by Emma Hamm
The Graverobber would never admit it out loud, but what he worried about most was her reaction to him. The scars could be overlooked. Even the tattoos could be overlooked by the right woman.
But magic enacted a deadly price. Every spell, every incantation, every tiny bit of unnatural force he used made his body less of what it once was. The hollows of his cheeks left shadows that made his expression always intensely severe. His forehead jutted nearly as far forward as his chin, which made his face appear to have a silhouette not unlike a crescent moon.
His ribs jutted painfully against his skin, which was paper thin and milky pale. He hadn’t seen the sun in years. Or perhaps it was decades now. He had so lost track of time. His hands looked like a woman’s. Delicate and long, the nails were constantly chewed and ragged.
Not to mention that his home was a literal graveyard. He was fortunate enough to call the long networks underneath the city his home. The networks were all connected as this was where they buried the dead. Coffins lined the walls, and skulls were his decorations. He even had a chandelier made out of legs and arms.
He couldn’t entertain a woman. Not like this, not here. She would walk into this dungeon and be frightened. This was precisely the reason why he had left the world above so long ago. These tunnels were more fitting for a creature as disgusting as he.
“I understand, Mungus.”
And he did. There was more at stake here than he could have ever imagined. The girl wanted to meet him. Him! The monster that so many feared.
Therein lay the question. Why was she so insistent that she meet him?
He didn’t like questions without answers. It bothered him to no end considering that he didn’t have to wait for an answer. He burst into movement that his emaciated body should not have been capable of. Muttering the entire time, he shoved aside books as he scooped up ingredients for a recipe.
“Mungus, I’m going to need your help with this one.” His hip bumped against a particularly large stack of books with a jar on top of it.
A glass shattered against the ground. Black sludge covered the floor, and small curls of smoke that smelled faintly of licorice drifted into the air.
“Ah.” The Graverobber looked towards his dead man with a sheepish expression. “Don’t step in that.”
He’d get the acidic goo later. For now, he needed his arms filled with everything it was going to take to get the information he required. He had a weapon she surely wouldn’t know about. No one knew what he was. No one knew what he was capable of.
He had the advantage.
Arms overflowing, he shouldered past Mungus and down the hall. “To the big room, Mungus! Don’t dally!”
He could hear the sharp clacking sound that meant the skeleton was hurrying. It was a risk to make the creature attempt to move quickly. The bones weren’t attached with any ligaments anymore, and they were held together entirely by magic. As a rule, magic wasn’t particularly good at holding together things that were being affected heavily by gravity.
Or maybe it was because he had made Mungus when he was very young and not very practiced. Either way, the last time Mungus had hurried had resulted in bones everywhere. It had taken the Graverobber weeks to put him back together. Even now he was still missing a few pieces of his fingers.
Bursting into the larger spell room, he shoved aside a body that was laid out to be embalmed. They would put it back later. Or they would forget. Either way, the man was dead; it was unlikely he would mind being on the cold floor for a few moments.
Jars were stacked around the edge of the stone bed. He laid out a large scrap of black fabric with faint white lines made out of chalk along its edges. His fingers smoothed the wrinkles before he nodded firmly.
“Mungus, I would like to see what was entrusted to you.”
The skeleton almost seemed to be out of breath. Surely that was impossible as the creature didn’t have lungs anymore. The Graverobber watched calmly as the skeleton reached into the caverns of its head and pulled out a long thread of hair they had stolen from the cadaver of a long dead Witch.
“Thank you. I just need a bit.”
He snapped it in half and handed the rest back to Mungus for safe keeping. At least for small things the skeleton was worth half his weight in bones.
The Graverobber placed the dark strand in the center of the black cloth. From the jars he pulled out a frog heart, the beak of a bird, a small piece of ginger, and a rabbit foot. Each was placed north, east, south, and west from the hair.
His voice deepened impossibly as he leaned over the table. Dark words spilled from his lips like wine. No one knew the language in which the Graverobber spoke. No one left alive at least. He murmured and shook as his body took over the magic that only he knew.
The runes upon his thighs split open. Blood spilled from his flesh as words trickled out of his body without his understanding. The Graverobber was not a creature who understood his magic. He did not understand the things he knew or why he knew them.
