by Joshua Roots
When an apocalypse-minded megalomaniac threatens Marcus’s family, things get personal. Marcus will have to embrace the magic he’s been avoiding for years—and even that might not be enough to save the world from a hellish demise.
Read an excerpt from UNDEAD CHAOS.
Undead Chaos
by Joshua Roots
Chapter 1
Never Wrestle the Undead
In all my years of squashing paranormal creepy crawlies, I’d learned two very important lessons. First, always keep a round chambered in your gun. Trust me, when you really need it, you don’t have time to load it. Second, never ignore your business phone. Mortgages are expensive and freelancer jobs hard to come by, so whenever that line rings, you answer it.
“I’m looking for Marcus Shifter,” the lady on the other end said in a hushed, hurried voice.
I paused Stripes and sat up. “You got him.”
“My name is Carly Banks, and my husband died a month ago.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. Another Normal hoping to resurrect a loved one.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Banks, but I’m a Warlock, not a Necromancer. I can’t raise the dead.”
“You don’t have to,” she said, quickly. “He’s on my front lawn with a shotgun.”
I arrived at her neighborhood twenty minutes later.
The Banks lived in one of the posh suburbs outside of Washington, DC that catered to people with too much money and not enough imagination. Carly’s place was a clone of the others—a three-story McMansion with perfectly manicured landscaping and a neon-green lawn. The four-car garage was larger than my town house, and a fountain bubbled noisily in the middle of the circular drive. Huge iron gates stood at the entrance to prevent we common folk from walking up the driveway.
How the husband got in was anyone’s guess.
I parked a block down the road to ensure I didn’t anger the territorial undead, then gave my equipment a final check. The.45 caliber Glock rested comfortably in my thigh holster with three spare magazines strapped next to it. I drew the gun and slid the rack backward, loading a round into the chamber. I grinned as I re-holstered the gun, then I pulled a dented scabbard off the passenger seat and closed the door.
There was nothing fancy about my sword. It was almost two feet in length with a nondescript handle that I’d wrapped with athletic tape for extra grip. As plain as the sword was, it had a very special attribute.
It was sharp.
I tossed the sword on my back, tightened the straps, and headed toward the Banks’s gate. A bee zipped past my head, and I paused just long enough to smile at it before stepping up to the metal entrance. The late Anthony Banks, illuminated in all his glory by bright floodlights, stood on the front porch at the far end of the drive.
Carly’s description of her philandering husband was spot on. Early forties, overweight and balding, Tony was equally unpleasant in death as he’d been in life. His skin was gray and hung loosely around the legs and arms. Yet despite his month vacation underground, he still had a massive beer belly. His flab shook as he banged on the front door.
I just wish she’d told me he was naked.
I allowed myself a moment of childish snickering before getting serious about the job. Since there was no good way to initiate contact with the undead, especially one that was armed, I opted for the buddy approach.
“Good evening, Mr. Banks!” I hollered with the friendliest smile I could muster.
The corpse swung his head around and peered at me. His jaw hung open, and his tongue flopped out of his mouth. He groaned and brandished the gun awkwardly before shuffling toward me.
I tapped my foot and checked my watch several times while he covered the distance. When he finally stopped, he was close enough that I could touch him through the bars of the gate if I wanted. Which I didn’t.
But boy could I smell him.
“Nice evening, eh?” I asked.
Banks grunted.
“My thoughts exactly,” I said, thankful that he was responding. “Listen, Mr. Banks, my name is Marcus Shifter, and your wife hired me to deal with this haunting thing you’re up to. I’d like to talk to you about it if that’s okay.”
He shrugged.
“Any chance I can come through the gate?” It was always best to ask permission first. Forcing your way in was dangerous, both physically and magically.
Banks cocked his head and squinted.
“Anthony Banks,” I said firmly, “as a licensed Combat Warlock for the Delwinn Council, I swear that I am here at the behest of your wife and will act only to protect her or to defend myself. Do you accept my Word?”
Generally, my people don’t make binding oaths because of the potential blowback if they are broken. Betray your Word and you’re out of magical juice for a long time. Because of this, Soul Oaths are one of the most reliable treaties my kind can offer. Most magical creatures, and a lot of non-magical ones for that matter, understand that.
Thankfully, Banks was one of them. He paused, then nodded. I entered the code Carly had provided, stepping back as the gates swung open.
As I moved forward, I felt the barrier of the Banks’s property meet me. Thanks to the power of the oath, crossing the perimeter was like pushing through a wall of molasses. The magic sealed itself around me as I completed the transition, binding me to the laws of our deal.
“You know,” I kept my voice as soothing as possible, “you’re supposed to stay dead. Coming back isn’t kosher, especially in this neighborhood.”
Banks swung his head from side to side, gazing at the houses in both directions. His chest gurgled with decaying laughter.
“Yeah, property value may not mean anything to you now, but I’m betting the neighbors aren’t too thrilled. Plus, you’re making it hard for your wife to move on.”
Banks bared his yellow teeth.
“Okay, touchy subject. Point is, you shouldn’t be here. Besides, the Afterlife is supposed to be one long party. Why bother coming back?”
