Footsteps clomped onto the stairs. Heavy footsteps, coming down. Nick? My heart leapt. With Nick I wouldn’t have to run. We could flush out Hull and finish this-

The footsteps faltered as if he’d tripped and caught himself before falling. I hurried forward. If Nick was still hurt, then we were both getting out of here.

I rounded the doorway before I noticed the heavy stink of rotting flesh. I looked up to see the bowler-hatted zombie staggering down the stairs, knife in hand.

My heart sank, but I shook it off. This would do. Get the zombie in here, and I could run for reinforcements while he kept Hull busy.

“He’s in here,” I said. “He’s using magic to hide, but he’s here-”

The zombie’s eyes met mine. I leapt aside just in time, as he barreled down the final steps, knife raised like a bayonet.

I backpedaled into the main room. The zombie faltered, as if still struggling under dueling orders. Then he shot forward. I backed up and smacked into the first table. As he came at me, I swung onto the table top, sliding across the slick surface and nearly tumbling off the other side.

“Elena!” Jaime’s voice, from the top of the stairs.

“Down-”

The zombie’s knife arced my way. I shimmied back along the tabletop, out of the knife’s reach, then pushed to my feet. I turned, planning to leap to the next table. Then I saw Hull, across the room, face drawn in concentration as he warred for the zombie, the effort too much for him to continue casting the cover spell.

Our eyes met. He lifted his hand in a knockback spell, which would send me sailing right into the zombie. I kicked fast and low, keeping my balance. My foot connected with the side of the zombie’s head just as Hull’s spell hit me. The zombie went down. So did I-the spell sending me flying over him, so fast that I could barely protect my stomach.

I hit the floor in an awkward tumble, teeth clamping down on my tongue. As I scrambled up, Hull raised his hands in a second cast, his lips forming the words. Then he stopped, face darkening, lips forming a silent curse.

“Not quite able to muster enough juice, hmm?” I said, spitting as I tasted blood. I swiped my hand over my mouth.

Hull restarted his incantation.

“I hope that’s nothing stronger than a knockback spell,” I said as I advanced on him. “Or it’s not going to work. Witch magic is tough on sorcerers, and you’ve already OD’d. But you know that, don’t you? You can feel it.”

Hull’s lips twisted in a humorless smirk, but he said nothing.

“Maybe a hundred years ago, you could have done it, but you’re still recuperating from an unexpectedly long incarceration. An incarceration that proves you’re far from perfect…and too dumb to realize it.”

He snarled, and lifted hishands. Then he stopped before even beginning the incantation. I was now within fifteen feet of him. Just a little closer…

Hull looked over his shoulder.

“No escape there,” I said. “It’s a dead end.”

I charged. Hull’s hands went up, lips moving, but he’d never have time-

A jolt struck me, and I flew off my feet, body going rigid as if I’d been hit by an electrical shock. I tried to land in a roll, but my limbs wouldn’t obey. I crashed down and lay there, mentally struggling to get up, body refusing.

Hull’s face appeared above mine. “It’s called an interrupted cast. I cast part of the incantation…then wait, so I can launch it at a moment’s notice.”

I fought to move, but my arms and legs only twitched randomly.

“I tried to make this easy,” Hull said, kneeling beside me. “I really did. But you’d have none of it. Now, we have to do it the hard way.”

His hands wrapped around my throat. I swung my head to the side and chomped down on the underside of his forearm. Then I ripped my head back, a chunk of flesh still between my teeth, his blood dribbling into my throat. Hull howled and fell back, clutching his forearm as blood spurted.

I pushed up and fell on him, my arms and legs little more than deadweights. My teeth sank into his flesh-any flesh-tearing, spitting and biting again, mind blank, spurred on by the instinct to use whatever I had to stay alive.

Hull’s screams echoed through the room. Across the room, the zombie rose up and started lurching toward us. Hull’s head lifted, gaze going to the zombie, relief and hope filling his eyes. His lips parted. I swung my head down, teeth clamping on his throat, and ripped. He screamed, a high-pitched death shriek that turned to a gurgle as blood filled his throat.

I pushed off him, some feeling finally returning to my limbs. Swiping my hand across my bloodied lips, I wobbled to my feet as the zombie drew closer.

“Uh-uh,” said a voice across the room. “This one’s mine.”

A figure rounded the doorway-a tiny, dark-haired figure. Zoe-her throat still cut, the edges open, her voice wheezy and garbled.

She staggered a little, then rushed at the zombie, who turned at the last second to see an iron rod swinging into the side of his head. He fell. Her dark eyes glittering, Zoe leapt over him and swung again, with more force than seemed possible for her tiny frame. When she pulled back for a third swing, he started to crumble, and she stopped, rod still raised, waiting until he’d disintegrated.

“Glad that worked,” she said. “I sure as hell didn’t want to have to bite him.”

“You’re-” I said, still staring, as I had been since she’d come in.