Magic was in his blood. This was why the spell requested such a price. The pain focused him, and his own blood created a channel for a strong spell to escape from.
Minutes passed as he continued to mutter and shake over the table. At last, a long expulsion of breath marked the end of the spell.
A trickle of warm liquid dripped from his mouth. His lip was bleeding.
“There, Mungus. You see there?” He pointed as white smoke drifted up from the hair.
It curled lazily in the soft breeze that was created by the Graverobber lifting his arm. It swirled upwards so delicately that certainly it had a mind of its own. And then, only then, did it begin to circle.
It overlapped itself many times until the smoke created a perfect ring before the living and dead men. Once the circle it had created was perfect, the smoke stilled in the air.
An image appeared before them, one that held Lyra in perfect clarity as though she was standing before them.
“She is beautiful,” the Graverobber murmured before he was able to catch the words. No one could be beautiful, not to him. Beauty was dangerous because it meant he would begin to look upon himself once more. He could not afford to do such things.
But she was beautiful. His eyes lingered upon the soft swells of her cheeks. Her eyes were delicately slanted into near perfect cat’s eyes that were piercingly blue. Her hair was a constantly moving waterfall because she was never entirely still.
He was certain it would take a considerable amount of power to tire her. But his thoughts were becoming a distraction he could not afford. He needed to remember that he was here for a reason. He had suffered the pain for a reason.
She began to speak. “Listen, I don’t think it’s anything to worry about. He’s only a Red Blood.”
“Of course there’s something to worry about. He’s a Red Blood who works for one of the Lords. And I know I don’t need to remind you why that’s a problem.”
“That’s a low blow,” she muttered.
“Who else is with her?” the Graverobber asked. For some reason hearing a deep male voice with such a pretty little thing made him angry. Jealousy was not an emotion he wore well.
The vision zoomed out until he could see the giant who stood next to Lyra. The man seemed larger than life. He was all hard angles and angry expressions that were not softened at all by the unusually long hair that brushed past his shoulders.
“Must be compensating for something.” He nudged the skeleton next to him. “Eh, Mungus?”
The skeleton didn’t move.
“Spoilsport,” he muttered and turned to look back at the vision. Their conversation had skipped as he had lost his concentration.
“Jasper. I’m going, whether you want me to or not.”
“You would be foolish not to take me.”
“I don’t care if you think I’m foolish!” Her pretty face was flushed with anger. “I have to do this.”
“Why? Why is it always you who has to put their life on the li
ne?”
“Because I would rather live like this than in a box. I wasn’t meant to be safe all the time. I wasn’t meant to be a housewife or, heavens forbid, the rich woman I was born to be. I need the wild and the adventure.”
The Graverobber leaned in as his brow furrowed. There was something about her tone that wasn’t quite right.
“She’s lying,” he muttered. “Mungus, she’s lying.”
The lion-like man, Jasper, shook his head. “You don’t know who this person is.”
“There’s something off about him, Jasper. He said he’s human, but there’s something not right. Almost as though I should know him, but I don’t.”
“So this human man is your new obsession? You’re going to get yourself killed living like this. I won’t stand by and watch it.”
He turned and left the sight of the Graverobber. Lyra stared after him, and he watched with awe as her face twisted into the most stunning portrait of sadness.
“Maybe that is what I want,” she whispered.
An overwhelming sense of anger made the Graverobber slash his hand through the smoke. It dissolved underneath the violent movement and cut short the vision he had planned to learn from. Somehow, it felt as though he had already learned all he needed to know.
“Mungus.”
The skeleton shuffled forward.
“Start preparing for a guest.”
This time, the dead man did not argue with him. He listened carefully for the soft click as the door closed behind Mungus before he allowed himself a few moments of complete and utter abandon.
The rage that had been boiling inside of him burst free. An angry cry echoed in the room as he reached forward to sweep all the ingredients of the spell onto the floor. Power pulsed inside him and was expelled in great waves of pure energy.
