stop the blood flow coming from his open throat, but it just kept coming, and he was on the floor of the foyer, the blood pooling and flowing out like it might never stop.
But all Broahm could see were the few drops that had sprayed into the wolf’s mouth, the droplets that would activate the house’s security system. The blood of the person who’d be safe. Not Broahm’s blood.
Broahm was screwed.
He panicked, went for the front door, grabbed the knob. It burned his hand, and he jerked back. Just like that, the security system had been activated.
His house. Against him.
Not thinking, he walked backward into the foyer, backing away fast from the front door, hand going up to his mouth. He sucked the burn, wincing, and even in that split second remembered the house’s defenses, the security he’d paid big gold for only a few months ago.
He wrenched his hand from his mouth and spat the syllables for the iron skin spell a split second before the poison darts launched. The darts bounced off his face and arms with metallic tinks , his skin turning iron just in the nick of time.
Flustered, he stumbled into the kitchen and thrust his burned hand into a bucket of cold water. Relief brought clarity. The house. What was next? It would detect that he’d survived the darts and activate the—
“Grrrrrraaaaaaaaarrrrr . . .”
Broahm spun to see the zombie lurching toward him.
Broahm had thought it funny at the time. What were the odds? A zombie bear. The hulking beast came at him, claws out, eyes vacant, mouth and fangs ready to rip him to shreds.
Broahm dove to the floor as the claws raked the counter where he’d been a moment before, splitting the bucket in two, splashing water all over the kitchen floor.
Now Broahm did cast the flame spell, hand extended toward the zombie animal, flames shooting from his fingertips, curling around the creature, the patchy fur that remained on its body catching fire. The zombie bear roared but turned on Broahm and kept coming.
Broahm ran from the kitchen, back through the foyer and up the stairs.
Two things. The zombie bear behind him, and whatever the security system would do to him on the second floor.
The zombie bear came after him slowly. As Sulton had promised, it had been purchased secondhand and was almost worn out to begin with. Broahm paused on the staircase to look back at the creature. It lumbered up after him, patches of mangy fur smoldering. It was, frankly, a pathetic sight, but if it got hold of him, it would tear his arms and legs and head off.
What spells were left? The thing had survived the flame cast, and in other circumstances, Broahm would have been glad to get his money’s worth. As it was, the wizard sort of wished the thing had gone down a bit easier. He went through the list of the remaining spells in his head.
Sleep? No, you couldn’t put a zombie to sleep. The undead do not slumber. He had three other spells to choose from: Voice. Light. Shatter.
Shatter might do the trick. It was meant to destroy armor and swords, but maybe it would do the same to the bear’s patchy skin and dried bones. The more Broahm thought about it, the more he thought it would work. He turned, mouth falling open to utter the words, hands raised to weave arcane symbols in the air.
Slam!
The zombie bear was already upon him, barreling into him headfirst, butting the wizard backward, arms flailing into the main area of the second level. The iron skin spell kept his ribs from cracking.
The zombie bear knocked Broahm over a plush divan. “Shit!”
Broahm scrambled to his feet just in time to see the undead animal knock the furniture aside to get at him again. In a thousandth of a second, this minor debate unfolded in Broahm’s brain: I can cast the shatter spell now. He’s coming right at me. It’s a point-blank shot. Or I can take a deep breath. There’s no time for both.
He took a deep breath.
At the same moment the four brown ceramic toads placed around the room
But all Broahm could see were the few drops that had sprayed into the wolf’s mouth, the droplets that would activate the house’s security system. The blood of the person who’d be safe. Not Broahm’s blood.
Broahm was screwed.
He panicked, went for the front door, grabbed the knob. It burned his hand, and he jerked back. Just like that, the security system had been activated.
His house. Against him.
Not thinking, he walked backward into the foyer, backing away fast from the front door, hand going up to his mouth. He sucked the burn, wincing, and even in that split second remembered the house’s defenses, the security he’d paid big gold for only a few months ago.
He wrenched his hand from his mouth and spat the syllables for the iron skin spell a split second before the poison darts launched. The darts bounced off his face and arms with metallic tinks , his skin turning iron just in the nick of time.
Flustered, he stumbled into the kitchen and thrust his burned hand into a bucket of cold water. Relief brought clarity. The house. What was next? It would detect that he’d survived the darts and activate the—
“Grrrrrraaaaaaaaarrrrr . . .”
Broahm spun to see the zombie lurching toward him.
Broahm had thought it funny at the time. What were the odds? A zombie bear. The hulking beast came at him, claws out, eyes vacant, mouth and fangs ready to rip him to shreds.
Broahm dove to the floor as the claws raked the counter where he’d been a moment before, splitting the bucket in two, splashing water all over the kitchen floor.
Now Broahm did cast the flame spell, hand extended toward the zombie animal, flames shooting from his fingertips, curling around the creature, the patchy fur that remained on its body catching fire. The zombie bear roared but turned on Broahm and kept coming.
Broahm ran from the kitchen, back through the foyer and up the stairs.
Two things. The zombie bear behind him, and whatever the security system would do to him on the second floor.
The zombie bear came after him slowly. As Sulton had promised, it had been purchased secondhand and was almost worn out to begin with. Broahm paused on the staircase to look back at the creature. It lumbered up after him, patches of mangy fur smoldering. It was, frankly, a pathetic sight, but if it got hold of him, it would tear his arms and legs and head off.
What spells were left? The thing had survived the flame cast, and in other circumstances, Broahm would have been glad to get his money’s worth. As it was, the wizard sort of wished the thing had gone down a bit easier. He went through the list of the remaining spells in his head.
Sleep? No, you couldn’t put a zombie to sleep. The undead do not slumber. He had three other spells to choose from: Voice. Light. Shatter.
Shatter might do the trick. It was meant to destroy armor and swords, but maybe it would do the same to the bear’s patchy skin and dried bones. The more Broahm thought about it, the more he thought it would work. He turned, mouth falling open to utter the words, hands raised to weave arcane symbols in the air.
Slam!
The zombie bear was already upon him, barreling into him headfirst, butting the wizard backward, arms flailing into the main area of the second level. The iron skin spell kept his ribs from cracking.
The zombie bear knocked Broahm over a plush divan. “Shit!”
Broahm scrambled to his feet just in time to see the undead animal knock the furniture aside to get at him again. In a thousandth of a second, this minor debate unfolded in Broahm’s brain: I can cast the shatter spell now. He’s coming right at me. It’s a point-blank shot. Or I can take a deep breath. There’s no time for both.
He took a deep breath.
At the same moment the four brown ceramic toads placed around the room
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