The Middling Affliction: The Conradverse Chronicles, Book 1 by Alex Shvartsman

Author:Alex Shvartsman [Shvartsman, Alex]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781647100551
Publisher: CAEZIK SF & Fantasy
Published: 2022-05-30T15:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

It was a good thing the guards thought us nothing more than arcane thieves. They weren’t paying attention to the goings-on inside the cage so long as we didn’t do anything obvious to attract their attention. Instead, they had congregated by the space heater near the entrance to the morgue, where the cadaver-filled examination tables and other miscellanea partially obstructed their view. So, none of them batted an eye when we pretended to huddle for warmth, blocking their view of Moira who sat down cross-legged on the floor of the cage and chanted an ancient incantation. The words, if one might call them that, sounded like they scraped her throat raw before oozing out between her teeth.

Moira touched the skin at my ankle with her icy-cold fingers. Her other hand rested on Willodean’s foot, just above her shoe. She was drawing on our life forces to help power and sustain her spell against the Cabal’s wards. The sensation of being slowly drained like a cell phone battery was not painful, exactly, but deeply uncomfortable in ways I had a difficult time categorizing. Sort of like sandpaper pressed against a festering wound on one’s soul.

I winced, and Dale gave me a sympathetic look. He appeared thankful that Moira only had two hands, thus sparing him the experience.

Moira finished her spell and let go of us. She remained seated, her eyes closed, her face sweaty despite the meat-locker climate of the morgue. As unpleasant as it had felt for me, the spell must’ve been ten times worse on the caster.

While Moira recovered, the rest of us stared through the bars. For nearly a minute nothing happened. I was beginning to think the spell had failed until one of the cadavers twitched.

“It begins,” Moira said in a voice that would instantly get her a super villain role at a Hollywood audition.

“You’re up,” I told Dale.

Dale moseyed over to the door and ministered to the lock. His chubby fingers handled the piece of wire he was using with the dexterity of a concert pianist caressing the ivories of his Steinway. And although he was working fast, the guards surely would’ve noticed had they not been otherwise occupied.

The cadavers were moving.

Some of the dead were sitting up on their examination tables, others sliding off and struggling to their feet. At first they all seemed sluggish, like someone rudely woken from a pleasant dream by an alarm, flailing in the dark for the snooze button. But they were waking up fast, their movements becoming coordinated, dangerous, feral.

The guards were on their feet, too. One was shouting into his cell phone, no doubt calling for reinforcements. The second pulled a pistol and aimed it toward the cadavers, his hand shaking. The third was casting a spell.

Several of the dead stalked toward the guards. The gun-toting guard took a step forward and shot the advancing cadaver in the head at nearly point-blank range. The thunderous shot reverberated through the brisk air. The dude must’ve seen some

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