Page 41 of Death Makes the Heart Grow Fonder

I swallowed hard, forcing breath into my lungs. “Yes.”

Spencer’s eyes flashed red. “Then we cut the line. Tell me where.”

I shook my head, frustrated. “It’s not a physical line. It’s… influence. It’s woven.”

Eve’s hellfire flared brighter, ready. “Then we stop filming and burn them.”

Mina’s voice rose, urgent. “No. Wait. We need ten more seconds. Just ten. We can use this.”

Faith stared at Mina as if she wanted to throw her into the van. “You don’t get to call the timing.”

Mina’s grin faltered, then she nodded quickly. “Okay. Sorry. But please.”

I closed my eyes for one beat, gathered myself, and reached for the undead woman again.

Cold flooded my veins.

The tether fought me, harder this time.

I pushed anyway, forcing her head to turn, forcing her arms to lift in a slow, exaggerated shamble.

Like an actor obeying direction.

My vision blurred at the edges.

Mina’s crew filmed, Mina narrating in a bright voice that barely hid her fear. “See. This is the choreography. We rehearsed this. We had safety nails. It looks real because we’re good at special effects.”

Delia moved through the crowd again, weaving suggestion into Mina’s words. “Special effects. Student film. A stunt.”

Some mundanes lowered their phones, blinking as if they’d woken from a nightmare into embarrassment.

Others kept filming, because some people clung to horror as if it were a hobby.

The undead woman jerked suddenly, my control slipping for a half second.

Her head snapped toward me, jaw opening wide.

A sound rose from her throat, not a groan.

A laugh.

Wet, broken, wrong.

The tether yanked hard enough that pain flashed behind my eyes again.

I stumbled back, breath ragged.

Faith slammed another nail down near the undead woman’s knee, anchoring her further. “Enough.”

Eve’s hellfire surged, ready to end the experiment.

Mina’s eyes went wide. Her grin vanished. She looked, finally, like a twenty-two-year-old who realized she was standing too close to death.

Delia’s gaze stayed on me, voice low. “You can’t hold them.”

“I can,” I rasped, furious at myself, furious at the unseen pull, furious at whoever was doing this. “I just can’t hold them alone.”

And that was the terrifying part.