The Queen Of Zombie Hearts. Gena Showalter
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do you know?”
Frosty motioned to the chalkboard. “He left me a message.”
I read the words scribbled across it. Love me. Hurt me. At midnight. Party like rock stars.
O-kay. “What does it mean?”
“Take the first word of each sentence. Love hurt. At party. Meaning, Mackenzie Love is hurt and he’s got her...where?”
Crap. How bad were her injuries?
“They’re at...a party-supply warehouse? Doubtful.” He was mumbling now, clearly talking to himself, trying to reason things out. “A place we partied? More likely. But he wouldn’t have picked just any place. He would have... Someplace I’d remember... The last place? Yes, yes, yes. I know where he is!”
My heart drummed with excitement. “Then let’s go.”
* * *
We ended up in a run-down neighborhood about fifteen miles out of Birmingham. After wiping our prints, we ditched the car—maybe someone else would decide to do a little freelance valeting, moving it out of the area entirely—and hiked to the worst house of the lot.
It had peeling paint, broken shutters and cracked windows. Pieces of shingle hung from the side of the roof. The planks of wood on the porch released a death rattle as we walked to the door.
Frosty knocked. A shadow soon crept over the bottom of the door, and I knew someone was looking out the peephole.
“About time,” an unfamiliar voice said. Hinges released a high-pitched whine as the dilapidated entrance swung open. A petite brunette with a patchwork of pink scars on one side of her face moved out of the way, allowing Frosty to sail past her.
“Where are they?” he demanded.
“Back room.”
I started to follow after him, but the girl stepped into my path, blocking me. I had to look down...down...down.... She barely topped five feet. She was young, no more than fourteen. And she was spunky cute, with dark green eyes gleaming with fierce protectiveness.
“Who the hell’s your friend?” she called to Frosty. Her narrowed gaze never left me.
“That’s Ali. Let her in.”
Her features pinched with distaste. “So you’re the infamous Ali Bell, are you?”
Great. What had she been told about me? Her sneering tone suggested I was so evil, the devil had actually sold his soul to me.
I nodded. “I am. And you are?”
“Juliana, Veronica’s younger sister. What of it?” All attitude, no finesse.
My chest clenched with nearly unbearable longing to see my own little sister. Emma hadn’t visited me in weeks. Where was she?
The last time we’d spoken, she’d told me our connection was thinning and we would be seeing each other less often. I’d taken that to mean once, maybe twice, a week. I wish I’d known “less often” could actually mean “never again.” I would have hugged her harder, longer. Perhaps never let go.
“May I come in?” I asked softly.
“Whatever.” Juliana stiffly angled to the side. I entered the house and took stock.
No pictures hung on the walls. The furniture was well used, but patched and polished. There wasn’t a TV or computer, but a vase containing fresh flowers sat on the coffee table. A sweet, floral scent perfumed air that would have been musty otherwise.
I’d had no idea Veronica, my greatest frenemy, had a younger sister. Or that they were, apparently, living in abject poverty. Poverty, and yet, Bronx had felt it was safe to come here, even though it wasn’t safe to be at any other slayer’s house. So, this house must have escaped Anima’s notice. But how?
And what about the party Frosty had mentioned? It had been held here? Why? And when? Had Cole attended?
Why hadn’t I been invited?
Ugh. The last was asked in a disgusting whine. As if any of that crap mattered in the wake of such devastation.
“Where are your parents?” I asked. Voices seeped from the hall. I would give Juliana a few more minutes to invite me back, and then I was going on my own, rude or not.
“Dead,” she said in a snippy tone.
“I’m sorry.”
“Sure you are. For an encore, why don’t you ask me how I got the scars?”
Okay. “How’d you get the scars?”
She blinked in astonishment, her mouth hanging open. Clearly, she hadn’t expected me to do it. “I was burned.” Her words lashed like a whip. “Not that it’s any of your businesses.”
“Hey,” I said, palms up in a gesture of innocence, “you offered.” And wow, I suddenly felt guilty for treating Veronica so craptastically when I’d first met her. She hadn’t exactly had an easy life.
But then, like I’d told Frosty, none of us had. We were all hurting in some way.
Juliana glanced at her feet, shifted from one side to the other, then looked up at me. “Have you heard from Cole?” she asked, her tone now grudging.
“He was shot, but he’s on the mend.”
Relief she couldn’t hide; it was clear she genuinely cared for him.
Get in line.
All right, so, it was time to check on my friends. Without another word, I stalked down the hall.
“Hey! You can’t go back there.” Juliana stayed close to my heels. “This isn’t your house.”
I opened one door, found it empty save for a single twin mattress and a blanket and kept going. There was only one other room...and that’s where I found everyone. Three twin-size mattresses were propped on the floor. Mackenzie was sprawled across the one on the left, Bronx the one in the center and Veronica the one on the right.
Mackenzie was asleep. Dark curls spilled around pallid skin. Her lips were raw from being chewed, and there were several abrasions on her face. The hem of her shirt bunched over her middle, and I could see the bandage wrapped around her waist.
Bronx and Veronica were awake and alert.
He looked healthy, propped up against the wall, one hand cupping the back of his neck, the other resting at his side. His dark hair, died green at the tips, was mussed. The piercings in his eyebrow and lower lip gleamed in the light. No visible cuts or bruises.
“She was stabbed,” he said, his teeth clenched with anger. Anima should be very afraid. Of all the slayers, he was the most uncivilized, and I’d always suspected humanity had become a facade he sometimes wore. “I don’t think our attackers expected anyone to be at the gym. There were two of them, and when they broke in, we heard them. We moved to the shadows, watching, waiting. When we realized they were pouring gasoline on everything, we tackled them. She was stabbed, a match was lit and one of the guys was able to run away.”
I walked to her bed and sat at the edge, my hip touching hers. Gently I smoothed a hand down her cheek. Tremors struck me. My limbs were growing heavier by the minute. My adrenaline must be crashing. I might not have the strength to push out my spirit and light up.
“Frosty,” I said. “Can you light up?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Because you’re going to put your fire inside Mackenzie’s wound.”
In unison, everyone in the room belted out a refusal.
“Like hell he is!”
“Are you insane? The answer is no!”
“That’s so not happening.”
“Zip it,”