Queen of the Dead Read Online Free PDF Page B

garlic cloves, and wishes.
    But you could damage their stolen bodies badly enough that they became useless to the entity inhabiting them. With his spine crushed, this Corpse was down for the count. He wouldn’t be able to move until another body became available to him. And that wouldn’t happen until his undead buddies found him and were able to discreetly move him to a more secure location.
    Thing was, Corpses had this weird link that let their friends know when one of them was in this kind of trouble.
    Which meant there’d be more on the way.
    Time to go.
    I staggered over to the retractable ladder and wasted half a minute trying to figure out the release mechanism in the dark. Finally, with the jerk of a lever, the metal ladder crashed downward, stopping three feet from the alley floor. The noise of it made me jump—nerves.
    I descended as fast as I could and dropped onto the concrete. The alley was a blind one, and on three sides of me, the darkened backs of row homes rose like canyon walls. The fourth side was the only obvious exit, and it opened onto a lit city street.
    I blew out a sigh. It steadied my pounding heart—a little. Then I raised my wrist and said into my radio, “Haven? This is Angel Four.”
    Nothing.
    I peered at the watch, but it was too dark to see if its LCD screen was working. Chances were I’d busted it either climbing into or out of the empty house. Stupid things were always breaking.
    With another sigh, I turned toward the mouth of the alley—
    Just as a figure leaped down from the fire escape to block my path.
    â€œHello. Boy.”
    My heart nearly exploded in my chest—I swear.
    The Corpse towered over me like a pillar made of rotting flesh, once again wearing his black-gummed grin. His head was bent at a slightly odd angle. But as I watched, horrified, he reached up with one hand and shoved it roughly back into alignment. There was a sound like chalk breaking. His grin widened.
    â€œFooled you,” he sneered in English.
    And he had. He’d known I’d effectively trapped him in the window, so he’d faked going limp. And I’d been just scared enough and desperate enough to buy it.
    And now I was going to die for it.
    Standing there, rooted by fear and exhaustion—frozen in place despite all my training—I whispered a silent good-bye to the mom I hadn’t seen in four months.
    Happy birthday , I thought.
    Then the Corpse’s left arm came off.
    One minute, it was there, attached to his beefy shoulder, and the next, it was on the ground at his feet, a useless lump of dead flesh. Together, we both looked down at it. Then we both looked up at each other, and I could see he was every bit as perplexed as I felt.
    â€œHey, big dude!” a voice called. “You dropped somethin’!”
    Dead Cop whirled around.
    Sharyn Jefferson, boss of the Angels, stood right behind him.
    In her hands, poised to strike, was Vader, her Japanese wakizashi sword. “Hi, Red!” she said to me, once again using the nickname I was sure all redheaded people despised. Her lips wore a wry smile, but her dark eyes were as hard as granite.
    The Corpse growled—actually growled —and then it went for her, reaching out with his remaining hand.
    Big mistake.
    Sharyn was a tall girl, dark-skinned and athletic, with kinky black hair done up in dreadlocks. At seventeen years old, she and her brother, Tom, ran the Undertakers—and had ever since my dad had been killed by the Corpses.
    She was also the best fighter I’d ever seen. Well, maybe the second best.
    Moving with catlike grace, she sidestepped the attacking Deader. Her sword slashed in a silver blur. And this time, it was his right arm that hit the concrete.
    The Corpse swayed on his feet, his milky eyes literally radiating hatred. In English, he hissed, “Stupid girl! You can’t kill me!”
    Sharyn smoothly sheathed her sword, and from inside her coat, she