“I think she’s raising every graveyard between here and Canada.”
“Me too,” I said. “And the sacrifice?”
He lifted a brow.
Yeah, it was us.
“Go up now.” Geek Boy pointed to the staircase, then motioned to Farmwife, who sent several of the revenants toward the rear of the house while a few took up guard duty at the front door. “If she comes back and you aren’t where she told us you should be—”
“She’ll kill you?” Jimmy asked, then glanced at me.
Without even touching him, I knew what he was thinking. If we went upstairs we were toast. We were going to have to break away from them and find another plan.
“I’ll stay right here,” Jimmy continued, “and save myself the trouble of dusting you.”
“No.” Geek Boy pulled a long, thin golden stiletto from his pocket. “You’ll do what I say or I’ll dust you.”
Farmwife gasped. “You mustn’t!”
Geek Boy ignored her, placing the tip of the stiletto against Jimmy’s chest.
I took a step forward; Farmwife grabbed my chain and yanked me back. The golden links scraped my wrists and agony shot everywhere.
“Twice to the heart,” Geek Boy whispered. Then he tilted his head and slashed the stiletto through the air like d’Artagnan before pointing it at one of Jimmy’s narrowed eyes. “Maybe here, or . . .”
He ran the blade along Jimmy’s cheek, over his chin and down his neck. Wherever the knife touched, it left a long black line that turned quickly to red. The sound of meat sizzling on a grill filled the room, along with the scent of roasting flesh.
“Stop,” I ordered.
The revenant spun toward me. “Shut up. You’re next.”
“Come on,” I urged. “Show me what you got.”
I didn’t care that my hands were bound, that with my collar on and no Sawyer in sight I was basically a slightly stronger and faster human. What mattered was that I wouldn’t die as easily as Jimmy and that the revenant didn’t kill him.
“No,” Jimmy ordered. “Deal with me. Unless you’re chicken.”
The revenant rolled his eyes. “Do I look like I’m twelve? That I’d actually care if you thought I was a coward?” He tightened his grip on the stiletto. I tensed, prepared to drag Farmwife along with me as I plowed into the guy like a middle linebacker.
I needn’t have worried. The instant Geek Boy came close enough, Sanducci head-butted him in the nose.
The resulting smack echoed throughout the house. The pudgy kid landed at my feet, blood spraying from his nostrils like a fountain. I kicked him in the head, then bent my knee and pile-drived onto his chest.
Farmwife got her arm around my neck and started to strangle me. She might not want Geek Boy to kill us, but she wasn’t going to let us kill him either. She was strong—stronger than she should be even after lifting hay bales for forty years—but she wasn’t me.
I flipped her forward, letting her own weight carry her over my head. She landed on her back with a crack, and then she had enough worries trying to breathe. Luckily, she’d let go of my leash when she fell, or I’d have been dragged off Geek Boy completely—probably dislocating my shoulder in the process—and I wasn’t finished with him yet.
My knee did good work, so I stood halfway up, changed my position just a bit, then drove downward again. This time I felt his testicles go crunch. Now who couldn’t breathe?
The revenants that had been guarding the door came forward in a rush. The blood flowing from his forehead and down his face impaired Jimmy’s vision, but he didn’t let that stop him.
He was a dhampir. He could “feel” vampires. But from the way he reacted to the revenants, he could feel them, too. He didn’t need to see them. All he had to do was wait until they were close enough, and then he kicked one unerringly in the knee. The guy fell backward into a second while Jimmy twirled and got the third in the throat with his foot. Snap, thud, pop.
The commotion brought others. Revenants appeared at the top of the stairs; they ran in from the rear of the house. Shouts rose from outside.
Blood from Jimmy’s forehead had spattered across the front of his brightly tie-dyed Sesame Street shirt, but the wound was already partly healed.
Our eyes met. As one we moved closer together; shoulder-to-shoulder we faced the staircase.
“I could try and tear your collar off with my teeth,” he muttered, chains rattling as he attempted to break them again.
My gaze on the revenants pouring down the stairs, I returned, “I bet it would be more fun if I took yours off with my teeth.”
He choked. “You’re so damn—”
I never found out if I was so damn dumb, so damn funny, so damn wonderful, because the front door banged open, slamming against the wall; bits of plaster skittered everywhere. All the revenants froze, wide-eyed, and then they cowered.
Jimmy cursed. I winced. I didn’t want to turn and see who could make zombies cringe.
A few of them began to beg. “No, please.”