Banks waved the gun toward the house and grunted a few more times. The syncopation sounded like “boyfriend.” Or maybe “whore.”
“Really?” I chided. “Didn’t you have a mistress yourself?”
He lowered his head and nodded. As much as I hated to admit it, a part of me felt sorry for the guy.
“Tony, you and I both know that the time to make amends is while you’re alive. Once you’re dead, it’s game over. I’m sorry, but you need to return to resting in peace.”
Banks stared longingly at the house, then turned back to me. Tears filled his undead eyes and sparkled in the floodlights.
I frowned and took a step closer. “What the hell?” I whispered.
The door to the house slammed open. A woman who I assumed was Carly stamped out with a martini glass in one hand, bottle of clear liquid in the other. She wore a short, silky blue nightgown that didn’t leave much to the imagination. Her dyed black hair was teased into a high poof and her makeup was caked on in a vain attempt to fill the lines and crow’s feet. She must have been pretty in her youth, but a life of booze, food, and cigarettes had left a rounder, unhappier version in its wake.
“Tony, you fat, cheating bastard!” she slurred, waving the martini glass in our direction. “You listen to that man! I hired him, so do as he says!”
Banks turned and moaned softly at his wife, leaving me with an unpleasant visual of his backside.
“Please go back inside, Mrs. Banks,” I called, trying to ignore the massive mounds of rotting meat before me. “Your husband and I are getting along famously at the moment. Isn’t that right, Tony?”
Banks whimpered and took several slow steps forward.
“You sonnabish!” Carly screeched, her eyes widening. “You don’t get to have me anymore
. You’re dead, and I’ll do whatever or whoever I want. Maybe even him!” she added, slopping what was left of her drink toward me.
Banks stopped.
“That’s right.” Carly said, “I may just add a little something extra to his paycheck for getting rid of you. I’ve been dying to break in the leather of my new Bentley.”
Banks roared and spun around. His face contorted with rage as he bellowed at me, and his hot, rancid breath turned my stomach. He snarled, then worked the pump on the shotgun.
Oh hell.
The blast shattered the relative calm of the neighborhood, and the recoil threw Banks onto his back. Thankfully his aim sucked. I’m not sure he could have hit his house from ten feet away.
“Dammit, Banks,” I shouted, ears ringing with pain. “It doesn’t have to be like this!”
My words were useless. Whatever negotiating power I’d had before was gone. Banks was all rage—nothing short of another death would slow him down.
While he flailed on the ground, I reached behind me and yanked the sword out of its sheath. The cold silver blade hummed as it sprang free. Along each side, rune etchings of a dead language glinted brightly in the harsh floodlights. I took half a second to appreciate the sword’s simple beauty, then swung it toward Banks.
Only he wasn’t there.
Something shuffled behind me, and I instinctively dove to the right. The stock of the shotgun narrowly missed my head, but made solid contact with my left thigh. I cried out and fell to the ground, dropping the sword on impact. Leg throbbing, I rolled onto my back, only to find Banks standing over me.
I cringed and prayed that I’d be able to purge the image of his small, decomposing package from my brain.
Gripping the barrel of the shotgun like a baseball bat, Banks wobbled as he lifted the weapon over his head. I swung my right leg upward and connected with the side of his knee. There was an audible snap, and the zombie lost his balance. He twisted and collapsed again, this time on me.
I didn’t much care for a living male to be naked on top of me, but an undead one was too much. Banks’s sickly pale skin was cold, and the folds squished against me as he squirmed. He stank of mold, decay and formaldehyde. The smell would take several washings to remove from my clothes.
“Banks, get off!” I barked and shoved against his rotted torso as hard as I could. Tony rolled sideways, snarling and snapping at me, but I scrambled away before he bit me. Zombie bites might not turn you into an undead drone, but they are highly infectious and painful to treat.
I recovered into a crouch and grimaced as I spotted my sword beneath the mound of writhing, decaying meat. There was no way to extract it, especially considering where the hilt was located. Instead, I drew the Glock and leveled it, pulling the trigger as Banks struggled to his knees.
The gun thundered and the recoil jerked my hands skyward. The hollow-point slammed into Banks’s side and exited in a shower of gooey green slop. He was yanked sideways and upright, providing me with a beautiful fat target.
I fired three more times. Two bullets hit him square in the chest while the third tore through the thigh of his good leg. The impacts threw Banks backward onto the manicured lawn, and he landed with a grunt.
Like the brass from the bullets, my frustration at the zombie was spent. With Banks neutralized and my sword finally exposed, I was ready to finish the job. I holstered the pistol and limped over to my blade.
“Anthony Banks,” I said with authority as the creature struggled to sit up. I shoved the blade into the ground and made the connection to the earth. “You have returned to this world against the will of Nature, and you are no longer welcome. Your place is elsewhere and the Earth demands your restoration.”
Dirt clung to the metal as I removed the sword and it began to shimmer with hazy orange light. The glowing runes illuminated the air around them. Banks stopped moving and stared at me with wide eyes as I raised the sword over my head.
