Strange and Ever After (Something Strange and Deadly #3)(83)

“Attack,” I whispered to the hounds at the edge of the battle—but they were too slow. The mummies moved with such inhuman speed and agility, they rocketed past my dogs in mere breaths.

I gulped and glanced down at the Spirit-Hunters. It was time to see how well Daniel’s traps worked.

As if sensing my eyes, he glanced up at me. His green eyes shone, and he nodded once.

I nodded back. The guards scurried over the sand. Closer, closer they came. . . .

Pop! Pop! Pop!

As one, the guards locked into place—some with knees up, others with heels down; some with spears out, and some with spears low.

Pop! Pop! Pop!

The pulse pistols fired, over and over—exactly as Daniel had planned—and the mummies stayed trapped in place.

Or I thought they did, but as I watched, I realized that they did still move, just with such slowness, it was barely visible. They would break through the line eventually.

My gaze shot to Marcus. He fumed, his hands in fists and his lips curled back. He had realized he would have to come to us.

He shouted something, but the words were lost in the clashing of spears, armor, and bones. Then he stalked forward, Allison shivering as she watched him go.

And the Black Pullet slithered after.

My heart skipped. I had forgotten it. It was as if the pitch of its scales not only soaked up light but thoughts as well.

Marcus reached the edge of my dogs, and with a simple slashing attack of magic, he toppled ten. Then ten more.

I scrambled to draw in my power, but no matter how quickly I sent out new sparks of soul, I could not reanimate their skeletal forms as quickly as Marcus could fell them.

And at this rate he would surge through my army in a matter of minutes. Marcus’s eyes climbed to mine. He smiled, and with a dramatic twirl of his hand, he pointed at me.

In a flurry of sand and a flash of gold, the Pullet hurled forward. Like the second wave of mummies, it charged around my dogs and aimed for a sideways attack.

I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t move. I could only watch as it streaked over the silver sand. Then it thrust between two mummies . . .

And it crossed the copper line without slowing at all.

Because, of course, it was not dead. It was a living creature with a soul bound to a body—it could not be affected by electromagnetic pulses.

And now Marcus had sent it after us.

My brain exploded with panic—and with a spine-locking need to survive, I hurled around and I ran.

I stumbled down the pyramid, leaping and reaching. Each step jarred through my body and rattled my teeth—but I could not slow. I had no real plan in my brain other than a vague idea that it was already time for my second army to arise.

I hit the sand, crashing onto my left hand. But I bounded back up in an instant.

And then I was sprinting again. Every bit of power I had, I pushed into my legs. I could hear the Pullet. I could hear its claws scratching over the pyramid, its scales scraping over stone. . . .

God, it was so fast. So big. So close.

My feet cracked through skeletons—I was crushing my own army. But I could not stop. I just had to get the Pullet far enough into this graveyard. . . .

I tripped. A stone slammed into my shin—one of the stones we’d tied the balloon to. They were almost invisible by moonlight.

I flew forward, and the clattering of gold feathers filled every piece of my brain.

“Attack!” I screeched just as my chest plowed through sand. “ATTACK!”

Bones burst from the sand around me—vicious and fast.

And a keening wail erupted from the Pullet’s mouth.

I crawled around, yanking my sword from my belt while the skeletons of a hundred dogs swarmed the Pullet. Gleaming bones covered the beast.

Distantly, the pulse pistols kept up their Pop! Pop!, occasionally broken apart by an explosive crack of Joseph’s electricity.

But most sounds were swallowed up by the Pullet. It writhed and snapped, fighting the skeletons.

When at last I had my sword free, the moonlight flickered over the stone I’d tripped on.

It wasn’t a stone. It was a sphinx’s head.

I wrenched my gaze north, toward the large sand dune I had noticed two days ago. In a numb frenzy, I heaved back into a sprint, my sword hoisted high.

I bounded over sphinxes’ heads. They weren’t as well preserved or as consistent as the ones leading to the bull catacombs, but they were undoubtedly here. And if this was an avenue leading to another temple, then I would take it. I could at least try to hide within.

And if that outcropping ahead was nothing more than a sand dune, I would take that too.

Just before I reached the mound, I flung a glance back at the Pullet.

And I instantly wished I hadn’t. It was moving again. Most of my dogs were snapped in half, and though they still writhed to reach the creature, they were too broken to succeed.

Shit, my brain screamed at me, and I pumped my legs faster. . . .

Then I was at the pile of sand, and my hands were connecting with stone. I brushed and swept and kicked and shoved, but I could not clear away sand fast enough—certainly not before the creature reached me.

So I climbed up onto the sand-covered temple, and I whirled around to face the Black Pullet.

It barreled toward me, a line of blurring black and blinding gold. My sword out and my heart in my throat, I slowly backed away from the temple’s edge. The serpent would have to rise onto its hind legs to climb, and I would have one shot. One shot to slash its throat.