White Wedding Nightmares
Elissa Wilds
The potion.
I’d swiped it from Lucien’s stolen Egyptian engraved box. None of the boys had noticed my slight of hand during the appearance of Mark the lying weasel wizard. I’d been both horrified and intrigued by the promise of the potion. Give me more powers than I already had? Make me something other than human? I’d had a flash of intuition that I might need that potion someday, but I really hadn’t expected to need it so damn soon.
That’s the thing about my psychic ability. A vision here. A flash of insight there. Rarely anything concrete. And I’d never been good at predicting timelines.
I yanked the vial from my dress, and the tiny bottle gleamed in the dim light of the colorful, paper lanterns strung about the make-shift dance floor.
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The liquid shone through the clear glass, and now that I got a good look at it, it was more amber colored than red, reminding me of my favorite drink. Scotch whiskey. Straight up. No mixers. No ice. No, I’ve never been the fruity-tootie drink type. I blinked. The potion looked red again. And a moment later – it was green. Huh. A potion that changed colors. What did it mean?
A zombie to my right squeezed in closer to me, emitting that droll mumbling sound that all zombies make. The unpleasant odor of rotting flesh assailed me. I tasted bile but refused to allow my lunch to make a repeat performance. That same odiferous zombie grabbed my arm. Hard. Then he leaned in close, his slime slicked lips opening and closing. His intent was clear.
He really, really wanted to take a bite out of my flesh.
I attempted to tug the cork from the bottle, but unfortunately, the flesh eaters were grabbing at my arms, making it impossible to hold the bottle still. I couldn’t drop the potion. I couldn’t risk losing the precious contents. I slipped the vial back into my dress and groaned my frustration. I’d never be able to take them all – thus the need for the potion – but I had to clear some space long enough to swig it down. I managed to free my left hand. The handle of my thickest, sharpest knife felt good in my palm. Like home. Like kicking some zombie ass.
I rammed the knife into the most persistent zombie’s head, just as he was about to nibble on my arm, then retrieved the knife from the now inanimate corpse, intending to pay the same respects to the next flesh eater in line. That one lunged for me, but I spun out of her grasp and into a crouch, kicking my leg out and taking a few more to the ground. They fumbled over each other in a frenzy to stand up and get to their food. Me.
My knife sought and found a few more zombie heads, making a slurping noise as it made contact, penetrated, released. It was damn inconvenient that you had to either chop their heads off or stab them in their dead brains to kill them. Which was kind of funny in a sick sort of way. Because zombies are already dead. And brains are their favorite snack. Although, they don’t mind chomping through limbs on their way to your skull.
Gods, I detested zombies. That noise they make – one big group buzzing sound that starts to build and build until you thought your head might explode. And the smell. Ugh. ‘Nuff said.
I managed to shove, stab, and kick my way through the throng, but just as I thought I’d make it through unscathed, a sharp pain sliced my leg. I glanced down to see one particularly determined flesh eater chomping at my calf. A woman with dark hair and a fancy faded pink party dress. Some party. Just what the hell were all these zombies doing out here in the middle of nowhere? Dressed in their finest and dancing to Frank Sinatra tunes no less? What was the world coming to?
I drove my knife into the zombie’s skull, and she immediately released my leg and fell to the side. The wound on my leg gaped like a mouth. Blood trickled down my calf. Damn it. I glanced up. More zombies lurched toward me. Time to move.
Pain zigzagged up my leg as I ran, but I didn’t slow down. Zombies move slowly, but I wasn’t exactly breaking any records with my new limp. I just needed to put enough distance between us to – I stopped, losing my train of thought, taken aback by the sight in front of me.
Seth. My angel. Every time I looked at him I had to catch my breath. His shoulder length blonde hair lifted from his shoulders, caught by the night wind. The dark forest behind him, and the towering oak he leaned against, framed his tall, muscular body in stark contrast - the shimmering ivory of his wings and pale skin against the mottled brown and moss green of the woods.
As always, I was drawn to him. The well-worn saying ‘like a moth to a flame’ held deeper meaning for me. With my black hair and brown eyes, and my olive skin, I felt dark and dangerous against his purity and light. Of course, he wasn’t all pure. Not anymore. An image flashed through my mind, replaying my own contribution to his fall from grace. Seth’s body entwined with my own, waves of desire spiraling between us replete with sparks of red and orange light. His magick. My magick. Our magick. I struggled to push the vision away. No use reminiscing. This wasn’t the time or place.
I moved closer to him, watching his gaze light with a familiar flame. He knew what I was thinking.
“You got away?” I asked.
“I did.”
“The others?”
“They are not far behind.” He tilted his head, and his penetrating gaze raked me from head to toe. I knew he wouldn’t miss a single detail of my appearance. Seth never missed anything.
I stopped an inch away from him and touched my finger to his bare chest. He skin felt hot. He leaned close to me, and the air between us sizzled with unspoken need.
“You want to kiss me,” I said way more matter-of-factly than I felt. I was calm and cool on the outside but inside my stomach was a jumbled mess of knots.
“Yes.” His hand brushed my cheek, soft, fleeting. I almost sighed with pleasure. Gods, he could do things to me. He had done things to me. Things, I had to admit, I wanted to do again.
“Then why don’t you?” The words emerged from my throat a hoarse whisper.
He swallowed and backed away just slightly. “Because I’m wondering if you are going to drink that potion? Or if you are simply going to allow yourself to become a zombie.”
I was suddenly keenly aware of the pain in my calf again. The skin around the bite wound was already turning bluish gray. Crap. I’d almost forgotten. I yanked the vial from my bodice and tugged out the cork. The color of the liquid inside had shifted again. This time to deepest ebony. I lifted the bottle to my mouth but hesitated.
“I’m afraid,” I whispered, hating that it was the truth.
“You should be, ” a voice said from behind me.
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