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“And if I don’t?” Hugo pointed to the shambling ghouls. “Do I end up like them?”
Thaddeus adjusted his tricorn hat and didn’t answer.
“Do I? Do I end up like them?” Hugo’s eyebrows furled, and anger filled his face.
Thaddeus focused on the purple house. “You know, when I was alive, only the wealthy lived in a house this big. Consider yourself lucky.”
Hugo took two steps, pounding his feet onto the porch. He snarled, displaying his elongated vampire fangs. “Answer my question.”
Thaddeus glared at Hugo, unfazed by his display of force. He moved closer to Hugo. His imposing, burly figure towered over Hugo. The two stood inches from each other, neither backing down.
A rush of anxiety and aggression surged through Hugo. His chest would be pounding if he had a pumping heart. Odd. Even though he was dead, his soul still held the rush of living.
Is this what they’re trying to remove from me . . . ? The last sensation of living?
Hugo clenched his fists, ready to strike.
Take him. Take him now.
“Spin around,” Thaddeus commanded.
“What?” Hugo replied, never flinching. “I’m not spinning around. You back away.”
“Let me show you something. Spin around.”
“No. I’m not spinning.”
Thaddeus clutched Hugo’s left shoulder and pulled, contorting Hugo’s body. He stuck two fingers into Hugo’s back, in the hole where he was impaled with the wooden stake. “Do you see this? No, of course you cannot see this. Imagine it or glance at the smaller hole in your chest.”
“What are you doing to me?”
“There is a hole in your back. I take it whatever made this hole killed you.” Thaddeus let go of Hugo’s shoulder.
Hugo stumbled before regaining his composure. “Don’t ever stick your hand into me again.”
“Or what? You will kill me twice? The hole in your back means you are dead, and when you are dead, you have two options here. First option is to end up like them.” Thaddeus pointed to the shambling ghouls. “The second option is to end up like me. They are not great options, but they are the ones we have. I am here to make sure you end up like me. You got it?”
The anger washed away from Hugo’s face. His jaw drooped and head swirled. Thoughts raced through his mind. Thoughts of never seeing Alice’s face again. Never holding Max. Ending up like those . . .creatures. He relaxed his fists as they trembled from the fear taking hold.
“What do you mean ‘end up like you?’ ”
“A survivor,” Thaddeus said. He pointed to the carriage. “You are special to her. She assigned me to you specifically becauseI am good at what I do, so I figured maybe we can help each other.”
Thaddeus smacked Hugo on the shoulder with his meaty hand. Hugo’s knees nearly buckled under the weight of the blow, caught off by the gesture. Hugo brushed it aside and caught himself. He rubbed his shoulder where the sting of Thaddeus’ smack still echoed throughout his body.
Thaddeus continued, “She is conjuring up something. Something big. So, I figured I have two options. I do a good job, and she rewards me . . . or I have another survivor who can help me escape.”
“What’s your big plan for escaping?” Hugo asked.
“I do not know yet,” Thaddeus replied. “But right now, survival is the game. It does not matter which option you pick. Join her or survive long enough to help me. Either way, I win. I figured whatever makes you special could help me escape.”
In a thousand-yard stare, Hugo focused on the black carriage. “Who is she?”
Thaddeus leaned against the porch railing. “Madeline Sinclair.”
“Madeline Sinclair?” Hugo asked. “The founder of my town?”
“She is a banshee,” Thaddeus said. “She commands this army of the dead.”
