Kelly Gay: The Darkest Edge of Dawn

A dirty haze began to grow in the back corner of the room.

“What cause?” Liz pressed. “What cause, Daya? Tell us and he will answer for your death.”

A wet, guttural scream issued from the nymph’s throat. Her hair covered her face. She remained doubled over, her voice a hostile whisper. “For the star, he says … the star, the star, the stupid, fucking star.”

The cloud in the corner grew thicker and brighter. I leaned into Hank, sensing the presence of smut. “I don’t think that’s supposed to happen.”

“Yeah. Me neither.”

Daya began mumbling, her head still down, forehead against her knees, her hand still in Liz’s and the line glowing a bright, angry red.

Liz’s face paled.

Something was wrong. My fingernails dug into my palms. Shit. I realized we were witnessing a very rare event, one of the cons of raising the dead—the birth of what some might call a zombie. If the dead had arcane knowledge, if somehow that knowledge remained in their short term memory, they could suck the necromancer dry and raise themselves. And, in most cases, there was no way to tell beforehand if the dead had that kind of knowledge or not. “Daya must be a mage,” I said. “She still has some of those memories. She knows how to reanimate herself. Liz!”

Hank and I ran to the circle, scattering the salt with our shoes. Nothing happened. “Break the link,” I said. “We have to break the link.” I grabbed Liz’s hand, smudged the line, and pulled her away from the nymph’s grip. Their hands wouldn’t budge and the blood line kept repairing itself. Damn it!

I got behind Liz and wrapped both arms around her slim waist, prepared to pull her entire body out of the circle, when the nymph lifted her head and glared at me. Bits of the bloodsoaked paper stuck to her lips and chin. Her dry tongue darted out and licked at the lifeblood. Daya’s eyes burned red and scornful.

And then she smiled. She fucking smiled at me. A corpse.

“I’m coming back,” she hissed.

Liz went limp. I screamed at her to stay awake as Hank nudged me aside, attempting to pull Liz’s hand away from the corpse’s steel-like grip. The rest of Daya’s body remained bent over so far, her head touched her knees. Hair covered her face from view, but it was the raspy, guttural chanting that made me worried. I scrambled out of the way on my hands and knees as Hank leaned over, his strong arms wrapping around Liz’s tiny form.

The smut cloud in the corner drew closer. Daya was drawing on negative energy to aid her cause. The hairs on my arms stood. My heartbeat thudded loud and heavy in my eardrums as I pulled my 9mm from the holster and fired at the corpse, thinking it might be enough to distract her while Hank pulled. Each bullet slammed into her torso with a thunk.

Three shots and nothing happened.

“Goddammit!” Hank pulled at Liz so hard he had her off the floor, his feet slipping in the dust and salt. Daya was not letting go. The only way to stop her was to break the link.

I scanned the room, betting my ass the ITF seminar had never covered this. Not knowing what else to do, I grabbed the corpse from behind, hands under both armpits, and pulled. She reeked of rotting flesh from the debris pile and her own decay. My stomach shriveled into a hard, tiny knot. Her tangled, matted hair stuck to my mouth. I spit the hair away from my lips and then gritted my teeth, pulling hard. Daya’s dead ass rose off the floor, but she refused to let go of Liz’s hand.

One look at Hank’s widening eyes, and I knew the smut cloud was right behind me, drawn ever closer by the chanting. Shit! I released my hold and pulled the Nitro-gun, doing the only thing I could think of and hoping I didn’t injure Liz in the process. I pressed the nozzle against Daya’s bicep and fired twice.

The newly designed nitro capsules sank into her flesh, the housing disintegrating as it went, releasing a shot of nitro into her body and instantly freezing the skin.

The nitro spread, traveling up and down her arm lightning fast. Just before it reached her wrist, I stepped down with all my might, severing the frozen limb at the joint. Severing the bloodline.

Hank and Liz fell back, the dead hand still gripping Liz’s.

The corpse’s red mouth slowly dropped open, milky eyes trained on me, as a desperate, enraged scream pushed out of her mouth along with bits of blood and paper. The sound raised goose bumps over much of my skin.

Despite the fact that my entire body was begging me to physically shake off the traces of her that clung to my skin, hair, and clothes, I stood my ground, breath coming out ragged, and kept my weapon trained.

Daya turned in despair, her gaze seeking the energy that would’ve helped reanimate her. She groaned and reached out with her good hand, her look becoming heartbreaking as she realized her chance at rebirth was slipping away. Blood tears swam over her eyes as they turned opaque, and her body hardened, collapsing to the floor.

For a long time no one moved or spoke.

“Get this fucking thing off of me,” Liz muttered, weakly flinging at the severed hand latched to hers. Hank raised them both to a sitting position, his arms still wrapped tightly around her. Once they were up, he scooted out from behind her to pry the stiff fingers from Liz’s open hand.

I holstered my weapon, hands shaking, and grabbed my phone to call paramedics, squinting at the numbers and the blurry display.

“What are you doing?” Liz asked.

“Calling the medics.”

She shook her head, looking like I’d felt earlier after the hellhound jumped me. “No. No medics. Elliot will be here soon. I called him earlier …”

A crack of bone made me jump. Hank’s skin went a shade paler and his throat worked with a hard swallow. He’d had to break the corpse’s finger bones. “Sorry,” he murmured, finally freeing the hand and tossing it toward the rest of Daya as though it was a hot potato.

“Who the hell is Elliot?”

“My new apprentice.” Liz made a slow fist, opening and closing several times to aid in circulation. “And I’m fine, okay? You don’t need to call the medics.”

“You’re not fine. That … thing … almost killed you and—” My sight went blurry again.

“Don’t tell me you’re gonna cry,” Liz joked, but her ragged breathing and pale skin told me she was putting up a brave front.

“Ha ha.” Yeah. So the shock of nearly raising a zombie and losing my friend made my eyes a bit glossy. I didn’t feel like crying; more like decimating the damn wall with my bare hands. The thought manifested in a warm wave of humming energy through my veins. My fist closed around my phone. I heard a small plastic crack and eased up. Now was not the time for one of my accidental power surges.

“Hell no, I’m not going to cry.” I shoved the phone into its holster on my hip. “Why? You still have that stupid bet with the cold cell nurse? Whoever sees Charlie cry first wins?”

She gave a small laugh. “It wasn’t my idea. But, hey, odds are in my favor. Figure I have a better chance of witnessing the monumental event than she does. You could try to squeeze out a tear. Mama needs a new pair of Donna Karan featherweight frames in brushed copper.”

I rolled my eyes. “You have enough eyewear to open your own LensCrafters.”

The banging on the door made me jump. A voice shouted Liz’s name.

Liz sighed. “That would be Elliot. Hank, would you let him in?”

Once Hank unbolted the door, Elliot rushed in with a gallon jug of orange juice in hand. He looked wide-eyed and rumpled like a kid who’d just gotten out of bed, but ready and willing to take on the world, despite the fact that he also seemed scared shitless.