Zombies Sold Separately - By Cheyenne McCray Page 0,1

only worsened.

Winter sunlight slashed through the French doors and into my bedroom. I stared at the fractured pattern reflected in the sheen of water on my hardwood floor.

Light.

Light here, in the Earth Otherworld, often means renewal, rebirth.

In the lives of the Dark Elves, light means death. Death to any Drow who dared to go aboveground during the day.

To all Drow but me.

The mattress made squishing sounds as I shoved the comforter off my legs. I found a place on the floor where nothing was splintered or broken, slid out of bed, and got to my feet. Water ran down my body in rivulets, joining the puddles on my floor.

Had Kali gotten caught in the storm? I hoped not. My blue Persian would never forgive me.

I stepped through the water and felt melting bits of hail beneath my feet. My floor would be ruined if I didn’t take care of it. Other than my elemental magic, I knew little Elvin magic, but I did know the word for “clean.”

“Avanna,” I said and the room dried, including my hair, skin, and the lingerie I wore. My things still lay broken on the floor and I wished I knew an Elvin word for “repair.”

I stepped over a broken crystal clock, grabbed a shortie robe, and slipped it on.

A frame with a photograph caught my attention and I stooped to pick it up. The glass had shattered but it didn’t look as if the picture of Adam and me in Belize was ruined.

I smiled and traced my human lover’s image with my fingertip as my heart skipped. Love for him flowed through my veins warm and sweet as I took in his boyish grin and that dimple I loved. In the sunshine of Belize he looked sexy, adorable, and intensely masculine all at the same time.

I set the picture with its broken frame on my nightstand where my lamp should have been. It, too, was on the floor in shambles.

Avoiding everything sharp and pointy, I walked toward the window next to the French doors leading to the balcony from my bedroom.

Ice-laced sunlight touched my face and body as I peered out the window and the cold made me shiver again.

By day I look a lot like my human mother with my fair skin and sapphire-blue eyes. The exception is that my hair is black with blue highlights and hers a pale shade of blond.

When the sun sets, my skin turns a pale, pale shade of amethyst and my hair a deep cobalt blue. When it’s dark I look more like my father with my pointed ears, small fangs, and Drow pigmented skin and hair.

I am not human then and have no choice but to avoid humans who know nothing about the paranormal world. Which is just about everyone.

My mind filled with the fragmented emotions both the nightmare and the storm had left me with. A storm in my house. How had I lost control like that?

I pushed aside the sheer curtain and the glass felt cool against my nose as I stared out at the street from my apartment.

It had snowed last night. From the corner of my apartment at 104th and Central Park West, I had clear views of Central Park from the terrace. No one from Otherworld is used to snow because there is no change of seasons there.

I loved Manhattan. I loved all the seasons. They were each beautiful and unique in their own way.

The Earth Otherworld holiday season had been pleasant so far and Christmas was just days away. The city was locked in winter’s grasp and everything was white and beautiful.

Sometimes I tugged on a jacket and boots, and waded through the new powder while throwing snowballs at statues, taunting the Gargoyles hidden inside them.

Today the weight in my belly grew heavier as imprints of the nightmare pressed against my soul. Dread, terror, anger, pain … the kind of pain that makes a person’s heart hurt as if someone close to them has died.

I tried to swallow but my throat was too dry.

For the first time the image of a face with blurred features shimmered at the edge of my consciousness. Somehow I knew it was the face of someone I cared for.

I brought my hands to my chest. The contours of the image seemed so familiar.

And then the ghostly face was gone, as if it hadn’t been there at all.

TWO

The pungent scent of spices rising from the manor’s herb garden overpowered even the exotic perfume of the woman