Raising Innocence: A Rylee Adamson Novel(63)

Fuck me, I’d thought I was in trouble for a minute. I pulled the edge of my shirt down and traced the black snowflake etched into my skin on my chest bone. Demon venom had nearly done me in, the first time my Immunity hadn’t protected me completely. Mind you, I’d been able to keep the world from spiralling into an ice age, so I suppose that was something. But the thought that my Immunity wasn’t up to snuff again . . . I wasn’t sure I liked that. So it was a relief to feel the imprinting fade and slowly slough off.
Letting out a deep, shaky breath, I turned and made my way back to the main room. Pamela and Alex sat where my desk had been. The whole place looked like a typhoon had ripped through, followed by a Giant on a mating quest. Nothing was left untouched, people included.
There were a few officers that had been bitten, and I could see it in their faces, the fear that they would be turned into zombies.
“Oh, get the fuck over it,” I snapped. “You watch too many stupid B-rated movies and you think you understand the supernatural? Fuck. You have to be DEAD to become a zombie.”
I shook my head as I walked through the room. “What a bunch of idiots.” I looked over the different zombies. Male, female, the only thing was there were no kids, just adults. All of them were way far gone, like they’d been zombies for a long time. Maybe the Necromancer was hoarding zombies. I gave a full body shiver at the thought.
On the far side of the room the one who’d grabbed and bitten me was still twitching; they’d do that for hours even with their heads lopped off. Kind of like chickens.
I put a hand on Pamela’s shoulder. “You did good. Are you okay?”
She nodded. “Yes, but . . . I heard the police. They said that these were people once.”
My eyes closed of their own volition as I tried to put this as delicately as possible. She was, after all, a kid still.
“Yeah, once. But not anymore. Whatever made them human fled when they died and then were raised by the Necromancer.”
Her blonde eyebrows dipped in consternation. “You mean it’s okay to kill them?”
“Yup. I’m going to encourage it. It’s good practice.” I was about to do something that any parent organization, foster care system, and every god damn therapist would have been screaming about. I slid my sword from its sheath off my back.
“Here, take this.” I handed it to Pamela, who took it awkwardly, her eyes widening.
“What do I need this for?”
I pulled the other sword, walked over to the closest zombie and did the most basic of slashes, removing its left arm. I lifted my eyes to hers.
“Practice. Go around, cut off all the limbs and heads you can. Before every slash, check to make sure there is no one close to you.”
She caught her lower lip in her teeth and I saw her pull her back straight. One day she would be strong enough to live in this world. If I could keep her alive.
Agent Valley came stomping in about the time that Pamela took off her first limb. With a squeal of excitement, she spun toward me, gore sliding down the blade.
“I got it!”
“Good job, now keep going.”
With a wide smile on her face, she gave me a thumbs up.
“But keep your mouth shut, zombies taste like shit.”
Her lips clamped together, but her eyes sparkled. That was just another difference between humans and supernaturals. We thrived on magic, weapons and blood; it was in our essence.
The FBI agent stood in front of me, and I pointedly ignored him, watching Pamela as she hacked away.
“She’s making a bigger mess than we need,” he said.
“She’s got good natural movement. One day she’ll kick my ass with a sword if she keeps up the practice.”
Agent Valley grabbed my shoulder, his fingers gripping hard, pinching a nerve.
“Is this a game to you? You run off with one of the officers, kidnap a foster kid while you’re at it, and then to top it off, you piss off some Necromancer so badly he sends a small army to wipe us out via our own basement?” He wasn’t yelling; his voice was soft and intense.
I gave him my best bitch eyes. “Let go of my arm before I have Pamela remove it for you.” His hand slowly dropped, and I dusted off my shoulder. “It’s not a game. But until you realize that things can’t be done within the confines of your rules, things will seem out of control and I won’t tell you what’s going on.”
Jaw flexing, that tell-tale vein throbbed along his neck. “You need to catch this bastard. Now.”
“Are you giving me free rein?”
Boy, I couldn’t wait to hear his answer.
He struggled, his facial muscles twitching, hands giving a slight tremor. Finally, he managed to say it. “You have free rein. Take who you need, but make it fast. Interpol isn’t happy with you—”