Zombies ran at Bria now, ready to swarm. When their feet reached the ash, their bodies jerked and swayed, slowing down. Forced on, they neared the half crescent of candles, punching through the plume of stinky incense.

The controllers jerked on the other side of the hall, as though they’d been shot. The bodies continued to push forward, but it clearly cost the Necromancers. With each step, the controllers bent over a little more, winded. In pain, maybe. Those stones Bria had set up were doing their job.

Another soul popped out of one of their cadavers, and then another. I sent them across the Line. John ripped the head off one zombie and threw it at another. Both bodies fell and he was through, running at the controllers.

Mia popped out of her body, their doing. I clenched my fists, wanting to shove her back in. Instead, I murmured, “Mia is out.”

Bria swore under her breath and switched tools, working on getting Mia back into the body. Mia was a VIP—she was worth the effort.

John didn’t tackle Dyed Hair like I thought he might. Instead, he grabbed the lip of the small table holding their supplies and tossed it.

“Smart,” Bria muttered, having chanced a quick look. “No one does that. Why do no Necromancers do that? Very smart.”

Mia, back in her body, disappeared off the ground and reappeared by Gray Beard. She dragged the exposed bone of her fingers across his neck. It opened up nasty gashes, and he screamed, probably more from fear and disgust than pain. She grabbed his head again and ripped. Her energy must have been flagging, because the attack was weaker than before, but tweaking his already sprained neck was enough to bring him to his knees.

“He healed fast—he must have a blood oath,” Jerry said.

“Yeah. He’s the resident Necromancer. He’s got the oath,” Bria replied.

The zombies in front of Bria stopped, stuck as though the air had turned solid. One fell and the spirit popped out. Then another. I grabbed them up and shoved them across the Line.

Chad reached Dyed Hair, convened for a second with John, and then they both grabbed him, Dyed Hair flailing in their grasp. They flung him at the wall. He hit headfirst and fell to the floor.

The rest of the zombies fell with him.

“Yield,” Dyed Hair yelled, his hand up. “I yield!”

“Yield,” Gray Beard said, his voice pained. He lay down on his back, his hands on his neck.

“Okay, Alexis, you can help now.” Bria sighed and sat back, her forehead glistening with sweat.

Dyed Hair, blood running down the side of his face, sat up against the wall. He touched his forehead and winced.

I grabbed up all the remaining souls, our people included, and yanked. Without any prongs securing them, the souls popped out with next to no effort. Bodies fell into heaps and Dyed Hair’s eyes widened, as big as saucers. Jerry gagged and turned away.

“Anyone who wants an eternal resting place, raise your hand,” I said. The Line throbbed off to the side, its ultraviolet light leaking into the living world. A presence waited just behind the veil, and when I turned to look, the shadowy being, a blotch of liquid night, gave me a little wave. No soul pulsed for me to feel, but I knew it was Harding, watching again. I’d been too preoccupied to notice his scrutiny during the zombie battle, but I felt it now. He wasn’t in spirit, but he’d found another way to keep tabs on me. I still had so much to learn.

I also hoped he wasn’t getting too cocky. He was great in spirit, but he didn’t have the power of a Demigod. He needed to watch himself or he’d get plucked right out of spirit and thrust into a body. The last thing I wanted to do was face off against him.

The opposing spirits looked around in confusion, not used to being seen or heard by the living.

John tapped one of them and then pointed at me. “She means you. We can leave at any time. She doesn’t control us.”

Heads turned slowly. Eyes found me. Hunger and desperation sparked to life.

“If you want an eternal resting place, please raise your hand—”

“What are you doing?” Dyed Hair asked, struggling to stand. He swayed, like he was dizzy, and braced himself against the wall.

“She’s doing what her magic was designed to do, ol’ boy.” Bria began gathering her supplies. “Protect spirits. Hope you brought a good collection of spirit items, because this bunch is about to run out of your stables.”

“No, wait—”

Spectral hands rose, slow at first and then shooting upward. The Line throbbed. I sent them sailing away, shoving them too far for someone of lesser power to retrieve. Harding’s shape seemed to nod in pride as I pushed the Line away, its strange colors leaking from the world. All our spirits stood waiting, probably to see if we needed anything else.

Cleanup was fairly quick, mostly because I shoved all the spirits back into the bodies and they helped by walking to the trailer. They climbed in and lay down, and then I sent them home where they could lose track of time like normal.

Bria took longer to pack up her arsenal, and I realized she was stalling. I was grateful. I was tired of fighting. The competitions in this place seemed pointless; I was used to fighting for a cause. I would’ve rather settled down with a book and waited for Kieran to finish up.

“You go on, I’ll clean up,” Dyed Hair said to Gray Beard as the rest of their crew limped out from behind the corner and headed past us down the hall. Another team passed in front of us, not bothering with the crew who clearly had up their white flag. I hoped they’d meet someone else so there would be one less team to take on.