“I don’t think it’s nice, Chloe. I think whatever this thing you and Skyla have going on is downrightbizarre.”
“She’ll get over it. We’ve been arguing like an old married couple all week. It’s cabin fever, and believe you me, I’m sick of her shit, too. Kate and the rest of the dead-on-arrival gang should liven things up a bit.” She leans back and attempts to comb her fingers through Kate’s hair. The tiara Kate’s mother planted over her skull clings for dear life. But Kate stares off straight ahead, her lips mouthing the same thing over and over again at a frenetic pace. If I didn’t know better, I’d think it was my mother’sname.
It does beg the question. What have you done now,Mother?
Logan
The fog shroudsitself around the cemetery like a faithful witness as body after body is slowly exhumed from the ground, and from the mausoleum as well. In the future, I might suggest my brother bury anyone with a drop of Nephilim blood inside that den of easily accessible corpses in the event Skyla feels the need to summon the dead once again. Skyla has made it abundantly clear that this is her baby. Chloe didn’t play into the decision making one bit. In fact, Chloe isn’t exactly helping with any part of the process, and it makes me wonder if she wants to absolve herself of malfeasance altogether. Instead, she sits back with our old—newly resurrected friend, Kate, watching her mime out a conversation and laughing her ass off. Poor Kate has signaled that she wanted paper and a pen, but Chloe couldn’t be bothered. Why put someone out of their misery when you can torment them for hours? I would have helped Kate out hours ago myself, but, as it is, I’m covered with dirt, sweat, and blood. The blood is my own from a cut I incurred while prying open a crypt. Who knew I could bleed? I guess I’m a real boy afterall.
“Logan.” Skyla waves me over to the precipice where she’s standing. “Look at that.” She marvels at the small mounds Gage is tapping down with a shovel to minimize the damage we’ve done. “It’s not that bad. I can’t believe he’s gone back over every single hole we’ve dug and smoothed itover.”
“You sound proud ofhim.”
“I’m”—her lips screw up in a fit of confusion—“I’m just saying he’s going the extra mile.” She slaps her hands over her jeans. Whether or not Skyla wants to acknowledge it, she’s getting her figure back to her pre-pregnancy state. She looks great, and she’s a great mother like I always knew she’d be. “Can you believe this?” She looks over at the crowd of the walking dead, each in their formal prom-like attire. They all look pretty damn good as a whole, which is a testament to Barron’s embalming skills. “They didn’t all choose to come.” She wraps an arm around my waist. “Once I tapped their gravestone, I suppose they had a decision to make. And to be honest, I didn’t think this many would show. Not on this grandscale.”
“One hundred ninety-two bodies. The oldest of which was born in 1805.” I should know, I’m keeping track and keeping them from straying as Drake and Ethan help transport them all in our trucks over to the house that Gage and Skyla purchased last fall. Yes, it will be crowded as hell, andfeellike hell since they’ve all been privy to paradise, but, as Skyla pointed out, it’s far more spacious than a casket. Collectively they look stiff, but as the early hours of the morning fast approach, they’ve been testing out their old bodies, stretching and jogging in place as if readying for a marathon. Their voices, however, aren’t louder than a whisper, which is something that I’m hoping will clear up once those vocal cords get lubed up once again. The whispering phenomenon could be enough to trip up the feds long before we’reready.
“Amazing.” She offers a firm squeeze to my ribs. “And they understand completely that they’ll be ushered right back to eternity once their calling is through. The only thing I’m unsure about is”—she lowers her voice to a whisper—“God, Logan, what if they feel pain? I don’t see why they wouldn’t, but I hadn’t really considered it. That would be just as bad as putting the living throughit.”
“That may be so, but for them it’s a mission. They’ve got one task to complete, and they’re doing it for the good of the living. I think your biggest problem is sitting right over there.” I nod back to where Chloe is doing her best to remove that scarf poor Kate scrambled to retrieve. A rotten thing to do, considering it’s what’s securing Kate’s head to the rest ofher.
“Chloe won’t tell.” Skyla wraps her arm around mine like a vine. “I own her. I own Chloe Bishop.” Her voice drops into its lower octave, dark and seductive, as if the prospect of owning Chloe left her sexually charged. “She is my bitch just the way Godintended.”
“Things are going to end badly.” The words weren’t even necessary. At this point, anyone can surmiseit.
“They would haveanyway.”
Just as I’m about to beg Skyla for a hint on the dirt she has on Chloe, or perhaps more to the point the kinds of promises she might have made to her—and either has to be big in order for Chloe to do her bidding—one of the older gentlemen near me coughs explosively into his hand. You have to give it to them, still considering others when it comes to germs. There are some hygienic practices not even death can beat out ofyou.
He leans in toward Skyla and me. “I was just saying it used to snow on Paragon—big giant heaps of”—he gags and bucks forward as a stream of neon green vomit spews from hismouth.
“Shit.” I pull Skyla back as a chunky waterfall of putrid barf splatters through theair.
A collective groan works its way through the crowd as body after body doubles over and pukes right where they’restanding.
“Oh no.” Skyla covers her mouth with her hand as throngs of those long-deceased bathe the ground in a sea of vomit. “Shit, shit, shit!” She jumps back, and just as I’m about to grab a hose from the side of the mausoleum, Barron pops up—about as unwanted as a puking corpse in acemetery.
Crap. “Hey, Barron.” I give a quick nod his way as if our little corner of the world weren’t falling to shit. “What brings you outtonight?”
“It’s morning in the event you haven’t noticed.” That mean glare he’s casting my way says it all. My brother has always been a man of few words, studious to a fault, and a peaceful, amicable soul. But, at the moment, he’s raging-bull mad, ready to fire off his anger at the first familiar face he comes across, and as fate would have it, that would beme.
“What in the world is going on, Logan?” His voice shakes with fury. His glasses steam up, and it has nothing to do with the fog. “Why are you having a party in the middle of the cemetery, and why in God’s name are they all regurgitating their dinner at the very sametime?”
Skyla buries her face in her hands a moment. “We’re not having a party, Dr. Oliver.” I’ve always thought it was sweet the way she continues to call him by his proper name. She’s his daughter-in-law now. She could easily call him Barron, orDadif she liked. “And they’re not regurgitating their dinner. I’m pretty sure it’s those embalming fluids you filled them up with. These people are actually athome. You see—Logan and Gage dug them up from their respectivegraves.”
I blink her way, stunned at how easily she threw both Gage and me under the bus—and I also find it cute ashell.
Technically, she’s right. It was Gage and I that did all the heavy lifting, but I can’t help but chuckle at the thought of Skyla omitting herself from the tragedyunfolding.
“Fine.” She smacks me over the arm. “It was myidea.”
Barron’s eyes bug out like a pair of golf balls. “Holy shit.” He does a quick spin into the crowd as the bodies fall to the ground and pant forwater.
I’ve heard Barron shed an expletive or two in my day, but they are rare and few between, and usually signify a shitload of trouble—case inpoint.
He leans in to inspect the moaning crowd. “My God, these are people I’ve buried! The legal ramifications of unearthing the dead are innumerous. Are you insane?” He stops short as he spots his son nestled among the gravestones. “Gage Oliver! Get back here right thisminute!”
Gage does a double take before tossing down his equipment and doing as he’stold.
