Grace of a Wolf (by Lenaleia) novel Chapter 182

Chapter 182: Jack-Eye: The Infestation in Question

JACK-EYE

I’m no stranger to death.

But life after death is... new.

After finding Owen’s little hideaway not only burned down on the outside but "unlinked," as he calls it, from whatever magical pocket dimension it once occupied, we had to trek into the hills and down a segment of caves and caverns to make any horror movie director cream their pants in delight with all their warning signs and roped off entrances.

After a few tight squeezes and a few panic attacks from the wizard, we make it to Owen’s secret lair, which is covered in blood, strange writings on the wall (written in blood, of course), and teeming with—

Zombies.

Owen and Lyre call them "ghouls," but who the fuck are they kidding? Rotten flesh. Vacant stares. Arms outstretched while they moan and shuffle toward us like it’s an all-you-can-eat buffet and we’re the prime rib.

Actually, their shuffling is pretty fucking speedy, and their arms are only outstretched because they’re trying to tear our heads off, but the point is, the visual’s there.

Though I’m not entirely certain we’re still on our planet. Sure, we all talk about zombie apocalypses—and every man has a plan for one, whether they admit it or not—but it doesn’t mean we actually expect to go through one.

Come on. Zombies. Seriously?

"They’re not technically zombies," Owen says for the third time, driving some old-ass dagger he conjured out of nowhere through one’s eye socket with disturbing precision. "Zombies are reanimated human corpses. These are—"

"The same damn thing!" I duck as one lunges at me, swinging my half-shifted claws through its neck. The head tumbles off, but the body keeps coming. "If it walks like a zombie and tries to eat me like a zombie—"

"Ghouls don’t actually consume the flesh," Lyre cuts in, kicking the legs out from under another one like she does this every damn Monday. "They feed on the residual life force."

"Not. Helping."

Thom hasn’t stopped screaming since we saw the first one. His voice grates on every damn nerve I have as he cowers behind us, absolutely useless. I’m about to tell him to shut the hell up when Lyre makes a sharp gesture in his direction.

His mouth keeps moving, but the sound cuts off instantly.

"Thank you," I mutter, cleaving another zombie-ghoul-whatever from shoulder to hip. Thankfully, since they’re dead and basically rotten, it’s easy to tear them apart.

They stink so fucking bad, though.

I’d rather live in a landfill than smell this shit.

Two hours and a phone call from Grace later—only Lyre would use her phone in the middle of a ghoul uprising—I’m panting, covered in black, putrid goo, and surrounded by dismembered body parts that won’t stop twitching. My arms ache. My clothes are ruined. And I still don’t have any fucking answers.

I kick at a severed hand, still crawling toward Lyre. "So anyone want to tell me why Batman’s secret lair is full of the walking dead?"

She doesn’t even look at me as she casually boots a decapitated head across the floor. "Hmm. That’s the question, isn’t it?"

And that’s it. That’s all she offers while she wipes her blade—another dagger conjured out of fucking nowhere, which would be real fucking handy for me but no one fucking offered—on what used to be someone’s shirt. I stare at her, waiting for more, but she just continues cleaning her knife.

For the first time since meeting her, I feel precisely zero urge to flirt or fantasize. She’s covered in black slime, her rainbow-colored hair is matted with gore, and there’s a chunk of... something... stuck to her cheek I don’t want to identify.

I probably look worse.

And smell worse.

"I need a shower," I mutter, running a hand through my hair and immediately regretting it when my fingers come away sticky. 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝒆𝔀𝒆𝙗𝓷𝒐𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝓸𝓶

"You can over there," Owen says, gesturing toward the back.

My expression surpasses unfriendly into downright hostile. "Pass."

"It’s fine. There are plenty of showers where we’re going," Lyre says, sheathing her knife.

In the corner, Thom’s doubled over, his body jerking with each silent hurl. Whatever magic Lyre used doesn’t obstruct his mouth, but no sound comes out as he empties his stomach onto the floor.

"What did you do to him?" I ask, nodding toward our resident warlock.

She glances at me, her expression completely untroubled as she admits, "I muted him."

"You can do that?"

"Obviously."

Huh.

I guess I should be grateful she hasn’t done it to me... yet.

"So... are we going to talk about this?" I gesture broadly at the carnage around us. "Because this doesn’t seem like your standard home invasion, no?"

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