
“Yes, Mom,” I muttered, then immediately regretted it when she shot me a look that could turn water to ice.
We piled out of the SUV.
The air downtown smelled like exhaust and cold pavement, but underneath that was something worse.
Blood.
Not the copper hint you got from a nosebleed. This was thicker. Heavy. It made the back of my throat taste like pennies.
Mundanes crowded the sidewalks behind a line of officers trying to hold them back. Phones were raised above heads like tiny glowing torches. Someone was shouting into their camera, voice high with adrenaline.
“It’s real! It’s real! Look at this!”
I pushed forward, weaving through bodies, trying not to shove anyone unless I had to. Faith moved beside me like a shadow, shoulders squared, scanning.
Eve and Tegan followed, and I could feel Nishi’s presence somewhere to our right, moving fast, already coordinating hunters into positions.
Then I saw the first body.
A man sprawled on the pavement near a café patio, his jacket twisted under him. His eyes were open, glassy. Blood pooled beneath his head, dark on the concrete.
I stopped short, breath catching.
The next body was near the curb, half hidden by a trash bin. A woman, one shoe missing, hair stuck to her cheek with blood.
My stomach rolled. Rage flared. Not controlled, not elegant, just hot anger that the dead were taking the living as if it were entertainment.
Victor Thornwood stood near the center of it all, tall and commanding, his presence cutting through the chaos like a blade. He wore a tailored black suit that somehow stayed crisp while the world burned around him. His steely eyes tracked the crowd, then flicked toward us.
When his gaze landed on me, it focused, assessing. Then it shifted to Faith and Eve.
“About time,” he called, voice carrying without shouting.
Faith’s jaw tightened. “We came as fast as we could.”
Victor’s mouth tightened too. “We need to get the cameras down. We have too many witnesses.”
Eve moved closer, eyes scanning the street. “We’ve called for Delia. She’s coming.”
Victor’s gaze flicked to the filming mundanes, frustration hardening his features. “Good. Because if this hits mainstream channels, we’re done. They’ll have reporters here by sunrise.”
A scream rose near the far end of the block.
Then another.
Victor’s gaze snapped toward it. His shadow stretched slightly across the pavement, longer than it should have been under the streetlights.
“Incoming,” he said, voice tight.
And then they came.
Three undead figures burst from an alley as if they’d been shot out of a cannon. They moved wrong, but fast. Too fast.