Zombies Sold Separately by Cheyenne McCray Page A

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    Negel’s bravery and kind spirit changed not only my view of Sprites, but the view of many other paranorms, to the point that they were allowed entry into the Pit. It would take a lot more than that to erase centuries of racism against Sprites, though.
    The Sprite on stage was no exception to the ugly rule with his tuft of matted blond hair, floppy ears, and bulbous eyes. He also looked familiar. I wasn’t sure, but he could have been one of the Sprites we tracked down when a team of them gave the Statue of Liberty a neon pink pedicure.
    From out of nowhere the Sprite juggler produced a large black top hat, held it up and caught all seven Faeries one at a time as they came down. Poofs of Faerie dust floated out of the hat like a sparkling rainbow.
    Cheering from the crowd rocked the Pit and the Sprite took a bow. His jagged teeth flashed as he gave what I think was his attempt at a smile. The seven tiny Faeries peeked out of the top hat and waved at the audience before the Sprite went offstage and disappeared behind the curtains.
    When the crowd quieted, Adele, the Pixie vocalist from the band Sweet Cat, came out from behind the curtain. Adele was an amazing singer and she knew she was good, which made her less palatable as far as I was concerned. But she was popular and their band was considered one of the best rock paranorm bands around.
    “Straight from Otherworld, Colin of Campton is going to light fire to your world,” Adele said in a sexy, sensual voice. “And all of you females … I found him first.”
    A male walked out from behind the curtain and the females in the place went wild with shouts and applause.
    I have never been one to act like an idiot over a performer, but for a moment I had to fight to keep from doing just that.
    Lawan started crying out, “Colin! Colin!” from beside me, something I would never have thought she’d do.
    I wanted to look away from the male taking center stage, but my gaze was riveted to him. I was mesmerized.
    With his long glittering gold hair and burnished gold eyes, Colin of Campton had to have been one of the most gorgeous males I’d ever seen. Ever.
    Thoughts of Rodán—who I’d always thought of as being the most incredible male specimen ever—kept flashing in my mind.
    Those thoughts were pushed aside as my lips parted and I looked at Colin. I stared at his naked chest and imagined running my fingers along his golden skin, his broad shoulders, his well-defined chest and abs. His red leather pants hugged his trim waist and muscular thighs so well that I held my hand to my chest to hold back a sigh.
    A part of me knew something wasn’t right even as I found myself wanting to go to the stage, climb up on it, and take Colin of Campton down to the floor.
    I shook my head to get the images out.
    What was wrong with me?
    What was wrong with Lawan?
    Beside me, Lawan kept screaming and jumping up and down. She was so petite I didn’t even know if she could see the stage, but she was going crazy. That was so not her.
    The instant Colin raised a burning torch to his lips, then swallowed the fire, I snapped back to reality. I had caught Colin’s scent.
    I shook my head to get the effects of his intoxicating but unwanted presence out of my mind.
    “Lawan.” I caught her by her upper arm and tried to keep her from jumping up and down and screaming more. “He’s a Dragon.”
    She ignored me. I shook her as Colin swallowed two burning torches at the same time.
    “That damn Dragon cast a spell on this entire room.” I shook my friend just enough to get her attention.
    She paused and looked at me with a dazed expression. “What?”
    “Dragon.” When she gave me a confused look, I added, “Dragons can take human form when they choose to.” I gestured toward the stage. “They’re also good at mesmerizing groups of paranorms or norms, which is exactly what he’s doing.”
    Lawan seemed to come back to herself. “How do you know?”
    “Can’t you scent him?”