Magic Steals

Ha! Unclean. My magic worked on it. There were no such thing as zombies in our world, but whatever these things were, I could purge them.

Jim pulled a second knife from the sheath at the small of his back. His eyes shone with green. “Let’s do this.”

We walked to the crowd of zombies blocking the comic book shop. I never felt so badass and completely terrified at the same time in my whole entire life. There were so many . . . If my magic failed, they would rip me apart with their rotten teeth. For some reason the image of yellow rotting teeth stuck with me. I shivered and glanced at Jim. He just kept walking, like he had no doubt I would lay waste to the whole horde of zombies.

The zombies moaned at the comic book store, oblivious to us.

“Hey!” Jim roared, his voice deep and laced with a snarl.

They turned and looked at him.

“Fresh meat,” Jim said.

The mass of undead turned and ran for us, gnashing their rotten teeth, their hands stretched for us like claws. Jim spun like a dervish, his knives out. Heads rolled.

I took a deep breath, stepped next to him, and walked into the crowd. My magic waited for my orders.

I am the White Tiger. An invisible aura flared around me.

A huge zombie with half of his guts hanging out was running straight at me.

What if it didn’t work? A pang of panic shot through me. No, can’t think like that. I focused on the zombie. He was over six feet tall, arms like tree trunks.

You are an aberration. You skew the balance.

The zombie spread his arms, moaning, ready to crush me with his bulk.

I will restore the balance. I will purify this land.

He reached for me. My magic surged, the aura coating me gaining a weak, pale glow.

The zombie touched me. Foul, dark-colored fluid dripped from his fingers. He froze as if petrified, his flesh running off him in dirty rivulets. A blink and he became ash.

I could do this.

Another zombie grabbed me and melted. I held my arms out and walked right through the crowd. They fell all around me. Some bumped into me, some tried to bite me, some attempted to claw my back, but in the end all of them became liquid, then ash. Next to me Jim carved a path through bodies, each strike of his knife finding the target with deadly precision. Limbs fell as he cleaved them off, driving the knives with superhuman strength. Heads tumbled, severed clean off the rotting necks. Skulls cracked as the knives pierced the brain inside.

We kept going. It felt so right. So right. If only all fights would be like this.

The last zombie melted at my feet.

Jim straightened, splattered by gore, and winked at me.

I smiled at him and looked into the store. Three dead zombies lay on the floor, two bludgeoned and one beheaded.

Jim rapped his knuckles on the door.

Two heads popped out from behind the shelves, one blond—Brune’s—and the other dark haired, probably Christian Leander’s. I made a funny face and posed against the carnage next to Jim.

The two guys left their hiding spot. Leander was carrying a replica sword that looked like it belonged to some barbarian and Brune was brandishing a crowbar.

They stepped over the dead bodies and Brune carefully opened the door.

“Hi,” I said, with a bright smile.

“Hi,” the dark-haired guy said.

“Are you Christian?”

He nodded.

“Are you afraid of zombies?”

He nodded again.

Right.

“Have you seen your neighbor today?” Jim asked. “Steven Graham?”

“No,” they said at the same time.

“What about Cole?” I asked.

“Cole and Amanda left,” Brune said.

“They went down to Augusta,” Christian said. “Until whatever this is blows over.”

“How sure are you?” Jim asked.

“I saw them board the leyline last night,” Brune said. “Amanda wouldn’t get into the car after what happened yesterday, so I gave them a ride in my cart to the leypoint.”

Jim glanced at me, a question in his eyes.

“No,” I said. “Augusta is too far for the curse to work.”

Cole wasn’t our guy.

“Thank you,” I said and shut the door. “Steven.”

Jim’s face snapped into a harsh mask. “Let’s pay him a visit.”

• • •

WE got Steven’s address from his bodyguard at the courier shop. At first he didn’t want to tell us, and then Jim asked him if he was left- or right-handed. The bodyguard asked why and Jim told him that he would break the other arm first, because he wasn’t a complete bastard. The bodyguard folded.

Now I was driving through an upscale neighborhood to Steven’s building. All of the houses on both sides of the road had really tall fences topped with barbed wire and at least three acres of land. Life in post-Shift Atlanta required fences and plenty of space between them and the house, so you could shoot whatever was coming at you.

“What’s the deal with you?” Jim asked.

I’d been thinking about the zombie fight. “Nothing.”

“I have three sisters,” Jim reminded me. “I know what nothing means.”

“What does it mean, Mr. Female Expert?”

“It means you’re upset about something, it’s been bothering you, but you don’t want to bring it up because you’re not sure you’re up for the conversation that might follow. Sometimes it also means I am supposed to magically guess why you are upset.”