Thump. Bang. Wobble.

Chris really wanted to ignore the rattling coffin. Like really, really wanted to because he wanted to kiss Isobel forever, and she’d pretty much said she’d sleep with him.

But…

“Is it me, or is something trying to get out?” she whispered against his lips.

“Yeah.”

Now, any other girl would have probably screamed at this point, swooned, taken off in a panicked run. Not his duckie.

She sighed. “Ever get the impression the cosmos are conspiring?”

“Yes.” Because they probably were. Hadn’t Madame told him to stay away from Isobel? Fuck that. “Ignore it,” he murmured against her lips.

“I wish I could, but I’ve been waiting for a clue pertaining to the zombies, and here it is.” She pushed away from him. “We shouldn’t ignore it.”

Figured she’d want to be responsible. Lucky for her, he thought it was cute—even if his blue balls disagreed. “I knew you were going to say that. So, what’s the plan, duckie?”

Isobel reached down to her hip and wrapped her fingers around the air at her side. As she drew her arm forward, that invisible space turned into her sword. Neatest trick ever.

If I am the Antichrist, shouldn’t I have a cool toy?

“I totally need my own sword.” He couldn’t stop the envy in his tone.

She smirked. “Yes, you do, but since I’m the one who’s armed, why don’t you let whatever is thumping around out?”

He eyed the rocking sarcophagus. “Nothing good will come of opening it. I vote we leave it locked up and continue kissing.” At his place where he didn’t keep coffins and bodies lying around.

Then again, he lived in a graveyard, maybe his place wasn’t their best bet.

“Don’t be silly. We can’t ignore this. I’ve been looking for more signs of the undead. And here one is.”

“I still don’t see why we need to let it out.”

Her lips turned down. “You don’t want to fight?”

“Are you calling me a coward?”

She arched a brow.

He scowled. “I am not afraid. Just being cautious. Isn’t the fact that we found a living mummy good enough?”

“How do we know it’s a mummy and not someone who got stuck in there? Besides, I might need it for proof with my family.”

“And how do you plan to smuggle a mummy out of here? Because I’ll tell you right now, I am not carrying that coffin out on my back.”

She tapped her chin. “Good point. What if it followed us?”

“Followed?” He gaped at her. “Are you crazy?”

By now, the rocking sarcophagus had drawn a bit of a crowd, people moving closer and murmuring.

“Is it a prank?”

“Hey, Joey, are you taping this?”

Chris moved out of the way, drawing Isobel with him. “I think perhaps now is a good time to leave.”

“But what about the mummy?” she said, casting a glance over her shoulder.

“What about the fact that you’re carrying four feet of steel in public and people are filming?” he muttered, trying to hide her behind his body lest someone take an interest in them instead. “Besides, if that mummy came to life, then shouldn’t we be looking for the necromancer who did it?”

Her frown turned to a smile. “Good point. Where there’s a dead thing walking, there’s a puppet master pulling strings. Where do you think he is?” She craned, looking left and right, but more and more bodies crowded them as the excitement in the room grew.

No one truly believed there was any danger. The gist of the assumptions seemed to center around the museum playing an elaborate hoax.

The crowd of people laughed and joked and held up their smartphones to live stream, but that all ended when a mummy, standing upright in a glass box across the room, moved, smashing through his prison, the showering fragments drawing more than a few sets of eyes. And boy did they get an eyeful as the mummy shambled free of its display case on linen-bound feet. Screaming erupted at that point, which went hand in hand—or should that be foot and feet—with stampeding.

“Imhotep is coming,” someone yelled. He’d obviously watched the Brendan Fraser movie one too many times.

Others still believed it was a hoax and held their phones up, laughing. More screaming erupted when the mummy reached out to grab a bystander by the throat and squeezed. Luckily, the person thrashed hard enough to free themselves, albeit with the hand still clutching at their neck. Shrieking and tugging at the still-twitching appendage, they ran to the exit, joining the crowd getting jammed in the door.

