Chapters (42)
- TITLE PAGE
- COPYRIGHT PAGE
- DEDICATION PAGE
- CONTENTS
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
I slammed the pipe down on her head and got to my feet. I kept low, swinging hard, cracking knees and shins, breaking ankles and a few hands that reached down to try to stop me. My bones vibrated from fingertip to spine every time I made solid contact, and I clenched my teeth and hoped for the soft crunch that told me I had disabled another one. Above me, defending my left side and my back, Malachi jabbed and deflected, kicked and punched, crushed and dropped anything that came at him. He was an unstoppable force, smooth and invulnerable. Above the ruckus, I could hear the rapid but steady rush of his breath as he did his thing. Never once did it falter. We inched toward the windows, now only a few feet away, leaving a trail of broken and bleeding Mazikin behind us.
“The hall,” barked Malachi. “More coming.”
I didn’t turn to look. I smacked a skinny girl Mazikin away from me and lunged for the nearest window. Behind us, I could hear the thunder of footsteps as the second wave of Mazikin pushed out of the hallway. With my heart pounding against my aching ribs, I raised the pipe and smashed the window glass, which exploded outward, sending a rain of shards tinkling to the sidewalk below. I leaped up on the windowsill and grabbed Malachi’s shoulder as a siren sounded in the distance. His dark eyes met mine, and he nodded. I jumped onto the walkway, only a four-foot drop, ready to take on the Mazikin who had barred the door. But there was no one outside, only the wail of a siren coming closer. From across the street, tires screeched as a car peeled out. Someone had called the police.
Malachi grunted and stumbled against the window as the mob of Mazikin attacked. He swung his staff in an arcing blur, giving himself a pocket of space in which he could move. Then he squatted down and threw himself shoulders-first out the window, still slicing his staff through the air. He hit the ground and pushed himself to his feet as a few Mazikin came scrambling out of the window after us.
“We have to get out of here,” I huffed, my fingers scrabbling along Malachi’s waist as he stabbed the end of his staff into the neck of a skeletal middle-aged guy with inch-long fingernails. Dread rolled over me as I realized how bad this was. “I think we just killed at least eight of them. And they have plenty of witnesses.”