Undeadly. Michele Vail

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      Chapter 2

      “The only way to survive a zombie attack is if you see it coming. Running won’t do you much good since zombies have the unsettling ability to jump long distances. They’re also strong, unintelligent and conscienceless. If one attacks, the best thing you can do is go for the kneecaps. Once it’s down, you have to remove its head. No, really. Zombies are relentless, especially when dealing with the Hunger.”

      ~Worst-Case Situations, Paranormal Edition

      I drew on my powers. Magic tingled in my hands as I aimed them at Mortimer. A ka heka was the most common kind of necromancer and I was only in training, but even so, I still had some control over zombies.

      Too bad Mortimer didn’t know it.

      He grabbed me with his one good arm and jerked me into his stank embrace. Whew. He probably hadn’t been washed since he died. Okay. I could handle this. So what if he was strong? And smelled as if he’d been rolling around in poop?

      I aimed my magic at him again. Black sparkles drifted down like lazy snowflakes and melted away.

      That was bad. My heart skipped a beat, and icy fear dripped down my spine.

      Mortimer’s horribly large mouth descended...and panic exploded. I struggled harder against him, but it was like trying to wrestle with a marble statue. His teeth clamped onto my shoulder. Ow!

      Pain and terror clawed through me. Oh, my God. I was gonna get eaten by a zombie. Before I turned sixteen. Before I had my party. Before Rick kissed me.

      Then I was yanked backward.

      “Bamo!” cried a new voice, much stronger and deeper and more Jamaican than my own. Demetrius! Relief tangled with my hysteria.

      The zombie stopped attacking and cocked his head as if he was a cute cocker spaniel instead of a dead dude in the grips of the Hunger. Demetrius dragged me through the door, shut it and barred it. He whirled me around.

      “You okay, child?” He took the zombie arm, and for a second, I didn’t let go. Then I realized what I was doing and gave him the limb.

      My shoulder throbbed and my shirt was ripped. I looked down in shock. “He bit me!”

      Demetrius led me to a table and lifted me by the waist. For an old guy, he sure was muscular. He pushed the material over my shoulder and peered at the wound. He walked to the medicine cabinet on the other side of the table. I thought about Mrs. Woodbine scarfing down all that biscotti while her husband had been trying to scarf me down. Bitch.

      Demetrius returned with a jar of ointment that looked like black tar and smelled like puke. I crinkled my nose.

      “Where’s the other stuff? The ointment we sell to our customers? Ugh! What is that?”

      “’Dis de good stuff. My own concoction. Gonna heal the bite in no time.” He rubbed the cold, greasy gel into the place where Mortimer’s disgusting teeth had gouged my skin. “Zombie bites are nasty business.”

      A bite or a scratch doesn’t turn you into a zombie. I mean, I know every zombie movie ever made says different. Gah! Who thought of that ridiculousness? Soooo unbelievable. Anyway. Zombie mouths are filthy and filled with germs and all kinds of ick. An untreated bite could get infected quickly, and boom, you’re lying in a hospital bed breathing through a tube.

      “You know bamo isn’t exactly a necro incantation,” I said. Not that you needed words to perform magic. Sometimes, using a word or phrase was helpful to get the focus going, but if you had any heka gift, you could access it pretty easily and without acting like you just graduated from Hogwarts.

      “It’s Jamaican for ‘go away,’” said Demetrius, his lips splitting into a gap-toothed grin. “You know it’s not the words, but the power you give them.” He glanced at my torn shirt. “Go home and change. I’ll deal with Mr. Woodbine.”

      “Okay.” At least my dad wasn’t here to fret over the zombie bite. If he’d been around for Mortimer’s attack, I’d be on my way to an emergency room right now. Dad panic was like, ten levels above regular people panic, so good thing my dad was up in Reno checking out locations for a second zomporium. Unfortunately, he’d promised that he would be back tomorrow. For my b-day. Sigh. He’d said he wouldn’t interfere with my party, but I wasn’t sure he’d be able to stay away. He was itching to play songs from ’80s movies soundtracks. Oh, yeah, I’m named after Molly Ringwald. In particular, because my dad totally crushed on her. Ugh. I’m telling you now that if he plays anything from Pretty in Pink, I’m throwing myself off the roof.

      “Do you want me to call da Empress?”

      That’s how Demetrius refers to Nonna Gina. Like everyone else, he has a healthy respect for my grandmother. It isn’t just the rolling pin, either. She just has a way about her. A scary, obey-me way.

      I shook my head. “I’d rather walk home than get into a car with her.”

      In Nevada, you have to be fifteen and a half to get a driver’s permit. I’d counted the days until I was officially СКАЧАТЬ