Page 74 of The Monsters We Are

“Not necessary.” Wynter called to her sword, just as Xavier and Anabel each called to their own.

Delilah took on her monstrous feline form and flexed her iron claws. Thanks to her bespelled cosmetics, she still wore pink lip gloss and peach nail polish.

Hattie shifted into a crow and quickly settled on Xavier’s shoulder. She didn’t only choose to battle as an avian because she’d then be faster and have better reflexes, she did it because her crow form negated magick—any blasts bounded right off her.

Wynter turned to Xavier. “You know, reanimating corpses is going to be a useless endeavor here. The zombies are already revived corpses.”

His lips parted. “Shit, never thought of that.” After a moment, he shrugged off his disappointment. “They won’t stand a chance against my sword.”

No, they wouldn’t, since the rapier weapon was actually made of angel bone.

Wynter turned to Anabel. “You ready for this?”

Adjusting her grip on her broadsword, the blonde gave a serious nod. “Absolutely. Now call her.”

Wynter quietly sang into her ear, “Mary, Mary, please come out.”

The blonde did a very slow blink and then, well, her eyes remained their usual pale blue shade, but they were different. Held a flickering flame of madness that often made Wynter wonder if Anabel truly was the reincarnation of Bloody Mary after all.

“Stab to kill,” Wynter told her.

Anabel/Mary smiled, looking as bloodthirsty as always. “There’s no other way to stab.”

Whatever.

“The gauntlet awaits you,” said the presenter, all dramatic.

Wynter and her coven slid beneath the ropes and jumped down into the ditch. Her blood buzzing with adrenaline, she rolled back her shoulders. There was a slight purr against her feet.Pure power.

Her monster woke in response to the alien power and went very still. Using telepathic images, she made it clear that this was only a game. Recognizing the gauntlet, the entity lost its tension.

“And now we begin!” shouted the presenter.

The crowd cheered and stomped their feet.

Dozens of softly swaying zombies blinked into view on the opposite end of the ditch. They were hideous. Bloody. Filthy.

And then they charged.Charged. Like superfast ninjas.

Wynter swiped out with her sword, beheading the first zombie that came at her. And the next. And the next. God, these thingsreeked.Like dried blood and rancid meat.

Xavier struck with his own sword, hacking through one zombie after another. Anabel/Mary did the same, singing and humming and laughing to herself.

Delilah hissed and roared as she took down the undead creatures. Hattie provided backup, raking and biting and flapping her wings at faces.

Even as Wynter thrust and sliced, she also whipped and blasted the creatures with her magick. The burns didn’t bother them, nor did the decaying of their body parts. But the force of the blasts knocked them down or held them back—as did the magickal attacks from Xavier and Anabel/Mary, making it easier for the entire coven to battle their way through the zombies.

Wynter bit out a curse as one sank its teeth into her arm. “Son of a bitch.” She punched it in the face once, twice. It released her arm, staggering backwards. She impaled the fucker on her sword and, ignoring the throbbing in her arm, fought on.

Not unscathed, though.

Nails dragged at her flesh. Teeth stabbed into her arms, hands, and—worse—the shoulder of her sword arm. The wounds burned in an unnatural way, and her skin began to sweat profusely . . . as if she was suffering the effects of anactualinjury from a zombie.

Judging by the pained growls and curses, she wasn’t the only one injured. Still, the entire coven kept moving, kept fighting, keptkilling.

Heads and body parts thumped to the floor. Blood spattered the coven and ground. All the while, the crowd loudly urged them on, almost drowning out the sounds of battle. Almost. The fight wasloud.Blades whistled through the air. The creatures groaned and snarled. The huge feline roared while the crow squawked. Anabel/Mary sang fucking “Cotton Eye Joe”.

Nearing the finish line, Wynter felt another spike of adrenaline surge through her bloodstream. At this point, her hand was so sweaty she was surprised she hadn’t dropped her sword. Tremors ran through her limbs, and her temperature had hit the roof. She ignored it all, pinning her focus on that finish line.