Oh, good, some small part of my brain thought. Maybe we’ll at least land in the water.
Then we dropped—not toward the lake, but toward the trees.
A sound like Luciano Pavarotti’s high C in Don Giovanni issued from my throat. My hands glued themselves to the wheel.
As we plunged into the eucalypti, the ghoul disappeared from our roof—almost as if the tree branches had purposefully swatted it away. Other branches seemed to bend around the hearse, slowing our fall, dropping us from one leafy cough-drop-scented bough to another until we hit the ground on all four wheels with a jarring thud. Too late to do any good, the air bags deployed, shoving my head against the backrest.
Yellow amoebas danced in my eyes. The taste of blood stung my throat. I clawed for the door handle, squeezed my way out between the air bag and the seat, and tumbled onto a bed of cool soft grass.
“Blergh,” I said.
I heard Meg retching somewhere nearby. At least that meant she was still alive. About ten feet to my left, water lapped at the shore of the lake. Directly above me, near the top of the largest eucalyptus tree, our ghoulish blue-black friend was snarling and writhing, trapped in a cage of branches.
I struggled to sit up. My nose throbbed. My sinuses felt like they were packed with menthol rub. “Meg?”
She staggered into view around the front of the hearse. Ring-shaped bruises were forming around her eyes—no doubt courtesy of the passenger-side air bag. Her glasses were intact but askew. “You suck at swerving.”
“Oh, my gods!” I protested. “You ordered me to—” My brain faltered. “Wait. How are we alive? Was that you who bent the tree branches?”
“Duh.” She flicked her hands, and her twin golden sica blades flashed into existence. Meg used them like ski poles to steady herself. “They won’t hold that monster much longer. Get ready.”
“What?” I yelped. “Wait. No. Not ready!”
I pulled myself to my feet with the driver’s-side door.
Across the lake, the picnickers had risen from their blankets. I suppose a hearse falling from the sky had gotten their attention. My vision was blurry, but something seemed odd about the group…. Was one of them wearing armor? Did another have goat legs?
Even if they were friendly, they were much too far away to help.
I limped to the hearse and yanked open the backseat door. Jason’s coffin appeared safe and secure in the rear bay. I grabbed my bow and quiver. My ukulele had vanished somewhere under the backseat. I would have to do without it.
Above, the creature howled, thrashing in its branch cage.
Meg stumbled. Her forehead was beaded with sweat. Then the ghoul broke free and hurtled downward, landing only a few yards away. I hoped the creature’s legs might break on impact, but no such luck. It took a few steps, its feet punching wet craters in the grass, before it straightened and snarled, its pointy white teeth like tiny mirror-image picket fences.
“KILL AND EAT!” it screamed.
What a lovely singing voice. The ghoul could’ve fronted any number of Norwegian death metal groups.
“Wait!” My voice was shrill. “I—I know you.” I wagged my finger, as if that might crank-start my memory. Clutched in my other hand, my bow shook. The arrows rattled in my quiver. “H-hold on, it’ll come to me!”
The ghoul hesitated. I’ve always believed that most sentient creatures like to be recognized. Whether we are gods, people, or slavering ghouls in vulture-feather loincloths, we enjoy others knowing who we are, speaking our names, appreciating that we exist.
Of course, I was just trying to buy time. I hoped Meg would catch her breath, charge the creature, and slice it into putrid-ghoul pappardelle. At the moment, though, it didn’t seem that she was capable of using her swords for anything but crutches. I supposed controlling gigantic trees could be tiring, but honestly, couldn’t she have waited to run out of steam until after she killed Vulture Diaper?
Wait. Vulture Diaper…I took another look at the ghoul: its strange mottled blue-and-black hide, its milky eyes, its oversize mouth and tiny nostril slits. It smelled of rancid meat. It wore the feathers of a carrion eater….
“I do know you,” I realized. “You’re a eurynomos.”
I dare you to try saying You’re a eurynomos when your tongue is leaden, your body is shaking from terror, and you’ve just been punched in the face by a hearse’s air bag.
The ghoul’s lips curled. Silvery strands of saliva dripped from its chin. “YES!