Page 57 of Which Witch Is Wicked?
“Give Sandra Day O’Connor to me,” Tierra ordered, staking someone to the ground with her shovel and advancing on Moira. “Then summon another cloud before the fire jumps to the house!”
“It’s RBG, my personal hero!” Moira said, pulling the chainsaw out of reach like a recalcitrant child with a toy. “And she’s mine!”
Aerin grabbed the chainsaw’s handle from behind and relieved it from Moira’s grip using the element of surprise. “Write your feminist manifesto some other time, for now we need some rain.”
Moira threw a promise of retribution over her shoulder, but repeated her earlier spell, conjuring concentrated storm clouds.
Claire squished and squeaked up to Aerin, her wet leather making all kinds of unnatural noises. “You know how to use that thing?”
“Um… keep the spinning chain-y thing away from limbs I want to remain attached.”
Claire grimaced. “Hand it over, I’ve always had an affinity for dangerous machines.”
Glad to be rid of it, Aerin carefully passed it to Claire, who revved the engine and turned to protect Moira’s back while she put out the fire that was quickly turning into a blaze.
Problem was, now the flaming zombies had separated, and one was headed for Tierra who was trying to pull her shovel out of a struggling zombie’s hands, all the while dodging someone else’s dentured chompers.
“Some help over here, Moira!” Tierra screamed as the smoldering zombie stumbled closer.
“I’mtrying,” Moira gritted out. “Do y’all know how hard it is to aim a raincloud?”
“Here,” Aerin jogged around a collection of zombies dressed like a quilting circle and threw her hands toward the cloud. The wind positioned it over Tierra for the precious seconds needed to put out the fire.
One flaming zombie down, two to go.
Once Tierra’s flowing silk, chiffon and lace dress was sopping wet, it clung to her like a second skin, and she stood in the middle of the grotesque chaos, shivering and teeth chattering, surrounded by more than six undead doing their utmost to make her their midnight snack. She looked panicky, and wriggled her fingers like her magic itched to escape.
Claire was doing okay withwhatshisface, the chainsaw, and Moira had figured out how to empty a few of the grave escapees of their remaining liquid, effectively turning them into zombie-jerky. With no fluids to lubricate their movements, they quivered like dry husks of corn and blew over in a stiff breeze.
A stiff breeze Aerin was happy to supply.
But more of the hungry fuckers filtered through the fence. Two, it seemed, for every one they incapacitated. They were losing this fight, and if they didn’t figure something out very quickly, they would lose everything.
Finally giving in, Tierra called roots and vines up from the ground beneath her, snaking them around the ankles and legs of her attackers and pinning them down.
Aerin stared at Tierra’s stomach, only a tiny tiny bit bigger than it had been before. Not yet a baby bump, but if one had an eye for detail, they would tell that the lower belly was fuller, and her hips were beginning to widen.
And suddenly, Aerin was afraid.
Until an idea knocked her upside the head with such abruptness she flinched. It felt as though it had been flying through the nether and shot through her thoughts like a dart.
“Claire, don’t use your magic,” Aerin ordered.
“Why?” Claire quieted the chainsaw long enough to ask.
“Because I’m about to use mine.” Dashing through the yard toward the house, Aerin called to Dr. Lecter, her vampire bat familiar. “Bring me the Grimoire!” She slipped a few times on slimy parts she’d rather not identify in her bare feet, fighting her revulsion.
Dr. Lecter appeared just as she reached the bottom of the porch steps, the heavy tome clutched in his wee claws. He flapped over to Aerin and deposited it into her reaching grasp.
“Thanks.” The book felt warm in her hands. The blue rune-tattooed skin of its cover the temperature of a live body. It pulsed with power, power she craved. No, not craved. That she needed to save her sisters.Yeah…“Okay Grim,” she addressed the book. “We’re dying here… show me a spell that is effective against the undead.”
Grim opened beneath her prompting, his pages flipping from front all the way to deep into the back of the book. Thunder clapped a warning out over the sound from the direction of the standing stones the moment Grim’s final page settled into place.
“Is that the back of the book?” Teirra asked in a shaking voice, lifting her hands and clutching her fists as more and more vines and plants were called to her aid to immobilize the undead.
“I thought Grim’s wards didn’t work against these guys.” Claire handed the chainsaw back to Moira, now that the fires had all been put out.
“This one will.” Aerin grinned down at the page, dark swirls adorning its corners and the painting of a skull and a candle interrupting the dark, sinister letters. “All right, you zombie ass wads, prepare to become my bitches.”
