"I know," she said. "I got every one."
Callum watched the exchange with obvious impatience. "What neither one of you are even bothering to dance around is what in the hell were those things out there?"
She blinked and peered up at him. "I told you they were protection." She shrugged. "Wardings. Weapons, if you prefer. They're keeping me safe."
"From what?" he asked before I could.
"My family."
"Your family?"
I sagged against the wall, pulling to mind all those stories she had told me in the dead of night when we shared a room in foster care. I'd fancied at the time that she was making them up, that she was adding some imaginative color to the regular old awfulness of abuse that put so many of us into homes in the first place. Even when she'd run away, I told myself that the place she needed escape from must be truly terrible for her to risk living on the streets instead of returning there, but never once did I actually believe the stories.
"But you are of age now, surely," I said, mentally ticking off the months older than me that she was. She should be her own woman by now. She should be working, have her own apartment.
"In my family, age doesn't matter." She reached into the cooler beside her and pulled out a sandwich wrapped in cellophane. She peeled the plastic away and jammed one corner into her mouth. She cocked her eyebrow at me as she chewed.
"So why text me if you didn't want to leave this place?" I said. "What do you want from me? Food, clothes?" I mentally started ticking down all the things a person could possibly need if she had holed herself up in an underground cavern, and I told myself that whatever she wanted, she needed to be rescued more.
She swallowed and pressed a finger to the corner of her mouth, scooping up some errant mustard.
"I don't know," she said. "I'm just tired of running. Tired of being alone."
It was a peculiar thing to hear her voice break, and I crouched in front of her, putting my hands on her knees. I wanted to fix this for her. The dank this was obviously playing on her mind. Making her paranoid.
"We need to get out of here right now," Callum said, a note of urgency in his voice indicating to me he was still clinging to the belief that things were normal despite everything he had just witnessed in the tunnel. "The inspectors will be here soon and they'll find us trespassing, add to that destruction of sacred property..."
"Ah," she said, interrupting him. "We finally get to the point. This place is sacred, which lends me a bit of extra warding. Like my protection out there." She jerked her chin in the direction of the door. "It's why my parents lost me to foster care, why I ran away when they tried to send me back. It's why they're looking for me now."
I was almost afraid to ask, but I did.
"And what reason is that?" I squeezed my eyes closed, bracing myself for the answer.
She let go a long and heavy sigh. "I'm a necromancer. The first true necromancer in two centuries."
"Necromancer?" Callum said, and his tone told me exactly what he thought of her explanation.
I felt as though my teeth were grinding together. Of course. Because this night couldn't get any stranger.
"Necromancer," I said, with my eyes pinned to Sarah's blue eyed gaze. "You raise the dead."
Sarah touched her finger to her nose. Bingo, the motion said, and there was a sad look of in her eyes.
I thought of the psychopath who had cornered me in the church. Covered in tattoos from top to bottom, desperate and deadly because he obviously knew what would happen to him if he didn't succeed in collecting me. I remembered the Angel of Death who had come after that maniac died and I thought of the things he had told me that I was, that I had become. I recalled every word of the things he wanted me to do. The things he said I had to do if I wanted to collect my wings and go home.
I cared about collecting wings I couldn't remember ever having and going to a place I didn't even remember living in about as much as I cared about the shoes I'd grown out of and tossed in the garbage. I'd almost as much said so to him.
I remembered Azrael's words. I could live out this human life without collecting a single fare but I would return to him at the end of it. I wouldn't reincarnate into another human body. Instead, I would be gathered up as a pile of glittering dust and funnel down into the top of his cane. Limbo. I didn't know what that would mean, but it certainly didn't sound pleasant.
I let go a shuddering sigh as all those thoughts made their way through my mind and I faced Sarah with a sense of resignation.
"Then I suppose that means I'm supposed to kill you," I said.
CHAPTER 9
"Kill me?" she said. "But why? What is that supposed to mean?"
Strangely enough, she didn't look alarmed or surprised at my declaration. Just curious. Maybe a little weary. If I gave her careful study, I might think she looked a little sick and pale, but who wouldn't be, living in creepy place like this for nearly two weeks?
I suppose in the end she knew she had nothing to fear from me, or maybe she was just so desensitized to the thought someone wanted to harm her, she didn't have the energy left to be surprised. No doubt she wasn't afraid of me anyway. She had been the one who taught me to defend myself in the first place. She probably thought she could take me if it came to that. Not that it would. I had made my decision back in the cathedral. I didn't care what that Azrael said, and I didn't care what happened to me. I did have a choice and that choice absolutely did not involve killing someone I loved no matter what it cost me in the end.
I shivered as I thought of seeing the Angel of Death again. I hugged myself tight as I paced. It seemed now that I had heard the word necromancer from her own mouth, the buzzing in my ears had grown louder. I had to put my hands up to my ears to try to block out the sound. I even imagined it was Azrael trying to communicate with me, trying to drive me insane enough to become what that thing in the cathedral had become.
I felt her hands on mine, and opened my eyes to see her staring into them. She was shushing me and only then did I realized I had been whimpering.
