Page 85 of How (Not) To Raise The Dead

Serena lifts the scalpel, her eyes fixed on the pulsing knot of cords between us, and she begins to mutter something under her breath in a low chant that makes the shadows in the room lean in to listen. The air grows thick, and my skin prickles, the hairs on my arms standing on end as the blade lowers, inch by agonizing inch toward the tether.

Eden squeezes her eyes shut. I brace myself for the snap. The severance. The scream.

Instead, the universe explodes.

With a deafening boom, the door to Serena’s office disintegrates, blasted off its hinges with a force that sends splinters of wood raining down like confetti.

Chain-Chewer roars, a sound of pure tectonic violence, but it’s drowned out by the wet, slapping sound of naked feet hitting the floorboards.

“Compliance! Down on the ground! Now!”

I spin, shoving Eden behind me so fast she yelps.

The Compliance Wardens pour into the room like a spilled bucket of raw, glistening chum—translucent pink flesh slick with a foul, sun-rotted mucus.

They move with insectoid speed, their segmented torsos clicking as they fan out in a tactical breach formation.

Fuck. Fuck. Fucking fuck.

That is a lot of pink flesh. And a lot of pincers.

With a flick of Serena’s wrist, the cords disappear, and she chucks the stolen, highly illegal scalpel across the room into a pile of dusty scrolls before backing away, putting her body between the door and the bassinet where her silent infant’s laying, shaking the rattle at the ceiling.

“Target identified!” One of them gurgles, its voice sounding like it’s bubbling up through a throat full of slime as its black, bead-like eyes swivel maniacally toward me.

I take a breath and raise my hands slowly, palms open, elbows loose.

“Now, now, gentlemen,” I drawl, stepping forward just enough to draw their attention away from Eden. “What’s all this about? A bit aggressive for such a lovely day, isn’t it?”

The head Warden—distinguishable only by the extra layer of mucus coating his carapace—steps forward.

“Malachi Aurelian Virezeal,” he burbles. “You are under arrest.”

“Oh, am I now?” I ask lightly, arching a brow and tilting my head. “And may I ask why?”

“Crossing to the mortal realm with no authorization or mortal-safe shell. Failure to return upon the ending of a grace period. Unauthorized trans-dimensional transport of a mortal. And the murder of a Grade-4 Warden in the Mortal Realm.”

Ah. Right. That.

I wince internally. It sounds so much worse when they yell it like that. Well, at least I’m not under arrest for killing the Harvester in the back alley too. Every cloud.

“Murder is a strong word,” I correct smoothly. “I’d call it an aggressive personnel dispute. Your colleague tried to kill my... associate. I simply filed a very physical complaint.”

“Silence!” The creature snaps. “Surrender immediately, or we are authorized to use lethal force to take you.”

Eden’s hands clutch onto my waist, her fingers digging so hard into my obliques that I know she’s going to leave bruises.

“Lethal force,” I repeat, dropping the charm just a fraction. “Seems excessive, don’t you think? May I ask how you found me?”

“Transit surveillance. Sector 4, by the Slag Heaps.”

Fuck.

Amateur hour. I’m losing my touch.

My mind races, flipping through the mental Rolodex of escape plans.

Option A: The door. Currently barricaded by a wall of angry, pulsating shellfish.