Wicked Hungry (20 page)

They are almost in arm’s reach, but Jonathan mumbles something and I growl, and then Enrique shouts out in surprise. I look toward him and his pocket seems to be on fire.

The jaguar figurine.

He reaches a hand in and pulls it out and the zombies shriek and groan as he moves it about. Zach covers his eyes.

“To me!” says Enrique.

We huddle close, and then we run.

We’re off and away before they can do much more than moan and shuffle and curse.

But still the question remains, nagging at me:
Why did Zach take my brother’s cat?

Not so far off, a horn sounds.

We slow down to a walk. Enrique has the figurine out in front of him.

“You know,” he says. “I felt her when I held out the jaguar at the zombies.”

“Felt who?” I ask.

“
Abuelita
. My great-grandmother.”

Enrique keeps guiding us. He uses the jaguar as some kind of compass, but really it can’t be that hard to figure out where we’re going. I just have to follow the sounds of the horn. Follow the howls of the angry wolves — of my kin, like it or not.

At least there aren’t any screams. No one’s getting hurt. Or do they not have time to scream?

No, I’ve spoken too soon. The sound freezes us there, in the dark. Not Max this time. Not a cat at all. Someone
human
.

Oh no, not Meredith. Don’t let it be Meredith, please God.

Then we’re all running. We’re already in the woods at the edge of the cemetery. At the far side of the graveyard is Carolina’s house, and beyond that, the site of the new mall.

But first we need to get through or walk around. Enrique and Jonathan are leading the way, straight toward the gates. Suddenly, they stop.

“What’s the matter?” I ask.

“I can’t feel anything anymore,” Enrique says. “It’s like she’s gone. Like she got pulled away or something.”

He puts the jaguar figurine back in his pocket.

“Well, it’s simple, isn’t it?” Jonathan says. “We just walk around the graveyard, and then we get to Carolina’s house.”

But just then we hear another scream.

“You know,” I say. “It’s a lot faster to go through than around.” Because there’s a fence, and it looks like it runs for half a mile both ways.

“Dude,” Jonathan says. “You want to go into a cemetery on Halloween? With all that’s going on right now?”

I just stare him down and finally nod.

Enrique shrugs, I take a step forward, and we go through the gate.

And come to a little gravel parking lot. We aren’t to the gravestones yet, but there’s already something wrong. We have a problem. A very smelly problem.

It’s dead, wherever it is. Or unconscious.

We stop, suddenly. The air crackles with energy, the smell of rotten eggs — sulfur — fills my nostrils, and something sweet and ugly, too, like rot. All this over the animal stink of voided bladder, of panic, fear, and suffering. Over the smoke, too, because there are these little torches lit all around us.

There’s a boy in the middle of the torches that form — what, exactly? The same shape as what Morgaine had around her neck. A pentagram. A circle of protection.

Is it Zach? How could he have gotten here so quickly?

But he turns a little then, and I recognize him. It’s not Zach.

It’s Gary Frumberg.

He doesn’t look happy, and he’s holding out a silver knife. Trying to ward off something. But what?

It’s his pit bull, or is it?
Was
it? What’s wrong with it? It’s just lying there, on the ground.

Bleeding. Or bloody? Alive or dead?

“Frumberg,” Enrique says. “What have you done?”

“I needed a sacrifice,” Gary says. “To protect myself.”

“You killed your dog?” Jonathan asks, incredulous.

Gary shakes his head, his eyes unfocused in the light of the torches. Does he even realize who we are, where he is? “He’s a sacrifice,” he says. “But also a vessel.”

“A vessel?” I ask. “A vessel for what?”

“For the spirit that will protect me from
them
,” he says, looking around. “They’re coming. Can you feel them?”

I have to admit it’s cold. But that’s all I can feel. Besides the stomach-turning revulsion I feel at what I see in front of me. Cold sweat beads on my forehead, and there’s an icy chill in my spine.

Enrique takes a few steps forward, and my hands want to reach out and grab him.

“That dog is dead,” Enrique says, kneeling down next to one of the outer torches. “It’s not going to protect anyone.”

Gary laughs. “That’s where you’re wrong. I read through the spell a hundred times. I did everything right. In a few minutes, I’ll finally be safe. I can
feel
him... He’s coming.”

