Reeve blushes. “I used my dad’s notes and Ali’s blood to create a new serum.”
Ali practically bounces in her seat. “It’s awesome because—drumroll please—she was able to extract and use the essence of my fire. We inject zombies with it, and it’s as if they’ve bitten me. In minutes, their darkness is washed away because I am so awesome— What?” she says when Cole nudges her. “You know it’s true. Anyway. When completely cleansed, the Zs become witnesses and float away into the hereafter.”
“It’s a miracle to watch,” Cole says.
All slayers produce spiritual fire—inner light—the only weapon truly capable of killing zombies. But after the leader of Anima experimented on Ali, shooting her full of untested drugs, she developed the ability to save Zs, too. An ability she then shared with other slayers by using her fire on them.
Multiple times she’s offered to share it with me, too, but I’ve always turned her down. I’m not interested in saving my enemy. Zombies bit Kat, which means I would have lost her to toxin even if I hadn’t lost her to a bomb and a hail of bullets. But the thing that really kills me? The toxin ensured she suffered a far more agonizing death, no matter the cause, every bit of her pain magnified. Therefore, zombies have to die.
The downside? I don’t just suffer when I’m bitten, I suffer, unbearable agony consuming me, the urge to destroy everything in my path utterly overwhelming me. I also can’t be healed without another slayer’s fire or an injection of a chemical antidote—and I have to receive either one within a ten-minute window of the bite or I’m toast.
“Do I sense a but?” I ask.
Excitement dwindling, Ali traces her finger over the rim of her glass. “Supplies are limited, so we more often than not have to let the creatures bite us. The more bites we receive, the longer we take to recover.”
“Makes sense. The more bites, the more toxin your spirit has to cleanse.”
“More coffee?” the waitress asks.
Ali and Reeve jolt at the sound of her voice. I just nod. My guard has remained on high since I walked through the diner doors. I’ve known the waitress’s location every second. The girls, both new to this life, are still learning.
As the coffee is poured, the waitress says, “Your order’s up, gang. I’ll bring it over.” She walks away without giving us a “you are so weird” look. We’re kids (technically) and we’ve discovered everyone assumes we’re talking about video games.
“We need to come up with a new way to help Zs and ourselves,” Bronx says. “After a battle, I’m drained for a week.”
“He basically falls into a coma.” Reeve rests her cheek on his shoulder, and his hand automatically sinks into her hair. “Not even true love’s kiss awakens him,” she adds drily.
Cole cracks a smile. “You must not be doing it right. Stop kissing his lips and start—”
Ali slaps a hand over his mouth. “Don’t you dare.”
He removes her hand and nips at her palm. “Punching them,” he says, finishing his sentence.
Everyone laughs. Everyone but me. I shift uncomfortably and look at the door. Too rude to leave?
The food arrives a few seconds later, the waitress placing steaming plates in front of each of us. My friends dig in as if they’ve been starved for months. While I was drinking and cheating on Kat’s memory last night, they clearly hunted zombies and did a little bite-fighting. The sleeve of Ali’s shirt has risen, revealing a wealth of bruises on her arm, just above a tattoo of a white rabbit.
There are bruises on Cole and Bronx, too, and the realization hits me hard. They went into battle without me. They could have been hurt, or worse. The Z-saving thing is new, as untested as the drugs Ali was given, and we don’t know all the ins and outs. Something could have gone horribly wrong, and I wasn’t there to help.
I swallow a curse. I need to get my act together. Like, yesterday. But just as soon as the burst of protective energy hits me, it leaves. My friends will be fine without me. Probably even better off.
The handle of my fork bends.
“So, I have another bit of news,” Reeve says, breaking through the sudden silence. “I bought a house.”