Grace of a Wolf by Lenaleia

Chapter 182: Jack-Eye: The Infestation in Question

JACK-EYE

I’m no stranger to death.

But life after death is... new.

After finding Owen’s little hideaway not only burned down on the outside but "unlinked," as he calls it, from whatever magical pocket dimension it once occupied, we had to trek into the hills and down a segment of caves and caverns to make any horror movie director cream their pants in delight with all their warning signs and roped off entrances.

After a few tight squeezes and a few panic attacks from the wizard, we make it to Owen’s secret lair, which is covered in blood, strange writings on the wall (written in blood, of course), and teeming with—

Zombies.

Owen and Lyre call them "ghouls," but who the fuck are they kidding? Rotten flesh. Vacant stares. Arms outstretched while they moan and shuffle toward us like it’s an all-you-can-eat buffet and we’re the prime rib.

Actually, their shuffling is pretty fucking speedy, and their arms are only outstretched because they’re trying to tear our heads off, but the point is, the visual’s there.

Though I’m not entirely certain we’re still on our planet. Sure, we all talk about zombie apocalypses—and every man has a plan for one, whether they admit it or not—but it doesn’t mean we actually expect to go through one.

Come on. Zombies. Seriously?

"They’re not technically zombies," Owen says for the third time, driving some old-ass dagger he conjured out of nowhere through one’s eye socket with disturbing precision. "Zombies are reanimated human corpses. These are—"

"The same damn thing!" I duck as one lunges at me, swinging my half-shifted claws through its neck. The head tumbles off, but the body keeps coming. "If it walks like a zombie and tries to eat me like a zombie—"

"Ghouls don’t actually consume the flesh," Lyre cuts in, kicking the legs out from under another one like she does this every damn Monday. "They feed on the residual life force."

"Not. Helping."

Thom hasn’t stopped screaming since we saw the first one. His voice grates on every damn nerve I have as he cowers behind us, absolutely useless. I’m about to tell him to shut the hell up when Lyre makes a sharp gesture in his direction.

His mouth keeps moving, but the sound cuts off instantly.

"Thank you," I mutter, cleaving another zombie-ghoul-whatever from shoulder to hip. Thankfully, since they’re dead and basically rotten, it’s easy to tear them apart.

They stink so fucking bad, though.

I’d rather live in a landfill than smell this shit.

Two hours and a phone call from Grace later—only Lyre would use her phone in the middle of a ghoul uprising—I’m panting, covered in black, putrid goo, and surrounded by dismembered body parts that won’t stop twitching. My arms ache. My clothes are ruined. And I still don’t have any fucking answers.

a severed hand, still crawling toward Lyre. "So anyone want to tell

doesn’t even look at me as she casually boots a decapitated head across the floor. "Hmm.

for me but

the first time since meeting her, I feel precisely zero urge to flirt or fantasize. She’s covered in black slime, her rainbow-colored hair

I probably look worse.

And smell worse.

a shower," I mutter, running a hand through my

can over there," Owen says,

expression surpasses unfriendly into downright hostile.

where we’re going," Lyre says,

body jerking with each silent hurl. Whatever magic Lyre used doesn’t obstruct his mouth, but no sound comes out as he

I ask, nodding

glances at me, her expression completely untroubled as she admits, "I

"You can do that?"

"Obviously."

Huh.

be grateful she hasn’t done it

I gesture broadly at the carnage around us. "Because this doesn’t seem like your

look, and my hackles rise. They keep

and he nods

It doesn’t. Obviously.

in separating," Owen

I scowl.

What are you two talking about?

Silence.

why they’re here or who sent them. Throw me a damn bone

Her eyes are all slitted and feline again.

she explains. "We’re going

no explanation of

I’m at this woman’s mercy, and I begged to be here.

bent over but seems to have finished emptying his stomach. "Is the

sleeve. He can’t speak to clarify, because, you know, she

complaining, but maybe she should remember that before

little humming sound before standing up

nowhere, crawling up all four of us simultaneously. I tense, expecting pain, but it feels more like a warm tickle