The draugr chewed, trying to work his massive tongue to shift Kate toward his teeth.
Flies blanketed the undead, turning into maggots, eating his flesh. I sliced and diced, the maggots ate, but the more damage we did, the faster its flesh grew back.
Kate groaned. I had to get her out now.
I went furry. Shreds of my clothes fluttered to the ground. I took a short running start up the draugr’s bony shoulder and kicked the temporomandibular joint. The bone popped with a dry crunch, announcing a dislocated jaw. The draugr’s mouth fell open and Kate dropped out.
A huge hand swept me off the shoulder and clenched me, squeezing. I snarled and bit. Pressure ground me. My bones whined. He was crushing me as if I were a rag and he were trying to squeeze all the squishy red stuff out.
The scent of gasoline slapped me.
The pain was unbearable now. My eyes watered from pain and fury.
The draugr gripped me harder.
My shoulder gave and I screamed when my arm snapped like a toothpick.
Something sparked. Through my tears I saw the flare of fire and Raphael, his beast face furious, climbing up the draugr a hair above the flames. Raphael leaped up, clawed his way onto the creature’s face, and tore an undead eye out of the left socket.
The draugr screamed and dropped me, slapping himself, trying to grab Raphael.
I fell. I tumbled down and suddenly something caught me. I saw Ascanio’s face. He dropped me to my feet. Next to me Roman stood, his hands clawing the air, his staff screeching.
Above us the draugr was a pillar of flame.
A furry form jumped off the draugr, hit the tree, and dropped down. Yes! Go, Raphael!
The draugr roared and turned toward us.
Roman strained.
The undead took a slow step toward us. Then another.
“He’s not burning up,” Roman screamed. “I can’t hold him.”
The flame coated the undead’s body, but none of the flesh actually charred. Damn it. Couldn’t he just die?
Roman’s feet slid backward. Raphael landed next to him.
Kate pulled herself upright. “What do we do?”
“We must break him apart and bury him. He is of the Earth, he belongs to it. The Earth will hold him.”
“I can break him if you anchor him for a second,” Kate ground out. “But that’s all I’ve got. No more magic left after.”
The draugr took another step.
Roman bent backward. His eyes rolled back in his head. Chains coated in dark smoke burst from the ground and bound the draugr’s feet and wrists.
Kate opened her mouth and said a word. The magic burst from her in a torrent and smashed into the draugr, barely touching me. Panic splashed me. My fur stood on end and a hysterical hyena cackle tore out of me, echoing Raphael’s lunatic laugh and Ascanio’s high-pitched giggle.
The draugr jerked back, trying to run, the chains snapped taut, and his body fell apart like a toy coming to pieces at the seams.
Behind me Kate fell to the ground. Roman sobbed once and crashed next to her. It was up to the three of us now.
We ran. I grabbed an enormous arm and pulled it with all my might, into the forest, away from the road, and dug into the soil, yanking the roots out and slicing my furry fingers on jagged rocks. My arms spiked with pain. I ignored it. I dug and dug, throwing fountains of earth, until finally I pushed the piece of the arm into the hole and covered it with dirt. Then I dashed to the road, grabbed the next chunk, and did it again.
The five of us were lying on cots in the Keep’s medical wing. When we had limped our way into the Keep with the scale, filthy, covered in blood and dirt, and wearing the delightful perfume of carrion mixed with gasoline and smoke, Doolittle had nearly had an aneurysm.
We had been strong-armed into the hospital wing and made to lie down in our beds. Even Ascanio, who had gotten off scot-free. Doolittle and his assistants examined us and quickly determined that Raphael had second-degree burns, I had a fractured humerus, Roman was dehydrated and had suffered a concussion, and Kate had two cracked ribs, a bruised hip, and her knee had gone out again. And then Curran walked through the doorway.
The rage of the Beast Lord was a terrible thing to behold. Some people stormed, some punched things, but Curran slipped into this icy, bone-chilling calm. His face hardened into a flat mask, and his eyes turned into a molten inferno of pure gold. If you looked at it for longer than two seconds, your muscles locked, your knees shook, and you had to fight to keep from cringing. It was easier to look at the floor, but I didn’t. Besides, he wasn’t angry with me. He wasn’t even angry with Kate. He was angry with Anapa. I had no doubt that if he could’ve gotten a hold of the god at that moment, he would’ve broken him in half.
“It’s only ribs,” Kate told him. “And they’re not even broken. They are fractured.”