Isobel tapped her sword against her leg and frowned. “I wish they’d stop moving. How am I supposed to tell which one is casting the spell?”

“Inconsiderate bastards.”

She cast him a glance and grinned. “I know, right? It would be easier if the necromancer would wear a sign.”

“Maybe he is. After all, wouldn’t the one causing this chaos be the one who isn’t panicking?”

“Good point. So who looks too cool?”

Looking around, Chris didn’t see anyone who met that description, other than them, and they certainly hadn’t told the dead to come to life.

Unless…

He kept close to Isobel as she searched the room, even finally opening that sarcophagus and letting the mummy lurch out with outstretched arms. She dodged it, and with two swipes of her sword, took it out at the knees. She peeked inside and then behind the coffin while he thought of a way to phrase his thought.

“Um, remember how you said your dad was watching over you? Could it be him throwing a tantrum because we kissed?”

“You think it’s my father?” She smirked. “If he was alive, he’d do more than scare you. He’d probably make you into a eunuch.”

He cupped himself. “Ouch. Not exactly reassuring.”

“Don’t worry. Daddy doesn’t leave the house. And ghosts can’t touch the living. Nor can they reanimate the dead.”

Good to know, but useless at the moment. Of more interest, apparently, the necromancer could make more than just the mummies walk again. As they left the Egyptian room and entered one with stuffed animals, including more than a few thought to be extinct, there was a stirring of furry limbs. A ruffling of feathers glued in place. Eye sockets bearing beads and filled with an uncanny light turned to follow their progress. Those pinned to the wall and suspended overhead didn’t alarm even if they twitched, but the ones displayed in open cases weren’t inclined to stay put.

With an eerie creak and rustle, but no actual living sounds—no grunts or groans or growls—they flowed toward Isobel and Chris, falling off shelves and pedestals, scurrying after them with stiff-legged determination.

“I think we should get out of here,” he noted as he kicked away a beaver trying to gnaw on his boot. It hit the wall and immediately began waddling back.

“I think you might have a point,” she admitted as she stuck her sword into a puffin and lifted it. It kept flapping its wings, the beak opening and shutting. She flung her arm, and the bird went flying off the tip of the weapon, but it and others kept coming. “Whoever is screwing with us obviously is doing it out of sight.”

Grabbing her free hand, he pulled them through the small animal exhibit, only to groan as they entered the next room, the one for bigger predators.

“Run,” he yelled as the stuffed tiger by the door swung its striped head and looked at them. The jaw unhinged, opening wide and displaying some wicked teeth. They ducked and dodged their way through the room, a space that came to life in blocky and disjointed motions.

“Head for the exit.” The bright red letters acted as a beacon; however, that plan found itself foiled. An elephant clomped to a stop in their way and craned its head in their direction as they approached.

This can’t be how it ends. I won’t be taken down by a museum full of dead things.

The elephant swung its head, and the tusks came close.

Too close.

Chris changed the direction he and Isobel were headed and moved for the archway leading to the next room over. He knew what to expect there—rocks. The geology section.

No dead animals. A safe spot for them to regroup.

Except, the moment they stepped into the room, the rocks began to vibrate. Shaking in their cases. Trembling in their glass cubes.

He only had a second to scream “Duck!” before he yanked Isobel to the ground, shielding her with his body, trying not to wince as shards struck him.

No wonder chivalry had gone out of style. It fucking hurt.

Noise from behind had him craning to see the animals pushing through the open archway, moving with steady purpose. And what was their purpose? To go after the only two living things in the room?

“Come on. We have to go.”

Rising to his feet, he grabbed her by the hand and hauled her upright. The good news was that human feet ran faster than zombie paws and claws.

They sprinted through the room, ignoring the fact that the floor trembled underfoot. Ignoring the slow stampede of undead animals behind them.

Only as they saw the final doorway to the front of the museum did Chris realize he’d forgotten one very important thing.

The giant front hall to the museum boasted a reconstructed—

“Dinosaur!” Isobel exclaimed with way too much glee. Who but the most perfect girl in the world would seem so excited? “Can we ride it?”

