"You didn't call Robert, I presume?"

"He's out of town. And I want to hear it from you. Right now."

Cortez shook his head. "I'm afraid you'll require the extended explanation, for which there isn't time at the moment. However, I will explain as soon as we are safely away from this place."

"Hey, Paige," Savannah said. "Did you see Lucas's bike?"

She raced around the corner before I could stop her. When I caught up, I found her crouching beside, not a bicycle, but a motorcycle.

"It's a Scout," she said. "An Indian Scout. It's, like, an antique. What year did you say again?"

"It's from 1926, but we need to leave, Savannah."

"It's a collector's item," Savannah said. "Really rare."

"Expensive, huh?" I said, shooting a look at Cortez. "Like the designer shirt. Pretty sharp for a struggling lawyer."

"I restored the bike. As for the clothing, a suit is hardly appropriate for motorcycle riding. My wardrobe contains a limited supply of casual wear, the majority of it gifts from my family whose budget and taste exceed my own. Now, we really should-"

"I'm not going anywhere," I said.

Cortez made a noise that sounded remarkably like a growl of frustration. "Paige, this is not the time-"

"I'm not being difficult. I don't think it's a good idea to run. People in there saw me. They'll tell the police, who'll come after me and wonder why I took off."

He hesitated, then nodded. "Quite right. I'd suggest we find an officer to take your statement."

"First, I'm getting those people out, before someone has a heart attack."

Savannah rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. Who cares about them? They wouldn't help you. Tell her, Lucas."

"She's right. Paige, I mean. We should get them out."

"Not you, too," Savannah said. "Oh, God. I'm surrounded."

I waved her to silence and we headed for the back door.

I won't give a play-by-play of what happened next. Between the two of us, Cortez and I managed to undo all of Sandford's spells, unlocking the jammed doors and disengaging the tripwire illusions.

As for Cary and the other walking dead, they simply stopped walking. By the time everyone escaped and the authorities got inside, the necromancer's incantation had worn off. Or so Cortez explained. As I've said, I know nothing about raising the dead. Any necromancer can do it, but I've never met one who dared. The necromancers I know use their power only for communicating with spirits. Returning a soul to a dead body is against every moral code in the supernatural world.

In the chaos outside the funeral home, it took me twenty minutes to find a police officer, whoinsisted I follow him to the station and give my statement.

Of course, the police thought I'd played a role in what happened. Yet they didn't know what had happened. Sure, they heard the stories, witness after witness babbling about dead people walking and talking. But when the police had finally entered the building, they found only corpses strewn across the floor. Horrifying, yes, but hardly proof of the unthinkable.

When I told my story, I repeated only those portions I deemed believable. I'd been lured to the memorial service and tricked into entering the crowded hallway of mourners. Then the lights had gone out. Someone had shoved me into the visitation room and bolted the door. I'd heard people screaming, but could see very little in the near-dark. Soon I found my way into a back passage and escaped.

I did admit that, while escaping, I encountered a frightening image blocking the hall, but I'd passed through it without incident and figured it must have been some kind of hologram. Finally, themselves dazed with disbelief and information-overload, the police had to let me go. My story made sense and it checked out against that of the witnesses-barring the fact that I hadn't seen the dead rise. With no small reluctance, they released me.

Chapter 20

Rebel with a Cause

WE'D TAKEN MY CAR TO THE POLICE STATION, CORTEZ leaving his motorcycle at the funeral parlor. By the time we exited the station, it was nearly five o'clock and Savannah reminded me that she hadn't yet had lunch. Since Cortez still owed me an explanation, we decided to pick up something to eat at a drive-through on the highway and find a quiet place to talk.

We stopped at the first fast-food restaurant we hit. The plan was to go through the drive-through, but then Savannah announced she needed to use the bathroom, and I had to agree I could use one as well, so we went inside. As we walked in, a few people turned to look. I tried to tell myself it was simply the idle curiosity of bored diners, but then one woman leaned over and whispered something to her companions and they all turned to stare. No, not stare. Glare.

"If you'll give me your order, I'll get it while you use the ladies' room," Cortez murmured.

"Thanks."

We told him what we wanted and I gave him some money, then we slipped off to the bathroom.

When we came out, Cortez was waiting by the condiment stand, take-out bags in hand.

"I should do the same before we leave," Cortez said, glancing toward the bathrooms. "Shall I walk you to the car first?"

"We're fine."

I took the bags and shepherded Savannah out. A few glares flew our way, but no one said anything. A few minutes later, Cortez joined us in the car.

"Took out your contacts'?" Savannah said as he climbed in. "How come'?"