The Tyrant's Tomb

Meg, don’t you dare—MEG!
Or you could just get us killed
Yeah, sure, that works, too
I HOPED THERE WERE four other interlopers hidden somewhere on this
balcony. Surely, Tarquin was talking to them and not us.
Hazel jabbed her thumb toward the exit, the universal sign for LET’S
VAMOOSE! Lavinia began crawling that way on her hands and knees. I was
about to follow when Meg ruined everything.
She stood up tall (well, as tall as Meg can be), summoned her swords,
and leaped over the railing.
“MEEEEEEEEEGAH!” I shouted, half war cry, half What in Hades are
you doing?
Without any conscious decision, I was on my feet, my bow in hand, an
arrow nocked and loosed, then another and another. Hazel muttered a curse
no proper lady from the 1930s should’ve known, drew her cavalry sword,
and jumped into the fray so Meg would not have to stand alone. Lavinia
rose, struggling to uncover her manubalista, but the oil cloth seemed to be
stuck on the crossbeam.
More undead swarmed Meg from under the balcony. Her twin swords
whirled and flashed, cutting off limbs and heads, reducing zombies to dust.
Hazel decapitated Caelius, then turned to face another two eurynomoi.
The deceased former legionnaire with the burned face would have
stabbed Hazel in the back, but Lavinia loosed her crossbow just in time. The