grew stronger, fed by the ones fleeing Crystamel’s light. With each bite, each stab of pain, Dagmar felt more and more of the light leave her. The baker staggered, then stood upright, fully himself. The little boy bit her, then rose up, healthy and new. The last zombie was the mother zombie. Dagmar offered her an arm.
“Eat,” Dagmar said. Biddlemeyer’s mother bit, then staggered back. The sores and blackened flesh cured themselves. She looked around herself in wonder while the crowd of cured people cheered and embraced one another in sheer joy.
“No!” screamed the zombie king. “I’m the earl! I’m the king! I’m—”
The shadow surrounding him took on a deep and powerful blackness. Something stirred inside it, something black and hideous, the sort of the thing that might hide under the bed in a torture chamber. It swirled around the zombie king in a dreadful cloud. His face went pale and wetness stained his crotch. Inside Dagmar’s head, Crystamel made a sniffing sound.
“You failed,” the darkness said. “You failed Me!”
“No!” shouted Herbert in desperation. “I just need more time!”
But the dark cloud, filled with red eyes and scarlet claws, enveloped the zombie king. There was a rushing sound and a whump and a blast of wind. Dagmar shielded her eyes. When she brought her hands down again, the zombie king was gone. His tin crown spun a lonely circle on the ground.
“Eat,” said Biddlemeyer’s mother. “Eat, eat!”
“Thank you, I think I will.” From her vantage point as guest of honor, Dagmar plucked more roasted turkey from the platter and surveyed the great hall. The entire town was there, feasting in celebration. Musicians played, food made the rounds, people laughed and danced. Biddlemeyer sat next to her, the kindly, generous earl. On the other side of him, also in a guest of honor position, sat Ramdane. Crystamel, now in the body of a plump tortoiseshell cat, perched on the arm of his chair. She didn’t need to eat, but in the manner required of felines, shamelessly demanded a steady stream of turkey from Ramdane anyway.
I could get used to this, Dagmar thought, casting an eye toward the strapping, handsome Earl Biddlemeyer—Jack—who cast an equally interested eye back at her. She didn’t feel so tired when he looked at her. Maybe it was time to give up the wandering sword and sorcery thing, settle down with a husband and talismongers. Maybe her story was coming to a close.
Jack raised his glass. “A toast,” he called, and the room quieted. “To the skilled and beautiful, Dagmar, who saved our town!”
“Hear, hear!” cried the room.
“I did help a little, you know,” Ramdane said while everyone drank.
Jack leaned toward Dagmar, who found herself flushing. “There’s a lot of room in the keep,” he said. “And I hear we could use a new captain of the guard. If you were willing to . . . stay?”
“You know,” Ramdane said wickedly, “I hear a town to the southwest is having trouble with a vampire. Maybe we should . . . leave?”
Without taking her eyes off Jack, Dagmar dumped her ale into Ramdane’s lap. “Bite me,” she said.
Dark Pixii
by Wen Spencer
She never thought she would be Magical Girl Dark Pixii ever again.
When she put her cosplay outfits into storage, she thought she was done with that part of her life. Since she could no longer be combat medic Lieutenant Valentina Loveworth, all she had left was pieces of who she used to be.
She pulled on the pieces of the costume armor, trying on her civilian life again. Everything was a little snug, but that was due to the bandages protecting the still-delicate scar tissue. She’d picked the costume because it was the only one that covered all the damage to her body. Last thing on was a fake eye patch to cover the very real and necessary dressing on her left eye.
After pulling the black wig into place, she inspected the result in the mirror. Magical Girl Dark Pixii stared back. All that was missing was the huge chip on her thermoplastic pauldron. She’d had a chip on her shoulder long before she joined the Navy; she’d been the shortest kid in her school (including all the grades below her) and the only one with a black belt in jujutsu. She’d lost the chip when she lost her eye.
“One weekend. You can say anything you damn well please.” She promised her reflection. “But try not to kill anyone.”
She’d forgotten what a pain it was to get the black