“What?” gasped Jamie, his voice high and cracking, “No!”

  “How can y’even tell?” asked Montague, squinting into the dim corridor with a frown, “’S all just dark.”

  “A few reasons, I think,” Ian answered her, his hands folded behind his back in imitation of most of his magic tutors. The Villain wasn’t known, perhaps, for his generosity, but he was always ready to instruct the ignorant. “First of all, it is my own power that is creating the light. Now, these lamps were clearly created with holy mages in mind. I am sure, Jamie, that the light isn’t quite as bright as when you used them, even though I am more powerful?”

  “That’s true,” the Boy agreed, squinting where Ian had pointed.

  “But perhaps, for me, they are brighter, because my magic more…” Ian waved a hand, searching for the word, “selfish. I’ve also magically enhanced my vision, so I see better with less light."

  "Could’ve led with that, I think,” said Montague.

  “And finally, it’s not just sight. I can sense the magical energies animating them. Jamie could probably do it too, if he wasn’t tapped out. Though for him it would be sensing something anathematic to his own magical energy, which would be more obvious if less precise.”

  “Should we… do something?” Jamie asked nervously.

  “They aren’t doing anything yet,” said Ian, “and I don’t think there’s anything you can do.” Ian clapped Montague on the shoulder. “This one is mostly on you, I think, dear Captain.”

  “This might be partially my fault, aye.”

  “It’s entirely your fault.”

  Montague shrugged dismissively. “Win some, lose some.”

  “But I meant I don’t have anything especially well suited for dealing with zombies. Maybe if we move towards one of them, only that one will attack us?”

  “Why are they attacking us at all?” Jamie whined. Like a puppy.

  “To kill us after we’ve completed the exorcism.”

  “So they don’t have to pay us?” Montague gasped, looking truly distraught for the first time.

  “Well… I suppose, yes. But probably to dispose of evidence of Brother Graham’s murder, including our witness.”

  “What?” said Jamie.

  Montague ignored him, waving him away. “We didn’t know he was dead before, though.”

  Ian shrugged. “Villainous paranoia. Or maybe it would have been more obvious if we performed the exorcism. There might have been sacrifices involved in tearing that hole.” He waved impatiently at the vault door

  “Sacrifices?” Jamie’s voice went so high that it was easy for the others to ignore, as they could barely hear him anyway.

  “Summoning an imp doesn’t take much.” Ian pointed at the door. “That would have taken more dark energy. Murder might be enough and might have been necessary.”

  “Hold the thought,” said the Captain, “I can seem ‘em now.”

  Jamie squeaked. “Me too!”

  “Really? Fascinating! I wonder why—”

  “Because they’re coming closer, Ian!”

  “Ah.” It might have been more prudent to act quickly. Ian looked around towards the shambling corpse that had once been Miranda. He cast a wave of deathly energy at it.

  Montague stepped towards the other one and stabbed it, running it through with her blade. “That usually works better,” she said as it swiped a fist at her. It would have knocked off her hat, if Ian wasn’t still holding on to it for her.

  “Zombies don’t really use their organs for anything except structure, so they don’t care much about extra holes. And weakening their flesh isn’t that effective because they aren’t really using the muscles. You need to destroy it or hack it apart. Isn’t that type of sword better for slicing or chopping anyway? Use the cutting edge.”

  “Hacking?” Montague’s voice was incredulous, “Slicing or chopping?”

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “Do you want to hack apart zombies, or do you want to complain about my word choice?”

  “I’ve no room to swing it that way in this narrow corridor!”

  “You’ve no room to swing it well. They’re slow and they’re brutish fighters. Try it anyway.”

  Montague snarled in displeasure, presumably offended by the criticism of her frivolous flourishes, but she did try. It worked poorly; she’d no room to swing her cutlass that way.

  “Elemental energy spells work as well against them as they do against anything else,” said Ian, considering his options, “but I’m not especially skilled at those.” He threw some electricity at Miranda’s corpse. It did slow her step. A little.

  “You’re a healing specialist, aren’t you Jamie?”

  “Y-heah…”

  “Since it’s your specialty, it’s easy for you, right? I don’t suppose you can pull off a little healing magic? The magic animating zombies depends on the bodies being dead. If you can heal the flesh, give it just a spark of life, it can help counteract that magic and weaken or destroy them.”

  Jamie started grunting with effort. This seemed even less effective than what the others were doing.

  Ian grimaced as he looked at the only escape from their rapidly shrinking ground in the corridor. The vault door, where the zombies were trying to push them. He opened it.

  “That’s worse, Mr. Blackwing!”

  “Yes, but it’s a threat we’re better equipped to handle. Zombies can’t open doors, so we won’t have to deal with both at the same time. Everybody in!” Miranda’s corpse was clawing at the Boy. Ian pulled him away from it and shoved him through the door. “You can go first.”

