His mobility restored, he surged to his feet and raced toward the doorway. He slammed into an energy field that made him yelp and fall backward. Gloria had erected a reverse ward, imprisoning them inside the kitchen. Her abilities didn’t allow for such magic. Nettie must have somehow transferred her power to Gloria.
Clarissa was his only hope of destroying the ward. He rushed back to her side and tugged her into a sitting position. Her eyelids drooped and he shook her forcefully. “Damn it, stay with me.”
“Have to make…spell…breaker.” Her head bobbing, Clarissa slumped against his side. There was no way in hell she’d stay conscious long enough to do it, which meant it’d be up to him.
He didn’t know the first thing about spell breakers. “Son of a bitch.”
Gloria’s Volkswagen Rabbit careened around a hairpin turn, nearly toppling Jemma into the lap of the male zombie sitting to the right of her on the backseat. An ominous sound rumbled from the creature’s throat, but fortunately it appeared the corpse had forgotten to put his dentures in. Unless he planned to gum her death, she was safe for the moment.
Her useless limbs flopping, she wiggled onto her side of the car and stared at the back of Gloria’s headrest. “Please don’t do this. You can fight Nettie’s ghostie mind control.”
Gloria’s eerily glowing eyes met Jemma’s in the rearview mirror. “Why would I want to do that? She’s offering us the one true way.”
Frustration welled inside her chest. “Her way is death for us all.”
“Yep, it’s perfect.” Gloria’s attention returned to the road. “Life is so messy and complicated. In fact, before mistress Nettie summoned me into the woods tonight, I was tearing my hair out, stressing over which cake I should enter in the Kitchen Witches’ bake-off.”
“Kitchen Witches?” She had no idea what that was, but if it’d made Gloria tear her hair out, it must be important.
“I’ve been trying to get into their club for years. Obviously those old biddies don’t understand much less appreciate nouveau cuisine. Mistress Nettie helped me see the truth about those jealous bitches.” The lights dancing in Gloria’s eyes flickered for a moment before shining brighter. “Mistress Nettie just wants me to be happy. She’s the only one who does, you know.”
Was that how Nettie had managed to worm her way inside Gloria’s mind? By convincing Gloria she cared about her? Jesus. Griff was right. Nettie was a master manipulator.
“Nettie doesn’t give a rat’s ass about you. Not like Clarissa and Ms. Peach do.”
“They don’t care about me. Not like Mistress Nettie does.” The conviction in Gloria’s tone clashed with the creepy flatness of her expression. “As far as Clarissa and Peach are concerned, I’m just the hired help. Someone to cook their meals and boss around.”
“No, you’re wrong. They love you.” Jemma wracked her brain, desperately fishing for something that might break through Gloria’s trance. “And remember all the compliments they gave you at dinner tonight? They meant every single one of them. They appreciate you, Gloria. More than you realize.”
“All I remember is Peach crabbing at me.”
Shit. This wasn’t going well. “I’m sure it was only because she was worried about you.”
“I could drop dead and she wouldn’t shed a tear.”
The irony of that statement wasn’t exactly lost on her. “Gloria, if you don’t start fighting Nettie’s mind control, we’re all going to drop dead.”
“I know. It’s the one true way.”
Ah crap. They were back to that again.
Gloria took another sharp turn, smacking Jemma into the armrest. The corpse uttered a string of monosyllabic grunts, and Gloria snorted. “My driving ain’t gonna kill ya, moron. You’re already dead.”
Holy crap. Gloria knew how to speak zombie now? Before Jemma could ponder that further, Gloria accelerated, sending the vehicle speeding through a vaporous mist. The Volkswagen’s headlights washed over a cluster of shadows moving up ahead. Pressing her cheek against the windowpane, Jemma stared at the assembly of corpses shambling along the side of the road. She managed to count at least twenty zombies before the car zipped past, leaving the creatures to eat their trail of exhaust. Oh man, she had a bad feeling those corpses weren’t on a pilgrimage to a Grateful Dead concert.
They traveled a short distance farther before Gloria veered off the main street and onto a narrow, one-lane road. The night suddenly seemed denser, more oppressive. Even the moonlight seemed diluted and murky compared to five seconds ago. They drove a few more minutes before she spotted a vine-infested gate topping a small rise. Gloria stomped on the brake, pitching Jemma and her zombie warden into the backs of the driver and passenger seats. While the corpse jabbered his annoyance, Gloria climbed from the vehicle. Tugging open the rear door, she yanked Jemma from the seat. Her limbs uncooperative, Jemma tumbled onto a patch of heat-scorched turf.
“Yo, Bubba, get your boney dead ass over here and help me get her up the hill.”
The lurching, uneven tread of footsteps crunching through the dried grass announced the zombie’s approach. An instant later, Jemma’s arms were practically wrenched from their sockets when Gloria and Bubba hauled her onto her feet and began trudging toward the gate. As they got closer, Jemma could make out the filigreed sign with the word Cemetery topping the center posts.
Oh shit. Nothing like walking into the middle of what amounted to a huge zombie manufacturing facility. Panic sluicing through her veins, she tried to slow their advance by dragging her sandals along the ground. Hell, just because she had no control over her body didn’t mean she couldn’t make it work for her somehow. Unfortunately she didn’t count on Gloria catching onto her scheme. Slinging an arm around Jemma’s waist so her feet no longer hampered their progress, Gloria snapped at Bubba to pick up his pace. They reached the gate and it automatically opened with a screechy whine that sounded like it came straight from a horror flick.
A field of headstones stretched before them, the majority of markers half-buried by overgrown thickets of grass. Jemma tried not to think about the countless graves they were stepping over as they made their way to an ornate marker resting in front of a gnarled oak tree. A breeze rustled the air, making the Spanish moss curtaining the tree flutter and dance. Gloria and Bubba halted, their expressions taking on an enraptured intensity that made Jemma’s skin break out in goose bumps. The sensation doubled when a ghostly whisper brushed against her ear.
“Welcome to the uprising, precious Jemma.”
Chapter Eighteen
Griffin uncapped the cobalt vial he’d fetched from Gloria’s magical cache of potions and poured its contents into the waiting goblet. He stirred the liquid until the mixture bubbled and fizzed, hoping like hell he’d gotten Clarissa’s slurred instructions right. Otherwise there was a good chance he was about to poison his boss. Chanting the incantation she’d provided, he carried the foaming brew to the table. He tipped Clarissa’s chin up, supporting her lolling head with one hand while he pinched her mouth open with his fingers, forcing the spell breaker past her lips. A massive shudder shook her and she sputtered once before hiccupping a nebula of black sparkles.
She scrambled to her feet, apparently cured. “Take care of Logan and Peach while I deconstruct the ward.”
Leaving her to work her magic, Griffin turned his focus to doling out the remainder of the spell breaker. By the time Logan and Ms. Peach regained consciousness, Clarissa had weakened the ward but not eliminated it, despite cursing and throwing whammies like a madwoman. She swayed in exhaustion, rivers of sweat plastering her hair to her face.