Page 26 of Any More Questions for the Corpse?

“I could tell they just needed some answers,” Hala said. “I tried pushing them to be calm. I’m not sure my powers work on the dead, though. They were confused more than anything else—the ones that weren’t throwing up, anyway.”

“Yeah, I’m never getting that smell out my nose,” Des said, smiling wide enough to bare fang. She quickly shut her mouth to conceal them, but in the process bit down hard on her tongue. A muffled yelp through closed lips rung through the room. Mal couldn’t help but laugh.

“I keep doing that,” Des said, a pained lisp permeating her voice. Mal wanted to ask how she was doing, but knew he had to wait. They were still being watched.

“Why didn’t you turn me in?” Yu said, quite abruptly. Hala and Mal watched in silence as Des thought for a moment.

“Because you’re you.” Des didn’t realize the pun she had made until Yu gave her a sassy stare.

“And what does that mean?” Yu said, clearly unsure whether this was a compliment or not.

“I mean,” Des said, “you weren’t hurting anybody. You weren’t stealing anything, other than maybe knowledge? But I didn’t see you sell on the information or send it anywhere. You were just solitary.”

“You mean you followed me?”

“Of course I did. You were a random shapeshifter breaking into libraries all over the city. I did my due diligence. As far as I could tell you were just a passionate bookworm.”

“That’s depressingly accurate,” Yu said, folding in their annoyance with a smile.

“This must be heaven then,” Mal said, gesturing to the library they were locked in.

“You have no idea,” Yu said. “I can read whatever I want. It’s glorious.”

“Until they wipe our memory,” Hala said, rubbing her head as if it had already happened.

“They can try,” Yu said with a smile. “But I intend to get back to my studies as soon as possible.”

The group sat for a moment, the silence broken only by the roaring fire that danced on its stage within the fireplace. Mal should have been more somber, more bereft of spirit. Attacked by zombies, about to be killed, locked in a library, all terrible fates; but he couldn’t muster the sadness. He felt strangely at peace; whole, even. The silence became close to awkward and smiles filled the group’s faces as they realized. Mal had always felt like an outsider; secrets will do that to you. But with these weirdos he had no big secrets, just little ones like everyone else; embarrassing preferences and naive wants. Nothing that felt like it would end the world. Mal breathed in the moment and held the feeling in his chest. A warmth. A happiness. A zombie.

A ZOMBIE?

12Bring Out Your Dead

Stumbling out from behind a bookcase came a rotting corpse. Mal’s death sense jumpstarted and made his head so heavy he nearly dropped it on the table. The group jumped up from their chairs and backed toward the door. Des grabbed Mal and dragged him backward, causing him to tip in his chair. She pulled him to his feet and he steadily found sure footing as he stumbled backward. Several more appeared from different corners of the room. Mal had been wishing the dead would leave him alone for a decade, but now he felt the full weight of that want. The group backed up until up became a heavy wooden door. Hala pushed. It refused. No escape this time. Mal looked upon the faces of the dead as they inched toward them. He readied himself.

The door opened behind them, Walters appeared through it, as if a gallant knight. A chorus of chaos wafted in behind him.

“They’re convinced it’s not you,” Walters said. “Let’s get you out of here.”

“NoW yOu’Re CoNvInCeD. HOW?” Mal said.

“Because your eyes aren’t black and you’re not shitting ghosts, now MOVE.”

Mal didn’t have time to respond; he was swept up in the panic. Walters took the lead with the group huddled close behind: Des then Mal, Mal then Hala, Hala then Yu. A glowing aura encompassed them; Walters used it like a battering ram against the horde. They would slash and smack, then bounce violently off the aura.

Eventually, they found their way out of the cramped corridor, emerging into a vast circular room with stone pillars, vaulted arches, and a battalion of the dead. Wizards battled in pockets among the fray. Glowing auras, like the one they were in, shone out through the masses of rage and rot. Within each Mal could see wizards huddling, fighting for survival. Great sorceries were flung from altered eyes and extended hands; fireballs cooked corpses; lightning bolts skewered and severed. But the dead don’t care for damage. Mal spotted the statue of Hecate at the center of the room, a stone beacon, watching with indifference. He had to do something, but what? He’d held about twelve zombies at once in the moth library and he’d nearly passed out. What use was that against a hundred? It didn’t matter; he had to do something.

He dug deep, delving into his memories, and found that which did not belong. If this was a movie or one of his fantasy books, now is when Mal would conjure some great and unexpected magic and save the day. Regardless of his lack of training, or initial reluctance, he would just win with the force of his plucky attitude and untapped potential. Why wasn’t that happening now? Maybe he needed to be pluckier.

Mal couldn’t wait any longer. Fuck it, he thought. His eyes turned black; shadows lapped and echoed his edges.

The zombies stopped dead. A sickening silence filled the air, softened only by the heavy breaths of battle-tired witches and wizards. Slowly, the bodies turned. Creaking, and churning. To stare at Mal.

“Mal, what are you doing?” Des said, terror gripping her being.

“I’m not doing anything,” Mal said. The group would have screamed if there’d been air in their lungs, or ran if there’d been strength in their legs, but neither could be found. Then, a hideous rush of bodies—a hundred or more—sprinted with fierce determination.

Straight out the front door.