"I'm alright," I said, backing away, trying to get some distance from her so I could think. I wrapped my arms around my midriff, nodded at her. "I'm fine."
She tried to reach for me, but I stepped away.
"You can't just drop a bomb like that and not explain it," she said.
"Yeah," Callum said warily. "What are you saying?"
I couldn't blame him for being suspicious. I had just declared an intent to kill her for heaven's sake. His brain must be ready to implode with all of the strange things it had been forced to process in a short time. And he didn't even have the benefit of being attacked in the cathedral by a tattooed maniac to initiate him into the craziness.
I scuffed the toe of my boot along the floor in front of me, drawing out my first initial in the dirt. It occurred to me that the first letter of my name was also the first letter of the words Azrael and angel. I scuffed the initial back out again. Then I looked up at her.
"Apparently you're not the only one who's special," I said, discovering the words were harder to say than I had thought.
She blinked at me. I caught Callum from the side of my eye leaning against the wall and crossing one ankle over the other. I noticed his face was carefully deadpan. Like he was trying really hard not to show any emotion and was struggling with keeping the disbelief from his face. I couldn't say I blamed him. I wouldn't want to believe any of this either.
I took a deep breath.
"Grim Reaper," I said, pointing at my chest. "I'm a reaper."
I thought I heard Callum behind me choking on a few choice words that sounded an awful lot like sure, figures, of course she would be.
"Yeah," I said to him. "It would've been easier if I had just burned the church down."
He crossed his arms over his chest and turned just enough that he was looking back toward the exit, avoiding me. Sarah, on the other hand, pushed herself to her feet and strolled over to me as though it was most natura
l thing in the world to have heard. She slapped me on the shoulder with all the pride of a comrade in arms after a good fight.
"I've heard of those," she said and cocked her head at me, inspecting the line of my body. "I thought you would look different, though."
I pursed my lips. "So did I, actually."
I thought of the way that maniac had looked. It was a bit discomforting to think I could possibly end up like that. I pushed the thought away. According to Azrael, that fallen angel had ended up looking that way because he had murdered hundreds, maybe thousands of people. Not people, I corrected myself. Supernatural entities. As though they had some sort of soul in the first place. I didn't even want to start thinking about that. Because none of it mattered. That was not going to happen to me. I still had this life didn't I? Why should I be worried about another one when I didn't even remember it. Whatever I had been before, it was not what I was now. I was human. I didn't care what he said.
Callum had shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and I could tell they were clenched into fists.
"If it makes you feel any better," I said to him. "I just found out about it myself."
His eyes narrowed to slits as he watched me. I felt strangely naked under that gaze. He said nothing but he kept chewing his bottom lip as though he was working out a way to get his mind and his senses to work together in harmony. It made me so damned uncomfortable I felt the need to explain when usually I would have just thrown my hands up in disgust. When I would have given up on anybody else, I felt the need to try and make him believe what was happening. For some reason, I wanted him to believe me.
"It's what happened to me in the church," I said in a rush. "I was there to help Sarah, but I met some maniac –"
"Stop," he said, holding up his hand. "I don't care what fantasies you kids are spinning, but you will not involve me."
He pushed himself off the wall and started pacing. I noticed he avoided the door where we both knew a pile of bones lay in the way of the exit.
"Really?" I said. "You just saw what happened. You just literally went all MMA on a hundred soldiers made of bone and you're going to pretend nothing strange happened?"
"One hundred and four," Sarah corrected and I cocked a brow at her.
"Well," she said. "Get it right if you're gonna state facts."
Callum whirled on her. He was pinching the bridge of his nose and that black hair of his was stuck up everywhere. I realized he had been running his hands through it while I was talking to Sarah.
"I told you not to involve me," he said. I couldn't say I blamed him. I would want out if it was me, but I still felt disappointed. I had hoped for a little more support.
"Like it or not," Sarah said to him. "You are involved, and this is not some fantasy. I wish to God it was."
She fanned herself as though she was hot, but it really looked like she was going to faint. She eased herself down onto her bedding again.
"And we're not kids," I piped up. I wasn't sure why that of all things stung the most but it did.
Sarah gave me a queer look, as though that was the least of our troubles and I just shrugged at her. I stole a look at Callum and noticed his jaw was seesawing back and forth. Chewing it over, I guessed. I wondered how long it would take to digest everything. I ran my hand over my stomach absently. I wasn't sure I was even done processing it all. In fact, I felt rather queasy. Every time I got too close to Sarah, something inside hurt. I found myself wondering if maybe she was safer down here, out of harm's way.
"I know it seems crazy," I murmured and pointed in the direction of the skeletons still lying just feet away from us through an ancient door. "But you saw those things coming at us. You know something isn't right. In your heart, you know it."
"I could resurrect them again," Sarah said helpfully and I ran my fingers across my throat in a cutting motion.
Callum cursed. He jammed his hands deeper into his pockets and looked down at the floor, all the while shaking his head.
"Seems like the boy needs proof," Sarah said. "I can give it if you give me a few minutes..." She started rummaging through the cooler.
"Not helping," I said when I noticed Callum trying to freeze her with a look.
