Hidden Spark (Dark Magic Enforcer Book 6) (26 page)

We kicked and we punched, and those that could, blasted. I tried not to collapse under the weight of my magic abuse, holding on to the tiny wisp of the Empty that was all I could maintain as I punched and elbowed and generally did all I could to fend off the encroaching hordes without getting bitten.

Dancer slashed and head butted, did a few nifty roundhouse kicks which is no mean feat in a suit as tight as his, and everyone pitched in to communally wipe the floor with the unfortunate living dead that may or may not have been Dragon's followers, and certainly didn't care that he was dead while in the throes of zombie hunger.

They kept coming, we kept fighting back, until the stairs were a walkway of broken bodies, decapitated, or heads caved in, and then we were done.

"Everyone get out, quick as you can. Someone tell that fool in the library to get ready at the door, and I'll be down in a minute. Tell him to wait and for god's sake please try not to look outside if you value your sanity." Dancer spoke like a true leader and he impressed me.

He was a mess, same as we all were, but he and I had stood as the vanguard, dealing with the horde, Persimmon behind us, backed up by the other survivors.

He was soaked in blood, clothes torn. Once white shirt now as red as the fresh blood that soaked his face, and I knew I was probably looking even worse. Standing in a dream, I think I smiled as everyone left, patting us on the back, dazed and confused as a goblin when it gets a compliment.

The only sounds were the murmurs of the Hidden survivors, the squeaks of the gremlins, the clanging of rock snapping back into place as the trolls finally got their act together, and our own ragged, belabored breathing. One by one they left.

Then it was just me, Dancer, and Persimmon.

"Nice job, guys," she said. She stood on tiptoe, kissed Dancer on the lips, then did the same to me. It felt tingly, tasted of promise and blood, and she made her way down the stairs, avoiding the worst of the gangrenous flesh, rotting fast now the virus could no longer keep its hold on the undead, turning necrotic and nasty, then dissolving to goo on the carpet.

"God, what a sight," said Dancer, cheeks flushed. I don't think it was from exertion, though, more from the sight of Persimmon's behind.

"Tell me about it. It's like heaven in denim, or maybe hell. She's a beautiful woman but a panther shifter, boss. She'd eat you alive."

"I wouldn't mind. Help me get my things from the office. This place is done now, we won't be coming back.

"Sure. Well, that was... interesting."

"It was, wasn't it?"

Yeah, we're the masters of understatement. What can I say? That's just how we roll.

Uh-Oh

"The wyrmlings will be back," said Dancer, rifling through his desk, looking like a corpse, just a lot more unwell.

"And when they come I'll be right by your side, or maybe just a little behind you. But we'll stand and fight them together. Boss."

"Thanks, Spark, you're a true friend."

"Who said anything about being a friend? You'll have to pay me." Dancer hardly even looked shocked, just sad. Damn, I forgot he missed the sense of humor gene and doubled up on the take-things-too-seriously one. "It was a joke. We're friends, and we look out for each other. Now, and always."

"Thank you. So you were kidding about the being paid bit?" He stuffed a few papers and odds and ends into his pockets, groaning and looking decidedly green. What the hell was wrong with him? Yes, it had been bad, but we'd been through worse. Um, actually, I don't think we had.

"Of course. Don't you know that I'm rich?"

"Ah, the dwarf gold. I forgot."

Dancer made to come around the desk, but my body went into action before I could even begin to process what I was seeing.

My eyes snapped to black so hard that my teeth rattled and pain like the worst migraine lanced my brain as I lifted my arm without realizing. My hand flipped up, fingers pointing to the ceiling, my palm facing him, and I shot a flat repressive disk of holding magic right at him. This was the utter dregs of my magic, only available because of the shock and despair I felt seconds before I acted.

Dancer was motionless, face contorted with surprise and a little pain, but I hadn't hit him to kill him, couldn't if I wanted to. Just enough to make him stop moving. I lowered my arm, as surprised by my actions as him, but I knew something he didn't and I guess my survival instinct had kicked in.

"Do not move," I ordered. "Do not take a single step, do not try to escape, and for all that's holy do not try to bite me."

Dancer shifted, looking freaked that I'd lost the plot, and I hit him again with the same blast, just another warning to remain still.

"What the hell, Spark? We talk about being buddies and you blast me with the dark arts? I'm your boss, your friend, what are you doing?"

"Look at your arm," I said, clenching my jaw so I wouldn't cry, or maybe just kill him there and then.

Dancer frowned and looked from me to his left arm, the first moment he'd had to take stock of how he'd fared after the wyrmlings sickening attack.

"Shit."

"I'm sorry, dude, I really am. So sorry."

Dancer studied his arm again, disbelief then acceptance then anger then fear all passing across his face. He looked up, and said, "I'm bitten?"

"Yeah, afraid so."

Then I thought to check my own body, hurting so much from the escapades of the night and day and the damn fighting it was impossible to tell just by thinking about where it hurt because it hurt everywhere.

"There," said Dancer with a world of sadness behind his words. He pointed down.

My bloodied, gore-stained trousers were torn just above my right thigh. Not wanting to accept what I knew was the truth, I ripped away the material, revealing a large and deep bite mark, a perfect imprint of a strong set of teeth where they'd broken the skin.

"Double shit," I said.

"Tell me about it." Dancer moved to my side. I didn't try to stop him this time.

All around us was the stench of death and our own fear. The air tasted sour, like stale sweat mixed with rotten flesh, and we stood, facing each other, wind blowing our hair as an otherworldly breeze gusted through the trashed window, revealing a nightmarish vision of a no-place, the exterior of Council HQ that was sited in a magical realm beyond the reach of Regulars.

But it hadn't been enough, it hadn't protected those inside. Many were dead, many were dying, many more were saved thanks to us, and no thanks to Dragon.

"So, we're zombies?" he asked, saying the words both of us were afraid to utter.

"Well, not yet, but we will be soon." I replied.

"Unless..." Dancer's face brightened.

"Unless what?"

Dancer collapsed, which was hardly surprising. I just hoped that he had an answer, because I knew for a fact I didn't.

The End

The next book in the series is... Drum roll please...
Dead Spark
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