Enrique shakes his head, but he takes a step back, towards us. And maybe Frumberg’s right. My arms tingle, and there’s a humming coming from inside the pentagram, from inside the dog. From inside the
dead
dog.

“This is black magic,” Jonathan says. “Isn’t it, Frumberg? Animal sacrifice and possession. You think you’re going to be able to control it?” he asks, pointing at the dog.

“What are you talking about?” I ask Jonathan.

“Dude,” Jonathan says. “This is not the first time I’m going to tell you that you need to read those books Morgaine gave you.”

Frumberg turns to face us as the dog next to him shifts and groans. “Morgaine gave you a book, too?” he asks.

We nod.

“That dog is alive,” Enrique says. “It’s moving.”

“No,” Frumberg says. “It’s dead. I killed it.”

“But I saw it move,” Enrique says.

“Frumberg’s right, unfortunately,” Jonathan says. “The dog is very dead.”

“But it’s moving; Enrique’s right,” I say.

Jonathan shakes his head. “It’s not the dog that’s moving. Who did you call, Frumberg? Or should I say
what
?”

What used to be a pit bull stands up now, growing moment by moment, its eyes glowing dark red as its snout expands and horns burst forth from its head. The sulfur stench is overpowering as steam billows forth from its dead jaws.

“Frumberg?” Jonathan asks. “What did you call?”

“You think I’m stupid enough to tell you? I had to pay quite a price just to get the spell book, and for the name? Perhaps the price was too high.”

There is a low growl, and the creature turns to face Gary. “Who called me?” it barks into the night. “Who prepared the host and sacrifice?”

“It was I,” Gary Frumberg says. “I called you, Rewsin.”

“Then you are a fool,” Rewsin says, already doubled in size, bigger than Frumberg now, the voice booming out of its dog mouth.

“Fool or not, I bind you to my will,” Frumberg says. “I called you forth, and you must do my bidding.”

“This malformed pentagram and puny vessel cannot contain me,” growls Rewsin, his borrowed dog body splitting at the seams, sprouting horns and scales where the stretched skin splits. His paws are already as big as my feet.

Rewsin rears up on his hind paws and puts his forepaws on Frumberg’s chest, pushing him out of his tiny circle of protection, out of the pentagram entirely. Frumberg raises his hands, tries to mumble what must be an incantation.

“Gary, run!” I shout, but it’s too late.

Rewsin barks three times, and all the torches go out.

My hackles rise again and the air fills with sulfur. My whole body yearns to change, and Enrique tenses up next to me; I can smell his musk.

Rewsin raises himself onto his hind legs, now bigger than the pentagram, and knocks Gary to the ground. Then he makes one leap and he is out of the circle.

He looks at me, at Enrique and Jonathan.

“Friend or foe?” he asks us.

“No idea,” I say.

“Friend,” says Jonathan.

“I’m with Stanley,” Enrique says.

“I have no friends,” growls Rewsin, growing more, splitting more at the seams.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say.

Rewsin ignores me, turning to look back at Frumberg, who lies on the ground. I don’t know if he’s dead or just knocked unconscious.

“He lives still,” Rewsin says. “What an idiot.”

He’s got that right.

A single horn sounds not too far off in the distance.

“The hunters blow their stupid horns, and I will answer,” he says. “But tell that silly boy that if he tries to call me again, he’s dead. Actually, tell him if we even cross paths again, he’s dead.”

He turns to examine us again. “Actually, maybe I should just kill you all. It’s a much cleaner death than leaving you for the ghouls.”

“The ghouls?” we ask, looking around.

“Can’t you smell them?” asks Rewsin.

“Uh, I thought—” I say.

Rewsin barks once again, a laugh this time. “You thought the stink was me?” He sniffs once. “I may not smell too sweet, mortal, but ghouls have a truly ghastly reek. Be wary of them.”

The horn sounds again.

“Oh well,” he growls. “Got to go.”

He bounds off through the forest, toward the sound of the still blowing horn.

There are several immediate problems. First, Frumberg is unconscious or playing dead on the ground. Second, Rewsin is bounding off toward where the new mall is being built. Toward the gateway, but also toward Carolina’s house. Toward Carolina. Toward Carolina and Meredith.

Third—perhaps the most pressing problem—is a shuffling movement, coming from the direction of the gravestones. Rewsin is gone, but we are not alone.