“As a duly appointed representative of these forces, I hereby send you back. May you finally be at peace.”
I swept the sword downward and neatly lopped off his head. It fell to the grass with a dull thud and the body slumped to the ground. It twitched once and went still. The sword glowed orange a moment longer before flickering back to normal. I wiped the blade on my cargo pants and returned it to the sheath.
Only after my weapon was properly stored did I allow my shoulders to slump. The fight with Banks had winded me, and tapping into my Skill to perform the banishing spell wore on me even more. Between the rapid cooldown of adrenaline and the ache in my leg, I was in desperate need of a nap. But not before I tied up some loose ends.
The first call was to the county coroner. LaDell picked up on the second ring.
“Shifter!” he boomed. “I’m sick of crosswords. Tell me you have something.”
“Beheaded zombie,” I grumbled, rubbing my right temple to ease the pain building in my skull.
“You just made my night. What’s the address?”
I provided it, hung up, and dialed the local police. The woman on the other end was less enthusiastic about my news.
“You fired a gun in a residential neighborhood?” she asked.
“He started it.”
“We Normals may not have magical powers like you special people,” she growled, “but we do have laws.”
I apologized halfheartedly and ended the call with a promise to wait around for the inbound squad car.
Carly, struggling to remain upright in her heels, staggered toward me. She stumbled to my side and gazed down at what was left of her husband.
“He done?” she slurred, waving her refilled glass at the corpse.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“He ain’t coming back, right?”
“No. Removing his head guarantees that.”
Carly stared at the body for a good minute. Losing a loved one was hard enough. To have them return from the grave only to torment you and get decapitated on your front lawn was sensory overload. She closed her eyes and burped.
I placed a hand on her shoulder. “He’s at rest now.”
“Yeeeees!” she squealed, breaking into a huge sticky grin. “You are wonderful!”
She yanked my face toward her. I tried to pull away, but the woman was surprisingly strong. She attacked my mouth with gusto, violating it in ways I hadn’t thought possible. After a long, agonizing moment, she released me and flipped open a cell phone.
“Hey baby,” she warbled in a husky voice, stumbling a few paces away. I wiped the lipstick from my face and spat several times to remove her stale, cheap flavor from my abused tongue.
“Yeah, it’s done,” she continued. “Tony’s gone for good. Uh-huh, lopped his head off with a knife or something. It made me so hot. Want to come over and cool me off?”
Sirens in the distance signaled the approach of the authorities, so I eased away from her. She never noticed. I gave her a disgusted glare, then gazed at her husband.
“What in the world possessed you to come back for her?” I asked the corpse.
UNDEAD CHAOS by Joshua Roots
Available wherever Carina Press ebooks are sold.
www.CarinaPress.com
Copyright © 2013 by Joshua Roots
Acknowledgments
No book is published without an army of supporters and I have been lucky enough to have the support and encouragement of some of the best in the industry. My deepest thanks go to my agent, Eric Ruben, who is a stalwart companion on the long road of writing, who has fought tooth and nail for Marcus and Company, and who is always willing to read my lengthy, rambling emails.
Thank you to my editor, the patient and graceful Deborah Nemeth, who will no doubt break open the good scotch once this hits the shelves. After dealing with all my typos and grammatic
al errors, and hyperventilating about plot holes, she deserves far more thanks than I will ever be able to give her.
Thank you to the amazingly talented Regan Summers, who beta-read this in its raw, unpasteurized state. You were one of the first people I met at the Absolute Write Sci-Fi/Fantasy Cantina and I would never have made it this far without you.
There is no amount of thanks deep enough for my Dragon Brother, Scipio Garling, who put up with months of me begging for help with mythology. You are the Niles to my Frasier, the Zeus to my Hades, and the Minos to my Asterion.
Finally, every iota of thanks and love to my friend and mentor, Suzanne Brockmann, who told me to just shut up and write.
Also available from Joshua Roots
and Carina Press
Undead Chaos
Summoned Chaos
About the Author
Joshua Roots is a car collector, beekeeper, and storyteller. He enjoys singing with his a cappella chorus, golf, and all facets of Sci-Fi/Fantasy. He’s still waiting for his acceptance letter to Hogwarts and Rogue Squadron. He and his wife will talk your ear off about their bees if you let them.
You can learn more about Joshua, his books, and his bees by following him on Twitter, @CobraMisfit, or visiting his website at www.joshuajroots.com.
Don’t miss warlock Marcus Shifter’s previous missions! UNDEAD CHAOS and SUMMONED CHAOS are available now!
UNDEAD CHAOS
The Shifter Chronicles, book one
The job was simple: decapitate the zombie, get paid, get out. Warlock Marcus Shifter followed the plan perfectly. The corpse, however, did not.
Now there’s a body on the loose, accusations of illegal necromancy flying, and the answers waiting in the perilous alleys between the mortal and paranormal worlds. They’re no place for someone who mostly gave up magic after a childhood accident. And given his tendency to shoot off his mouth and his Glock, Marcus is having a hell of a time digging up more than just bodies.
