He dropped down on one knee, took my hand, and kissed the palm. “As you wish,” he said.

I kissed the top of his head. “I love you, too.”

He put his face against my belly and whispered, so softly that only I would hear it.

“Nudge.”

I laughed and ruffled his hair. “Work now, play later.”

“Promise?” There was humor in the quirk of his lip, but his eyes were serious, almost grim.

* * *

• • •

“I will not ask her to care for the black-magic users,” Zee said, coming up to me where I sat on one of the few unbroken chairs.

I was bone tired and I needed a shower. It took me a moment to figure out that “her” was the earth.

“All right,” I said.

“That would be profane,” he told me, as if I had argued with him.

I took a breath, girded up my loins (figuratively speaking), and thought about what he’d said. He had a problem. We had a problem. I could figure out problems if they came at me one at a time.

“We need to burn the house,” I said. “I don’t want whatever witch comes to take over to start with this house. We can put Elizaveta and the Hardesty witches’ bodies in there to burn.”

“It’s not just them,” Zee said. “There are black-magic practitioners who were made into reanimates, too. Rivals, maybe.”

“There are over two hundred zombies out there,” I told him. “I don’t know that I could pick out the difference between zombies who were turned into zombies by black magic and zombies who were also black-magic users.”

He nodded his head shortly. “I can. I will. We will just use the wolves to move the bodies.”

“We buried the ashes of Elizaveta’s family in her garden,” I told him. “We found the bones of her victims buried there.”

He grunted. “The ashes won’t be a problem, though it is good to know that they are there. And I wouldn’t recommend anyone eating out of that garden. I think I can take care of that at the same time.”

See? Life is about problem-solving. Although I was pretty sure that most people’s problems weren’t things like what to do with dead witches and two-hundred-plus zombies.

Adam and the others were gathering around the remains of the dragon. Zee started over toward them, and I heaved myself out of the chair and followed.

“It’s smaller than I expected a dragon to be,” said the senator into the reverent silence. His voice was solemn and the volume was appropriate for a church—or a library.

“I lived for nearly a century in a valley below a dragon’s lair,” said Zee. “I met her twice. The first time, she came to my workshop in the guise of an old and mute lady. She brought me a flower and while she watched, I built her one like it of gold and gemstones. She took it with her when she left. Five or six years later, she showed up at my doorstep, and I have never seen anything so beautiful. That was the only time I saw her in her natural form.” He crouched down and touched the dragon’s neck. “She was as large as a school bus nose to tail. This is a baby.”

* * *

• • •

The pack came and helped Zee sort out bodies. The senator and I stayed out of the way—and after a very short while, Adam joined us. I think he was afraid I was going to fall out of my chair. But Mary Jo had given me two energy bars and a thermos of hot cocoa. It wasn’t as good as what I made, but it was hot and sweet and it helped. The senator had gotten a thermos of coffee and a pair of the same energy bars.

Warren and Darryl had taken it upon themselves to carry the bodies of the witches into Elizaveta’s house. They carried the first two bodies in, then spent a while inside the house. I could hear furniture moving—and breaking.

“What are they doing?” the senator asked me. Adam had cleaned and wrapped his leg earlier—and attended to a few other minor injuries. The worst of those were bruises. He’d feel all those wounds tomorrow and the day after that. In a few weeks, he’d be fine, physically at least.

“Making a pyre,” Adam said. “To make sure the flames will consume the bodies.” He looked at me. “We have both Joel and Aiden coming—I asked Lucia to bring them after we’ve taken care of the rest of the dead. Aiden doesn’t need to see this.”

“Aiden?”

“He’s a firestarter,” said Adam. Which was an answer without being a lie. He had been hanging out with too many politicians.

Darryl and Warren came out and gathered the last of the witches—Elizaveta and Patience. I shivered. I don’t think I could have touched either of them.

When they came back, Darryl went to help in the field and Warren headed over to grab the last body on the patio. He bent down to pick up Wulfe—and Wulfe wrapped both of his arms around Warren’s shoulders and gave him a hug and a big fat smooch on the cheek.

“Darling boy,” said Wulfe. “Where are we going?”

I hadn’t killed Wulfe—just made him more dead? Deader? Whatever. Wulfe was okay. I was tired enough to feel happy about that.

“If you don’t let go of me,” said Warren, still bent over Wulfe. He’d pulled his hands away, but Wulfe dangled from him anyway, held by the vampire’s grip on Warren’s shoulders. “I will break both of your arms.”

Wulfe let him go and dropped back onto the concrete with a thump. He stretched out both arms and legs and made snow angels. Or he would have made snow angels if there had been any snow.

Maybe he wasn’t okay.

“Wulfe?” I asked, sliding my chair around so I could see him without giving myself a crick in my neck.

He smiled, a wide, joyful expression—and oddly the fangs didn’t rob the smile of its charm. “I am at peace, Mercy,” he told me. He closed his eyes and quit moving his body. “Just like you told me. I will never be okay again.” He didn’t sound unhappy about it.

We watched him for a minute. But he just looked dead again. After a few seconds of that, Warren backed away warily and looked at me.

I shrugged and turned my chair back to its original position. Everyone took their cue from me and ignored the vampire as they gathered the dead.

The senator began to ask questions and I let Adam answer them, closing my eyes until someone put a hand on my knee. I could hear the murmur of Adam’s voice, so he wasn’t far away, presumably still conversing with the senator. But I was alone on the porch with Sherwood.

He sat on the ground next to my chair—one leg, his prosthetic, up and the other down. As soon as I looked at him, he let his hand fall away from me. My cutlass was on the ground next to him. It was dirty.