And, quite frankly it still reeks.

Sulfur, but that’s not all. Death. Rot. The foul smell of disturbed cemetery ground. The shuffling noise grows, along with a low, mumbling groan.

Jonathan crouches down next to Frumberg.

“Is he...?” I ask.

“Dead?” Jonathan says. “Nope. That demon was right. He’s still breathing. I can’t seem to wake him up, though.”

“Leave him, then,” Enrique says. “You know they need us more over there.”

“I don’t know,” Jonathan says.

“I don’t know, either,” I say. “Can you smell what I smell? What did he say about ghouls, anyway?”

“Oh no,” Jonathan says, standing up, and sniffing, looking around. “No, please no. This is
not
happening.”

Is it my imagination, or has the reek grown stronger, the moaning louder, the air colder?

But my phone is ringing, and it’s not a text message this time. It’s Carolina.

“Stanley?”

“Carolina?”

“Where are you? Are you coming or not?”

“Sure, we’re coming, Carolina,” I say, looking around for anything old and rotting. “We’re just a little tied up at the moment.”

I can’t see anything yet, even with my flashlight on high beam, but the smell is overpowering. I gag.

But what is that? Over the sound of the moaning, the sweet melody of a lone flute tugs at me ever so gently.

Carolina is talking in my ear. “Stanley, what’s going on?”

“Let me talk to Meredith,” I say.

A stone falls to the ground with a dull
thud
. A stone? No, a gravestone
.
Who or what pushed it? Something up here on the ground, or something...down beneath? Pushing up with old rotten fingers? I shudder, but Carolina is still talking to me.

“If you want to talk to her, you need to get over here.”

“Is she okay?” I ask.

“Of course she is,” she says. “What could be wrong with her?”

“Enrique, can you carry him?” Jonathan interrupts, pointing at Gary. “He’s way too heavy for me.”

Enrique shakes his head. “Together, maybe?”

Jonathan turns to me and makes a sign of hanging up. But Carolina is still talking.

“Stanley, I’ve got to go. Zach’s finally here, and he’s not alone. ”

“Carolina? You’ve got to get out of there. It’s a trap.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No, I’m dead serious.”

But the phone beeps twice and she’s gone.

“Stanley?” Jonathan interrupts. “I really think we need to get out of here, now.”

Another gravestone falls to the ground. Not so far off, I hear a scream.

I
stare at my phone like it’s going to explain what I need to do. Obediently, it buzzes once. What is it, psychic?

“THE SACRIFICE IS SECURED.”

I hear howls close by, and then Blaine Whelan and another wolf-man walk into the clearing, both barely clothed but covered in dark hair.

Blaine looks around quickly, sniffing the air.

“Stanley?” he says, looking at me. “What are you doing in the cemetery? You know there are ghouls in here, don’t you?”

I nod. “But that’s not the only problem.”

“Not the only problem?” Blaine asks, as he sniffs the putrid air. “What, was that you messing with Zach’s pills before we got there? That was good work.”

“No, that was Karen.”

“Karen?”

“A friend of mine. You saw what she did?”

“What she’d done, yeah. Hey, we can talk on the road. The ghouls are—”

“Yeah, but—”

“But what? You people have a death wish or something?”

“But
Frumberg
,” Jonathan says, pointing to the ground.

“Frumberg?” Blaine asks, peering down at him.

“We can’t just leave him here, can we?” I ask.

Blaine looks down at Gary, then looks right at me. “Wow,
Frumberg
. You took him out, huh? Are you still clanless?”

“Can’t you see there’s three of us?” I say.

“Three do not a clan make,” he says. “And three as different from one another as you kids? You shouldn’t even be together. It’s dangerous. Almost as dangerous as being alone, like Frumberg here.”

“Well, we are together,” Jonathan says. “So deal with it.”

Blaine shakes his head. “Look, Connor and I need to get out of here. Those ghouls aren’t too particular, and this place is filled with their reek. So what about him?” Blaine asks, pointing to Frumberg. “Have you claimed him?”

“What do you mean, ‘claimed him?’” I ask.

“Stanley, you need to quit pretending you don’t know the rules,” says Blaine.

“But we don’t,” I say.

“Yeah,” Jonathan says. “We really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You expect me to believe that?” says Blaine. “I think you just want to keep Frumberg for yourself.”