The dead woman stood beside a high, spiked fence. It was formed of black, iron bars. Elaine came to stand beside the fence. It was a graveyard, where tombstones dotted the ground like the broken teeth of giants.
She looked at the woman. "Why have you brought me here?"
The woman pointed to the fence and what lay beyond. "It is a graveyard-I see that. Did you want to show me where you came from?"
The zombie shook her head, still pointing out into the cemetery.
"Do you want me to go inside the fence?"
Again the head shake.
"I don't understand what you're trying to tell me," Elaine said.
There were scuffling sounds behind them. Elaine turned. The dead were lined up behind her like an audience. A little boy of no more than seven stood closest. Elaine almost asked him what he was doing there, but as he turned his head a bit of bone stuck out of his cheek.
Elaine backed into the fence, one hand holding the cold metal tight, as if only the metal were real. If she could just find something to hold on to, maybe the rest would go away and not be real at all. It was the way Elaine dealt with bad dreams. When you woke, you found something real and normal to hold, to touch, and the dream was just a dream.
Something crawled up the slope toward them. At first Elaine's eyes wouldn't make sense of it. It was alive; it moved, but. . suddenly she could see it, and wished she hadn't.
It was a badly decayed corpse. Its legs were gone, and only the stub of one arm remained to push it up the hill. The flesh was rotted to a mottled color. The naked latticework of the ribs scraped on the cold ground like metal on a plate.
Elaine was all out of screams for the night. It was just one more horror to add to the list.
A figure in a hooded cloak stepped out of the shadows near the buildings. He walked in a long arc around the zombies, approaching Elaine. The dead watched him with sullen eyes. "Are you all right?"
The voice was a man's voice, normal, pleasant, wondrous. "Yes."
He held out a gloved hand. "Come, I'll take you to a place of safety. My spell won't hold them long."
"Spell?" Elaine said.
"A small charm, nothing more. It won't last much longer. I heard your screams and came looking for you." He still held out his hand, waiting.
Elaine moved to take it. The dead woman reached for her, too. Elaine jerked back and half-ran to the man's waiting hand. His fingers were solid and real in his grasp.
He led her away from the graveyard, glancing back at the waiting dead. "We must hurry. I've never tried the charm on so many at once."
"Are you a wizard?" Elaine didn't think he was; he didn't feel like a wizard.
"Oh, no. I traveled to a local witch to get a charm so I could walk the streets. The town elders sent for some mage-finder, but I say fight magic with magic."
Elaine didn't know what to say to that, so she said nothing. Jonathan had taught her that magic was never an option, but much had changed in the last few days. She was no longer sure if Jonathan had ever been right about anything.
He led her back into the narrow streets. They seemed even darker after the moonlit hill. She stumbled, and only his hand kept her from falling.
"Are you sure you are unhurt?" His eyes caught what little light there was, glinting. They were some dark color. His face was a square-jawed paleness in the dark.
"I just tripped. I'm fine."
He smiled. "Then come. We need to get inside before they come after us."
"I knocked on a door. I know someone was inside. I saw a light. They wouldn't help me."
"Didn't open the door, eh?" he said.
"No."
"They lock the doors and shutters and hide after nightfall. They won't open the doors to anyone. You can scream and cry, and no one will help you."
"But you helped me."
He turned back to her. Elaine thought he smiled again. "I got tired of listening to people scream for help, and no one going to them. So I go to them."
"Thank you."
"Here we are." He stopped at one of the bright-painted doors, one like a dozen others. He released her hand and took a key from his belt pouch. He unlocked the door and motioned her in. She stopped just within. There was no light, and it was darker inside than out. When he closed the door, Elaine couldn't see her hand before her face. It was dark as a cave. There was a musty smell like an unused attic.
She heard the key turn in the lock. "It's the only way to keep the dead out," he said. "Don't move, and I'll light a candle. Wouldn't want to rescue you from the hill only to have you trip and break your neck in the dark." There was a hint of cold laughter in his voice.
Elaine stood frozen in the dark. His cloak brushed her leg as he moved past her. He seemed to have no trouble seeing, but perhaps he was just familiar with the room.
The musty smell seemed to be growing stronger.
There was a hiss and the scent of sulphur. The sputtering match seemed bright as a star in the darkness. He touched the flame to the first candle in a candelabrum that sat on a small table. The candle caught, and he shook the match out, placing it carefully on a small tray. He lifted the candle from its holder and used it to light the two remaining ones. The light was warm and gentle, and the flames reflected in the gilt mirror on the wall.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Elaine Claim. What's yours?"
He looked up then, face turned so the mirror only caught a sliver of his face. He pivoted toward her, smiling. The candle flames set deep flickering shadows inside his hood. For a moment, there was nothing but the glitter of his eyes reflecting the fire.
"The dead have no names, Elaine Claim."
"What did you say?"
He pushed his hood back. His face was narrow, with a strong jaw. Long, dark hair spilled out over his shoulders, and his thin nose had a faint dip in the middle as if someone had hit him long ago, and it had not healed right.
Elaine took a step forward, staring. No one had hit him in the face. The nose was crumbling, falling in upon itself.
He gave a wide smile, and his lips cracked, blood trickling down his chin. "I am falling apart, Elaine Claim, and you will save me."
"How?" Her voice was a whisper.
"Your blood, Elaine. I will drink your blood."
TWENTY-ONE
Elaine backed up into the door. She tried to turn the handle, but it was locked. She'd heard him lock it, had stood there like an idiot while he locked her inside.
The urge to just turn around and beat at the door, to panic, was very real. It would feel good for a few moments to scream and rant, but it would be the last thing she ever did. Elaine could not give in to fear. She had to think.
The zombie took off one glove. His skin was stretched paper-thin over the bones. He touched the blood on his chin with two bare fingers. He raised the fingers to his lips and sucked them. Slurping the blood off like candy.
Elaine did her best to ignore him. The hallway stretched beyond the candlelight. Two doors stood opposite each other just behind the zombie, and then the hallway gave a sharp turn. If she could get past the zombie, there were places to run to. A door, a window, something. Anything was better than being taken like this, trapped against the door.
The door banged as someone hit it from the outside. Elaine jumped, giving a small scream.
"Elaine, Elaine, open up. It's Blaine."
Elaine glanced at the door, hands pressed on its wooden surface. "Blaine, I'm locked in."
"Locked in sounds good to me. The zombies already ate my horse. I don't want to be next."