He might have taken a blinking moment to grasp her words before smiling and saying, “Sure.”

Sure? What the fuck was wrong with him? There was a bloody dinosaur comprised of bone wire and fake skin stomping around the vestibule, and he acted as if she wanted to go on an amusement ride. Nothing about this was amusing. People were still screaming as they ran out the door. Others had paused by the front entrance and held up their smartphones, taping the action.

No way could this be kept a secret.

No way would he and Isobel go unnoticed, especially if his crazy duckie rode the beast as if she were playing a part in Jurassic Park.

The insanity of it blew his mind. Her smile as she ran for the tail of the dinosaur, avoiding its dipping head, made him grin. She was nuts.

And mine.

Yes, his. Because who else had he ever met in his life who could handle his past, not flinch at his future, and treat creatures coming to life as the most awesome thing ever?

Most awesome until she got a taste of his bedroom skills. He wondered if she’d yodel with as much enthusiasm in bed.

Distracted by the thought meant he didn’t pay attention. A shove to his back sent him toppling, and he looked behind to see a moose lowering his massive head and rack. He couldn’t move fast enough.

The impressive antlers scooped him, and with a shake of its mighty head, the beast sent Chris flying, right into a patch of potted plants. The many branches and leaves somewhat cushioned his fall. It also prevented him from seeing what caused the high-pitched squeal of his duckie.

Isobel was in danger. He had to save her, even if the idea of being a hero used to make him shudder.

For her, I can rise to the challenge.

He sprang from the shrubs, spitting out mulch, and noted Isobel fending off shadows that swooped around her, the sharp blade of her sword passing through them to no effect.

What the hell? Where had those come from? Did it matter? His duckie needed him.

Chris sprang towards Isobel, not sure how he’d help but determined to try. A horde of animals stood in his way, their furry, animated bodies surprisingly resilient as he used them as stepping stones, skipping from hump to back to head, an undulating path he needed to cross.

Despite the shadows darting at her, Isobel held on to the dinosaur, but barely, her legs straddling the wide back, her free hand holding tight to a spine ridge. She wielded her sword in slashes and stabs.

Why the frantic fighting? Hadn’t she told him ghosts couldn’t touch the living?

Apparently, someone had forgotten to tell these ghosts because they withdrew and hovered for a moment as if planning their next move then dove on her, engulfing her in a dark mist.

She screamed, something rather unladylike that used a few variations of fuck that he made a note to try later.

The shadows might seem incorporeal, yet they lifted her from the dinosaur and carted her over the sea of furry bodies, kicking and yelling. Chris wasn’t the only one to watch her go. The undead animal kingdom gathered in the lobby paused and, as if controlled by one giant brain, lifted their heads to watch her flight—some of them rotating their skulls one hundred and eighty degrees.

Everything stopped as if entranced by the sight, except for Chris. Some kind of ghost thing was stealing his girl.

He reversed direction and began step-stoning—or in this case furry-skull-bouncing—back the way he’d come, angling his path toward the front door. The dark shades didn’t even pause at the glass doors. They went through them but forgot one thing. Isobel wasn’t made of mist.

He heard Isobel’s distinct, “Fuckers! That hurt.” She picked herself up off the floor, but before he could traverse the last few steps separating them, the front doors to the museum blew open.

The wind staggered Isobel, but she didn’t cower. She held her chin high, raised her sword, and snarled.

“You! I should have known you were behind this.”

Then out she dashed.

He was beginning to think the woman had way more courage than common sense.

And it was obviously contagious because he found himself following, ignoring the phones tracking his every move. Chris exited the museum in time to see Isobel being tossed by the dark ghosts into a white-paneled van with blacked-out windows.

The vehicle took off in a screech of tires, its direction masked by the numerous emergency vehicles arriving with their lights flashing and sirens screaming.

They masked his own scream of annoyance.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he yelled to the sky.

Someone had just stolen his date.

Fuck who his parents were. Fuck taking over the world.

He wanted his duckie back.