Free Magic at Midnight by Gena Showalter Page A

lifted into a grin when she spied John. “John! Oh, my darling Johnnie. I missed you so much.”
    “We’ve got to send them back.” Glory’s mouth formed a large O as she counted the number of bodies headed toward them. “They’re multiplying like rabbits!”
    “Demons of the Dark,” Godiva shouted, “return to your graves!”
    They kept coming.
    “Spirits of the Netherworld, be gone!”
    Still, they kept coming.
    Meanwhile, Agnes had pounced on John and was feasting on him like he was a buffet of sensual delights and she had been on a year-long fast. Except, the man looked like he would rather eat his own vomit than the dead woman’s tongue. That didn’t stop Agnes.
    If she’d had time, Godiva would have snapped a picture of the two with the flip phone. As it was, the rest of the dead bodies finally reached them and closed her and her sisters in a circle, moaning and groaning and reaching out to caress them. Having been without human contact for so long, they were probably desperate for it. Or maybe they were simply hungry and she and her sisters looked like a triple-stacked Egg McMuffin.
    Glory shrieked. Godiva swatted at the bony hands with her broom. And Genevieve stood in frozen shock. “Is that… Hunter?”
    A male form broke through the line of trees, just beyond the cemetery. His skin was intact, his features normal. Except for his eyes. They glowed a bright, vivid red. Obviously, he wasn’t a corpse. But… what was he?
    “Hunter!” Genevieve called excitedly. “Ohmygoodness, Hunter, over here!”
    He turned toward the sound of her voice, and his lips lifted in relief. “Genevieve!”
    They sprinted to each other, avoiding dead bodies and Genevieve threw herself into his arms. Godiva couldn’t hear what they were saying. She watched as Hunter flung Genevieve over his shoulder and carted her straight into the forest.
    “Godiiiiiva,” Glory gasped. “Don’t just stand there. Help me!”
    She shook her head and continued to fight off their molesters with her broom, all the while uttering spell after ineffectual spell. Well, not so ineffectual. Each spell conjured something—just not the help they wanted. A fairy. A gnome. A gorgeous demon high lord. Why were their spells messing up? She still didn’t understand. Each creature materialized at the edge of the forest and stood, watching the proceedings, grinning. One of them even produced a bowl of popcorn and a large soda.
    “Two dollars says the one with worms in his eyes snags the witch on the left,” the demon said.
    “You’re on,” the gnome agreed.
    Suddenly a fierce growl overshadowed every other noise, and a pack of wolves raced into the graveyard, snapping and snarling.
    “Romeo,” Godiva cried, her relief nearly a palpable force when she recognized her pet.
    His teeth bared in a menacing scowl, Romeo leaped up and latched onto the bony arm reaching for her and snapped it off before sprinting away.
    “Give that back,” the corpse shouted, chasing after him.
    The rest of the wolf pack chased the skeletons in every direction. All except Agnes, who was still sucking John’s face. Godiva and Glory dropped to the ground in relief.
    “I never thought I’d be grateful to the wolves,” Glory said. “Should we be worried for Genevieve?”
    “No. I think she’ll be fine.” More than fine, actually. “Here, take my hand. We have to send these corpses back to their graves.”
    Glory intertwined their fingers. Without the fear of being eaten, they were able to concentrate on their spell. As they chanted, magic began to swirl around them, drifting through the cemetery and luring each dead body back to its grave.
    Suddenly, Falon—who had not come to Hunter’s funeral, for some reason—burst from the forest and came running toward them. Rage consumed his features. Godiva blinked over at him in surprise—she’d never seen him move so quickly or so lethally—and from the corner of her eye she saw Glory jolt up, panic storming over