The energy kept streaming into Billy Jean's body, and presto!

  Her face snapped back to its former glory and then some.

  In the blink of an eye, Billy Jean was looking like a million bucks again, her beauty cranked up to eleven.

  Her skin was as smooth as a freshly polished porcelain doll's, her eyes twinkled like stars, and those light red swirls in her pupils?

  They gave her an air of mystery that could make a guy's head spin.

  She had a nose as straight as an arrow, lips as soft and rosy as a ripe strawberry, a dainty little chin, and a face that looked like it was carved by angels.

  This mug was a bona fide showstopper.

  Billy Jean's tongue, as slippery as an eel, glided over Michael Joke's wound, and zap!

  It healed up faster than you could say "abracadabra," leaving not a trace behind.

  When her lips finally pulled away from his wrist, Michael Joke couldn't help but give his fingers a little wiggle, like he was missing something already.

  Billy Jean cracked her neck, twice, with a look of pure satisfaction on her face.

  Ivan was gobsmacked by Billy Jean's transformation and her supercharged evolutionary mojo.

  He'd never seen anything like it and couldn't even fathom how much of a powerhouse she'd become down the line.

  Seemed like his worrying was for nothing.

  Billy Jean could hold her own in this zombie apocalypse, no help needed.

  So what if she was a zombie?

  As long as she was kicking butt and taking names, who cared?

  Ivan let out a sigh of relief and decided to quit sweating the small stuff.

  Michael Joke fished out Billy Jean's melted and mangled face skin from his pocket, his face as tight as a drum.

  He handed it over to her like it was a hot potato.

  “Yours.”

  Billy Jean peeked at it and quickly averted her gaze.

  One more second, and she was afraid she'd hurl.

  “No need. Chuck it.”

  Since Billy Jean said so, Michael Joke was all set to toss it when, for some reason, he froze.

  He whipped out an empty box from his space, carefully tucked the face skin inside, let out a sigh, dug a hole, and buried the whole darn thing.

  Billy Jean: Uh...

  Ivan gave Michael Joke a long, hard look.

  Maybe he wasn't the jerk he'd pegged him for.

  Seeing Sister Jean go from zero to hero after guzzling Michael Joke's blood, Zompige got it in its head that Michael Joke's blood was some kind of magic elixir.

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  So it flitted onto Billy Jean's shoulder, all eager beaver.

  “Coo… Sister Jean, I've got a teensy request. But I'm not sure if I should spit it out."

  “Roar... Then don't."

  Billy Jean shot back, cold as ice.

  "..."Zompige was left speechless.

  What the heck?

  This wasn't how it was supposed to go down.

  Shouldn't she be all “We're like sisters, you can tell me anything. Loosen up”?

  With no other options, Zompige started buttering her up.

  “Coo… Sister Jean, look at you! You're drop-dead gorgeous. Michael Joke's blood must be like liquid gold. And it's gotta taste amazing too."

  “Roar... It does taste good."

  Billy Jean stroked her flawless face and nodded, looking mighty pleased with herself.

  “Coo… Then could you ask him for a smidge? My man's in bad shape and needs it pronto."

  Billy Jean's face went blank faster than a wiped chalkboard.

  “Roar... What did you just say?!"

  “Coo… It must taste great."

  Zompige repeated, like a broken record.

  “Roar... It tastes awful. Like rotten eggs."

  Zompige:!!

  Damn it! What a fair-weather friend!

  Ivan spotted Michael Joke squatting next to the two ability user corpses, fiddling with something.

  He moseyed over and saw he was whipping up some blood bags.

  “What the heck are you doing?”

  Ivan asked, scratching his head.

  “Rations.”

  Michael Joke said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

  “zombies gotta chow down on a lot of flesh and blood. You know that, right? So, I'll handle the blood bags, and you're on meat duty. Cool?”

  “Cool.”

  Ivan was happy to pitch in.

  “Alrighty. Just so you know, Billy Jean's got a hankering for guts. Especially the large intestine, and it's gotta be straight from the source, no frills.”

  Ivan's eyes nearly bugged out of his head.

  “Littl... Bil... likes to eat that? Are you yanking my chain?”

  The corners of Michael Joke's mouth twitched, like he was trying real hard not to laugh.

  “You grossed out? If you are, then scram.”

  “Who said I'm grossed out? For Billy Jean, I don't care if she eats bugs. I'm here for the long haul.”

  Seeing Michael Joke's face darken and his teeth grind like he was chewing nails, Ivan felt a warm fuzzy feeling.

  Trying to spook him? Nice try.

  He wasn't going anywhere until he got to the bottom of what Michael Joke meant to Billy Jean.

  “If you've got time to gab, why not get cracking?”

  Michael Joke said, his voice as cold as a polar bear's toenails.

  Ivan thought for a sec and decided to respect the zombie food chain.

  Billy Jean was chatting with Zompige when Ivan shoved something into her hands.

  She looked down and saw the bloody mess and blew her top.

  “Damn it!!”

  She chucked it like a hot potato.

  “Why'd you toss it? You love this stuff.”

  “Who told you I love it?”

  Billy Jean Roared through clenched teeth.

  Ivan pointed an accusing finger at Michael Joke.

  “It was him...”

  Michael Joke stood up, all innocent-like.

  “I warned you. You didn't listen. You said Billy Jean was a monster and should eat this.”

  Ivan:!!

  Damn it! What a slimy move.

  Billy Jean knew Ivan was on the level and that Michael Joke was playing her.

  She was about to let him have it when Michael Joke lobbed a blood bag at her and plugged her mouth.

  “Try it. How's it taste?”

  Billy Jean forgot all about chewing him out and zeroed in on the blood bag.

  “Mm-hmm, not as good as yours.”

  Billy Jean mumbled, her mouth full.

  Ivan watched, slack-jawed, as Billy Jean calmed down in a flash and Michael Joke worked her like a charm.

  Understanding someone's moods?

  That's no easy feat.

  You've gotta know every quirk and foible.

  And the only way to do that is to pay attention, like a hawk.

  Usually, there are two types who can read someone like a book.

  One's the lovey-dovey type, head over heels.

  The other's the hate-your-guts type.

  Ivan's eyes narrowed, deep in thought.

  Which one was Michael Joke?

  Billy Jean eyed the Carrion Crows sprawled on the ground, looking like they'd been through the wringer.

  Finally, she tossed them two blood bags.

  After Bosraven slurped them down, it perked up a bit.

  Billy Jean asked it,

  “Roar... Why'd these goons go to all this trouble to raid your joint?"

  There was no way they were just after the Carrion Crows' scrawny carcasses.

  There had to be more to it.

  Bosraven spread its wings and took off, feathers flying every which way.

  With its injuries, it flew like a drunken sailor, and you couldn't help but worry it'd crash and burn.

  Thankfully, as the leader, it managed to stay airborne and landed on the tallest tree around.

  It swooped back down with a bird's nest in its beak.

  When Billy Jean got a load of the bird's nest, her eyes nearly popped out of her head.

  After a moment to let her eyes adjust, she peeked inside and saw a glittering jackpot of crystal cores.

  Her eyes went wide as saucers.

  Damn it!!A Ton of Crystal Cores!!