  “What a gentleman!” Montague ducked in next, hopping over Jamie where he’d fallen. Nothing had eaten him yet, which was probably good. Ian slid in after her, slamming the door.

  In the darkness, they could hear a wet gurgling. Something was still breathing in the dark. But nothing was tearing holes in Ian, and the others weren’t shrieking horrible cries of pain. Ian focused on activating the magical lanterns. Nothing happened. He sighed, then conjured a handful of fire. Elements really weren’t his specialty. The fire shed enough light to show that everything in the room was still dark.

  “A-any good ideas?” whispered Jamie. He was still on the floor. Too weak to stand, or simply not bothering.

  “No,” answered Ian.

  “Any bad ones?” offered Montague with a chuckle.

  “Maybe.” Ian hurled the fireball into the darkness, then conjured a few more and threw them in different directions. The odds of striking something flammable and actually managing to ignite it were low. Fifteen feet to his left, something burst into flames.

  “Those texts are sacred!” wailed Jamie, lit by the glow of the burning bookshelf.

  “Did you have a better idea?”

  “I’m not mad at you, I’m just upset.”

  “They were covered in demon goo, anyway,” said Montague. They watched the fire burn for a few moments. It rapidly engulfed the entire bookshelf. “That’s strange,” the Captain said, “Paper does burn quite well, but it’s usually hard to ignite anything that’s stacked so tightly. The demon goo must be a potent incendiary.”

  “This may be partially my fault.”

  “It’s entirely yer fault.”

  The contents of the room were more easily visible now in the light of the fire, and the roar of the crackling flames drowned out the mysterious breathing. Sparks flew onto crates covered in more of the sticky contaminant that Montague had helpfully dubbed “demon goo.” One of them also burst into flames. “Ah, that’d be where y’keep the booze, then?”

  “…it was.”

  “Well Mr. Blackwing, we have at least managed to divert our attention to a new problem.”

  “The temple is mostly made of stone, so… Well, we’re going to be trapped in a vault filled with smoke soon enough. Find me some chalk, candles, and anything crystalline. If there’s any wine that’s not on fire bring me that, too. Jamie, stay close to the wall. Montague, you stay between me and the pit, keep your cutlass out. I don’t know what’s making that noise. If it was corporeal in the physical realm—”

  “Plain language, if y’please, Mr. Blackwing.”

  “If it was fully physically manifested in the material—”

  “One more degree dumber, I think.”

  “If it was stabbable it would probably be stabbing us already. But that could change at any time. And try to stay calm.”

  “Calm?” Jamie’s voice shrieked from the corner, where he was already rummaging for the supplies Ian had asked for.

  “Yes, calm. Demons are spiritual, and Hell is a spiritual realm. Our emotions can have an impact. If you’re frightened, your fear may manifest.”

  “I can’t choose not to be—”

  “Y’can focus on yer task!” snapped Montague, “You can pause and breathe deep. Or I c’n always calm y’down the long-term way, if y’like!”

  “Anger is also bad,” Ian chastised, “And unnecessary bloodshed.”

  “Will there be necessary bloodshed, then?”

  “For you, only if the thing that’s breathing becomes solid enough to attack us. If so, please make it bleed. I would prefer not to bleed.”

  “For her?” asked Jamie, bringing Ian most of the things he’d requested, “What does that mean?”

  “You might need to bleed, a little.”

  “I thought y’said not to threaten the Boy!” Montague protested, prying a crate open with the end of her sword.

  “I’m not! I need some of his blood for this ritual.”

  Jamie shrank away from him. Ian rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, acolyte of the holy powers, squeamish and afraid of blood, can we move on? This isn’t dark magic, it’s an exorcism. And it isn’t even really blood magic. I need holy power, and as you are plainly aware I have none of my own. This room was full of holy artifacts, but they’re all corrupted now. You have holy power, but you’re magically tapped. There’s still magic in your blood, but unless you’d like me to suck the life out of you—which might not even work—I’ll need direct access. Which won’t count as bloodshed for the demonic presence if it’s willingly given.” Ian drew his ritual dagger. “Hand!”

  Jamie hesitated, then held out his hand. He closed his eyes tightly and looked away, opening his palm so Ian could slash it open. “Just do it quickly.”

  “You read too many horror novels.” Ian poked the end of one of the Boy’s fingers with the dagger, catching a single red drop in a crystal dish and adding some oil that was… probably blessed at one point. Hopefully not fully corrupted. He dipped the candle in the mixture and lit it, then ran the chalk through the candle flame.

  Montague coughed. Ian realized Jamie was crouching down. Sitting on the floor, the smoke was still over his head, but it was starting to fill the room. “Let’s see how well I can do this from memory.”