Jeaniene Frost - One Grave at a Time

“ Now I broke your ankle,” I told her.

Sarah wailed in earnest, but though I wasn’t worried about us being discovered, it was hurting my ears. I slapped a hand over her mouth.

“Quit crying before I really give you something to cry about.”

That old parental threat worked. She stuffed back her loud sobs and tried to claw her way up my arm to stand. I debated shoving her away but decided that it would take longer to get to Kramer if she was hopping and stumbling on one foot, so I let her brace herself against me. She didn’t speak, but her thoughts were a hateful mix of crazy static and delight when contemplating how I was going to burn, first on earth, then in hell.

Charming.

“Either you keep up or I leave you behind, I don’t care which,” I said, and started to walk. I wasn’t sure if I was going in the right direction, but if Kramer was out here, he might have seen our crash landing. The ghost would know to be studying the sky, unlike the families in the maze and the surrounding farmhouse area. I hadn’t seen any other lights in the field outside of where the revelries were being held, so if he was here, he was keeping a low profile.

Sarah limped beside me, her fingers digging into my arm and little yelps escaping her with every hobbled step. Between that, the crackling paper noise that the thousands of drying cornstalks made as they swayed against each other, and the merrymaking from the other section of the farm, I couldn’t hear whether anyone else was out here with us.

Goddamn Kramer. I’d wondered why he would choose a place like this for his meet up. Now I knew. I couldn’t focus on any telltale movements to spot him because everything around me moved. The corn was taller than I was, and it all looked the same, making me unable to tell if I even walked in circles or not. Noises were swallowed up by natural and artificial sounds, and all the people across the fields kept me from flying in low swoops above the area to see if I could locate him, Francine, or Lisa that way. My landing might not have been spotted, but a woman winging her way like a bat slow and low enough to detect anything in this huge moveable canvas eventually would be.

That was why I had no warning before white-hot pain blasted through my back. Once, twice, three times in rapid succession, turning my chest into what felt like a molten lake of agony. I staggered, knocking Sarah over, who screamed as I stepped on her ankle trying to keep myself upright. Her thrashing made me lose my balance, even my innate vampire reflexes unable to keep me from falling. I flipped over at the last moment, still hitting the ground but doing it without being facedown.

I wanted to spring to my feet but I couldn’t. The unusual slowness to my limbs and the continuing burn in my chest told me I hadn’t been shot with normal bullets. They were silver.

I had a split second to see a white-haired man loom over me, black monkish robes fluttering in the breeze and very corporeal hand pointing a gun at me. Then I heard another blast, felt my mind explode with pain, but couldn’t see anything else.

My head throbbed like someone had shoved firecrackers into my brain and set them off. That was the first thing I became aware of. The second was the burning in my chest, so intense it sent throbs of pain throughout the rest of my body. The third was that my hands and feet were bound to something tall and hard behind me. The fourth was the most disquieting realization of all: I was wet, and it wasn’t from water. The harsh scent of gasoline filled my nostrils without my needing to take in a breath.

“Burn her. Burn her now, before she wakes up!” a familiar voice urged.

Sarah. I should’ve killed her when I had the chance. Hindsight always was twenty-twenty.

I opened my eyes. Kramer stood a few feet away in the middle of a triangular clearing amidst the tall cornstalks. Sarah was off to the side, but Lisa and Francine made up the other two corners of the triangle. They were chained like I was to tall metal poles dug into the ground, gags in their mouths, eyes wide with horror as they looked at me. Unlike me, though, neither of them had a large silver knife stuck into her chest. The blade seemed to emit a steady stream of acid, scalding my nerve endings and sapping my strength. But though it was close to the center of my chest, it wasn’t in my heart. Either Kramer had deliberately missed because he didn’t want to risk giving me an easy death, or his aim wasn’t as good as he’d intended.

Kramer pulled out a large, leather-bound book from the folds of his new hooded black robe. Guess he’d gotten sick of that old muddy tunic he was stuck with when he was in vaporous form. His gaze seemed to gleam with malicious triumph as he opened the book and began to read aloud.

“I, Henricus Kramer Institoris, Judge named on behalf of the faith, declare and pronounce sentence that you standing here are impenitent heretics, and as such are to be delivered to justice,” he intoned, and though the original version of the Hammer of Witches had been in Latin, he made sure to speak English so we would understand it.

I didn’t have a gag, probably because Kramer knew I wouldn’t bother screaming for help, but that didn’t mean I was going to stay silent.

“I read that, you know. Your prose was boring and repetitive, and your overuse of capitalization for dramatic emphasis was juvenile at best. Oh hell, I’ll just say it—it sucked out loud. No wonder you had to forge your endorsements.”

Now his gaze gleamed with outrage. He shut the book with a bang, stalking over to me. Writers were so sensitive when it came to criticism.

“Do you wish to die now, Hexe ?” he hissed at me. Then he bent over, picking something up out of my line of sight. When he straightened, he had a hurricane lantern in his hand, the golden orange flame caressing the glass surrounding it as if begging to be freed.

I looked over his shoulder at Sarah, who was practically vibrating with excitement at the prospect of his setting me on fire.

“She might not know what your routine is, but I do,” I said softly. “So put the lantern down. You’re not burning me yet, and we both know it.”

“What’s she saying?” Sarah demanded, hobbling over.

His white brows drew together, and I allowed a little smile to play on my lips. “Awfully bossy with you, isn’t she? Then again, it makes sense. She’s got the pants on, and you’re the one in the dress.”

His fist flashed out, but the blow didn’t land on me. It struck Sarah right as she leaned on Kramer to steady herself. She fell back, crimson spurting from her nose. Now that she’d fulfilled her usefulness, he wasn’t hiding his intentions toward her anymore.

“Why?” she gasped.

Her hurt and confusion were clear on her face, but it belatedly occurred to me that I couldn’t hear it in her thoughts. Same with Lisa and Francine. They had to be screaming with panic in their minds, but all I heard from them was their pounding heartbeats and short, quick gasps through their gags.

The silver bullet Kramer fired into my head hadn’t only knocked me out long enough for him to truss me up and wet me down with gasoline. It had also short-circuited my mind-reading abilities. Another round or two, and I’d be all the way dead, but of course, Kramer didn’t want me dead yet. To look at the bright side, I could concentrate better without hearing everyone’s frantic thoughts.

“Do not speak another word, hure ,” Kramer snarled at Sarah.

“That means whore,” I supplied. “It’s how he sees all women. Get used to hearing it for the rest of your short life.”

That earned me a backhanded crack across the jaw, but compared to being stabbed and shot, it was a love tap. “Easy on the jostling, you don’t want that silver shredding my heart and ending your fun too soon,” I taunted him.