Sarah popped up with a plastic bag of something red and soft looking. If I didn't know better, I would have thought it was a hunk of liver. She carefully stored it back in the cooler when she caught me looking at it. She closed the lid with purpose and sat on it, looking over at me with all the seeming innocence of a child.
"Neither of you are helping," Callum hissed.
I sucked my teeth. "Gee," I said. "For a big burly fireman, you certainly are prissy."
He stomped over, stopping a few inches from my face. That smell of soap washed over me, partnered with whatever aftershave he used and for a second everything felt normal. But then he positioned himself just so and the candles along the wall next to him lit his face up perfectly. I could see his expression clearly. It was just one muscle twitch away from collapsing into fury.
"Easy," I said, holding my hands up and waggling my fingers. "I didn't mean anything by it. It's just all really, really –"
"Insane?" he growled. "Because that's what this is. Insanity."
Seven stages of grief, I thought, or its equivalent. Six stages of existential crisis, maybe. I thought for a moment that if he had had to endure what I'd had to suffer alone above us in the cathedral, his journey to belief would've been a hell of a lot shorter. He didn't even believe his own eyes, for Pete's sake. Then, who was I to talk. I'd been denying the ache in my calf since the night I knew I'd been branded, and I realized it was time. I had to face the truth, the same as he did. I yanked my pant leg up to my knee, exposing my calf.
"Look at this," I said, twisting my ankle so I could see the mark that glared up me. I felt queasy looking at it, and seeing exactly how wood-burned it looked. I couldn't stop gawking at it as though any second it would disappear.
It didn't.
I peered up at him. "Does this look like a normal tattoo to you?"
His gaze flicked away but Sarah got up off the cooler and leaned in close. She had to push him aside to get a close look, but when she did she whistled and reached out with tentative fingers to trace the edges. I flinched as her touch met my skin and an electric jolt made its way up my spine. Some place between my shoulder blades burned. She smelled of must and smoke as though she had been down here for years not weeks. I wondered if that was the smell of a necromancer. The smell of death.
"Virtue," she said pensively and peered up at me.
Her complexion was as yellow as the beeswax but her grin made her seem hale. Just the lighting I guessed.
"That's what it says, I think."
"It actually says something?" I wasn't sure why that made me feel itchy all over.
I tried not to concentrate on the way my skin felt like it was trying to tear apart at the base of my ribcage. I held my breath until she retracted her fingers and they hovered over the tattoo instead as she looked up at me. Her bottom lip pressed up into her top in a thoughtful way. Modest but proud at the same time.
"I've had to read a lot of runes. Some sort of natural ability, I guess. That one's pretty ancient."
"Ancient as in?"
"Ancient as in before even Mesopotamia. Although I think they were the first to record it." She put her finger to her lip in thought as she crouched there on her haunches. "Maybe even angelic," she said.
"Stop," Callum said, scuffing toward the door. "Just stop."
I glared at him. "Do you have any idea what happened to me tonight?" I asked. "I went into that dark church to help a friend and I ended up fighting for my life against some maniac. But of course you wouldn't know that because when I killed him, he dissolved in to a pile of ashes that swirled into some glittery dust and disappeared into the top of the Angel of Death's cane." I planted my feet apart, bracing myself. I was breathless with desperation.
"How's that for crazy?"
I w
atched as his Adam's apple plunged down into his throat. He had his hand on the latch, but he didn't yank the door open.
"Maybe you can forget all this happened," I said, twisting my calf toward him so that he could take in the full tattoo. "I hope for your sake you can, but I don't think either Sara or I will have that luxury."
"Damn straight," Sarah piped up. "Testify, sister."
"All right," he said with a beleaguered sigh. "True or not, let's just get the hell out of here."
He looked around with distaste, one last look of a room he never wanted to see again as his fist pulled at the latch. The door stuck for a second, but then it let go with a burp. He cocked his brow at us, impatient and authoritarian. I almost pitied him.
"I'm going to go down the hallway," he said. "Make sure everything is safe."
"It will be," Sarah said with a sigh. "They're my protection, remember?"
He was shaking his head as he yanked the door wide and plunged into the darkness. For a moment, I wanted to call him back. So many things had been going wrong tonight, I didn't want him to be alone out there.
"Right," I said and headed for the cooler, thinking to pick it up and cart it with us. "We can go back to my place. You can stay the night there and we'll figure out the rest of it in the morning."
Sarah sighed heavily and leaned backward so that her shoulders were against the cold stone wall.
"I told you," she said. "I can't leave. Not yet. It's too dangerous."
"Not if you come to my house," I said. "No one will know you're there."
"You don't get it," she said. "This place is sacred. As long as I'm here in Dyre," she said. "This is the safest place for me. With all of this divinity around, all of these blessed souls, my family's magic can't track me."
"You didn't mention your family were necromancers," I said carefully.
She gave a sort of half smile that seemed both pleased and resigned. "They're sorcerers, actually. Some sort of old family prophecy about the chosen one bringing back the strongest necromancer ever. Rumored to be able to give us true immortality."
"Let me guess," I said, thinking that with the way everything had been going the last few hours, I knew exactly who that was. "You're the chosen one."
Grim Page 9
