Griffin read the helpless anguish in her eyes and joined her side. “You can do it.”
She gave an anemic laugh. “I appreciate the cheerleading, but it’s not enough. My battery is drained. I don’t think there’s anything left—” She broke off with a grunt when Logan whirled her into his arms. With zero preamble, the werewolf tugged Clarissa close and slammed his mouth against hers, corking her startled gasp. His tongue disappeared beyond the barrier of her lips and suddenly she lit up like a sea of sparklers at a Fourth of July parade. A snow cloud of lavender shimmers swirling around them, Logan reluctantly released Clarissa and stepped back. She wobbled precariously for a moment, her dazed focus locked on Logan. “Th—that was…” She licked her lips and ran shaky fingers through a damp lock of hair. “Thank you.”
For once the werewolf didn’t offer a smartass comment and instead sat silently at the table while Clarissa busted through the ward’s last fortification. With that obstacle defeated, Griffin dashed toward the mansion’s front entrance. Clarissa caught up with him outside. “Is the shotgun and bag of rock salt still in your car?” He nodded and she grabbed his arm. “Then let’s go.”
They raced to the Pathfinder, and he cranked on the engine just as Logan and Ms. Peach yanked open the rear passenger doors. Griffin glanced over his shoulder and met Logan’s gaze as the werewolf settled in place. A rare instance of shared purpose passed between them, and Griffin nodded before shifting out of park. He sped toward the road and experienced a momentary twinge of panic when he realized he had no idea which direction to go. “Damn it, I’m getting nothing from Jemma. Nettie must be blocking her again.” At least he prayed that was the reason for Jemma’s blank signal. Because the alternative…
He banished the specter of fear to the back of his mind, refusing to allow it to blanket his determination with a dark cloud. Clarissa rolled down her window. “I could try invoking Akasha for assistance.”
“An eye in the sky?” Logan echoed. “Not a bad idea.”
Ms. Peach popped her head between the driver and passenger seats. “Or you could just follow those zombies.”
Griffin stared at the horde of corpses crossing the driveway. “I’m going with that plan.” His heart thumping, he floored it.
Jemma shivered as Nettie materialized in front of her. An unholy glee shone in the ghost’s eyes, making her resemble a demented child anticipating a treasure trove of ghoulish presents Death was bringing her for Christmas.
“Can you feel it, Jemma? The beginning of the end?” Nettie sucked in a breath and flung her head back. “Death’s sweet perfume is rich in the air.”
That, unfortunately, was all too true. And it sure as hell didn’t smell sweet to Jemma’s thinking. She fought the urge to retch, her nose filling with the putrid stench of decay.
“This night was always meant to be. Rose Beaumont never understood the path of fate. Her shortsightedness convinced her she built a failsafe with her containment spell, never realizing her daughter would ultimately conceive the perfect weapon to destroy it.” Floating closer, Nettie stroked Jemma’s cheek, her touch like a stinging trail of ice. “I shall have to remember to thank her for such a wonderful gift, once I raise her corpse and condemn her soul to my collection.”
A mix of horror and helplessness swelled within Jemma. She struggled to pull free of Gloria and Bubba’s grip, angry tears welling in her eyes. “I won’t let you get away with this.”
“But you will. You cannot stop me, my precious, but you can join me. My offer still stands. I will give you the world.”
“I don’t want the twisted world you believe in, you sick bitch.”
Nettie’s features contorted in ugly fury, and she swung her hand at Jemma. Pain erupted in Jemma’s abdomen. She screamed, almost blacking out from the agony of it. The sensation receded as fast as it’d ripped through her and she gasped, her eyes watering in relief.
“Do not test me, you ungrateful child. Next time I will not be so gentle.”
Oh sweet Jesus. She’d never survive a next time.
Nettie grasped Jemma’s chin, forcing her head up. A savage storm of bitterness raged in Nettie’s eyes. “I was wrong about you. You are just like the others. A spineless follower of the old order. I am ashamed that you carry even an ounce of my blood.”
“Trust me, it makes two of us.” Another conflagration of fire burst inside Jemma with enough force to fling her from Gloria’s and Bubba’s hold. She landed on her back, the breath knocked from her lungs. Clearly, antagonizing a homicidal ghost was dangerous to her health. She blinked at the haze of red bleeding over the moon. Oh man, that can’t be a good sign. The sudden blaring of a car horn broke her from her gloomy musings and she jerked. The fact that her body managed even that tiny involuntary action sent a thrill coursing through her. Maybe it meant that Nettie’s hold on her was beginning to weaken, which meant maybe she’d have a fighting chance of fending off the ghost and her zombie henchmen.
“What the hell are they doing here?” Nettie’s outraged demand cut through the night, prompting Jemma to raise her head enough to witness her grandmother confronting Gloria. “Did I not order you to kill them?”
Them? Was Nettie referring to Griff and the others? Jemma inched her head up another fraction, torn between the temptation to try to roll onto her side and the fear of taking her gaze off Nettie.
“Y-yes, mistress. I fed them the potion just as you asked.”
“Idiot. The potion was only meant for Jemma.” Her face a mask of fury, Nettie advanced on Gloria. “But then I think you knew that and meant to deceive me.”
“No, mis—” Gloria broke off with a gasp and doubled over, clutching her belly. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she crumpled to the ground.
“Jemma!” Griff’s ferocious roar practically shook the ground. Momentarily tossing her caution to the wayside, Jemma shoved onto her elbow and glanced in the direction of the cemetery’s entrance. The sight that met her sent her heart plummeting to her knees. At least eighty zombies stood between her and Griff. Even with the distance separating them, she could easily detect the determined set of his broad shoulders. Oh God. He was certifiably insane if he thought—
Releasing another thunderous roar, he leapt into the fray.
“Griff.” Half sobbing, half screaming, she tried to shove up from the grass. A ghostly cackle sounded behind her, moments before skeletal fingers dug into her ankles and dragged her across the ground. She clawed at the earth, trying to halt the zombie’s progress with anything she could grab on to, but only managed to scratch her arms on the razor-sharp blades of grass. When they reached Nettie, another corpse stepped forward and fisted a handful of Jemma’s hair, jerking her to her feet. Her tear ducts swimming, she watched Nettie approach the grave.
“I have waited an eternity for Death to rule the day. As I will it, so mote it be.” Nettie grabbed Jemma’s hand, her talon-like nails slicing the flesh of her palm. A drop of blood seeped from the wound and plopped onto the scorched turf covering the grave. The greedy earth sucked in the droplet with an audible gurgle.
Okay, that definitely wasn’t normal.
The oppressive night suddenly filled with a strange expectancy. Seconds later, with no breeze in sight, the Spanish moss draping the oak began swinging and twisting wildly. A loud groan that seemed to belch from the very bowels of Hell rumbled from the ground, right before the grave beneath Jemma’s feet exploded in a massive geyser of dirt. The impact sent her stumbling backward. Swiping her dirt-clotted hair from her eyes, she gaped as one by one the surrounding graves began performing their own volcano trick.