Even teen evil queens need love. Right? (Or at least a handsome sword-fighting minion to do their bidding!)
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Bad things happen when Rowen is around and the worst part is, she has no idea why until a massive family secret sends her on a fantastica...
"The problem with zombies is they're walking cadavers of rotted flesh, which honestly makes it hard to attract a boyfriend. And if you do attract a boyfriend, it's probably not likely one you'd take home to meet the parents."
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I was back inside my body. Normally I preferred it that way, but at the moment, said body was lying in cold, sticky mud beneath a blanket of even colder fog. I wanted to get up and de-mud, but my head was spinning, and my limbs were locked in place.
Something wriggled in my pocket. "Rowen! Are you alive?" Vermeil said, his voice cracking. "You better be alive or else! I told you not to trust those gossipy trees."
"Hey! Rat!" the trees said. "No disparaging us!"
"What have you done to her?" Vermeil said, crawling up my stomach. I wanted to shake him off, but I was still frozen. "Why isn't she moving? Did you kill her?"
"No, rat. She is suffering from Post-Holographic Movie Syndrome. It's very common. Only kills one out of every seven witches. And even those don't completely die. They become undead creatures, shambling around, eating brains."
"What?!?!?!" Vermeil yelled.
"It'll probably be fine. Give her a good ten minutes before you run. Just a heads up that she may eat rat brains if she can't find any humans."
"Rowen!" Vermeil called inside my head. "Please tell me you're not a zombie."
"Grrgglllee," I telepathically replied. Something was wrong with my brain. Was I turning into a zombie? No, no, no! That. Was. Not. In. My. Plan! It was the opposite of my plan. How could I take charge of my fate as a zombie? Brains! My brain demanded, and my stomach followed up with a violent rumble. Stop it, brain and stomach! I don't want brains! I mean other people's brains! With a great deal of effort, I pushed down the desire for brain eating and could think straight once again. If I didn't turn into a zombie, I was going to have to have a serious discussion with the trees about full disclosure! If I did turn into a zombie (or even if I didn't), I hoped I could wield an axe!
"Does that mean you're okay or not okay?" Vermeil said.
"Grg." My brain turned full zombie again. I forced it down. This was exhausting. I had other things to do! I had people to (punish) save, places to (destroy) go, fathers to (lecture) rescue.
Vermeil crawled up to my head and scritch scritch scritch, nested in my hair. Blurgh! "I sense brain activity!" he cheered. Sure, he was a little ball of warmth on my otherwise freezing body, but having a rat in your hair would've made me hyperventilate if I could've hyperventilated. "You're a little tense." Vermeil sent calming waves into my mind, enabling me to think clearly. "I think I reversed the zombie process!"
Dear, dear Vermeil. I could feel my neural pathways firing with electric zaps of energy! I would've cheered myself, but I still couldn't move. So, I did what any potential evil queen would do in my situation. I plotted.