Skeletons along the wall rattled. The angry sound grew louder and louder as each wave flowed from the Graverobber. His head was tilted back and his arms outstretched. Bright blue sparks of energy arched from his fingertips to sink into the stone floor until he closed his fists.
Everything that had once been living around him crumbled to dust. Great billows of white floated into the air. It wasn’t enough. There would never be enough to prevent the anger inside him from swelling once more.
She had no right to wish for death.
He didn’t understand where the thought came from. It was a nasty voice, a dark voice, that whispered from deep inside his soul until it was screaming through his mind. And it was right. She had no right to think that her soul was hers.
He inhaled a shaky breath as his hands closed into fists. She would come here. She would meet him.
There was much he had to do before then.
“Jasper.” Lyra’s exasperated tone should have been a warning to the lion headed man. “You have to leave.”
“I’m just making sure that everything is working as it should.”
“Are you kidding me? I’m supposed to be here alone.”
“And we don’t know who this guy is, other than the fact that he now knows you work for the Five,” Jasper growled. “Excuse me for being careful.”
They were already in the cafe on Fifth and Main. It was quaint little place that harkened to older times. Lyra thought that perhaps it was a themed cafe, but she couldn’t really make out what the theme was.
Gold trim bordering the ceilings and red paint on the walls made the cafe seem “high end”. She was told this by the waitress who had a few snide remarks for a Siren being in the establishment. Single red roses were delicately placed in flutes on each table. Lyra rested her hands upon the delicate, golden mesh tabletops gently. Lyra thought they were held together by magic but she had already been corrected on that statement. Everything in the shop was supposedly naturally made.
The waitress was annoying her already. It was going to be a long meeting.
“We already had this conversation, Jasper. I’m not in any danger from this man.”
“You don’t know that.” He peered around the small space again.
“Your eyes aren’t going to notice anything that I don’t notice. For god’s sakes, what has gotten into you lately? I’m your partner. Not your child.”
“I hardly think of you as a child.”
She rolled her eyes. “Out. Now.”
“But I haven’t checked—”
“You’ve checked everything. You’re going to ruin this entire mission if you don’t put your ass back in the shadows with the rest of the team.”
Yes, that’s right, the rest of the team. She had fought with them tooth and nail, but they had all agreed on one thing. She was part of the team. That meant that they had to be there to protect her. They had even gone so far as to force her to use a small moth in her ear that would whisper words. The team had another moth that would repeat all the words that were said at the meeting. Just in case.
None of them understood that she was capable of protecting herself. But she had at least managed to convince Jasper to leave the cafe before Wolfgang arrived. If he saw her with them, all bets were off. She knew how people like Wolfgang worked.
She was still disappointed that he wasn’t some random stranger she had met on the street. He was, in a sense, unknown to her. But he was now someone she was going to have to use to bring an end to this battle. Doing so meant that he was off limits. Romance wasn’t particularly easy to entertain when one was trying to get information out of the other.
Double whammy on this one. They both needed the other to spill their secrets, and she wasn’t going to do a lot of that. They were dead in the water before they even started.
Of course, maybe she could try to get him out of her system before the talks…
Lyra sighed. Too late for that, she supposed. But that didn’t mean she hadn’t tried to make certain that this meeting would be as interesting as possible.
Her body was encased in black leather. It was her most prized outfit, and she only wore it to battle. She had been saved many a night of scrubbing by these clothes. Not to mention that she looked hot in them.
Every curve was perfectly smoothed by skin tight leather. She ran a hand down the flat line of her stomach just to feel the butter soft texture against her palms. Lyra stuck out like a sore thumb in this place that was made for delicate women, the sound of velvet against flesh, and soft whispers.
Her hair was slicked back from her head and held aloft in a high ponytail. When she had left Haven, her lips had been blood red and her eyeliner had been perfectly winged. She looked like a warrior. Fierce, confident, a Siren on the prowl.
She eyed the glass of water in front of her. Bright red marks from her lipstick marred the crystal glass along with the drops of condensation on the side. She left the stain where it was, but lifted her knife to check that she was still wearing her warpaint.
Of course her lips were perfect. They were hers. She kissed the air in front of her to ensure that the red wasn’t splotchy. But then it happened. Her lips in the reflection didn’t move.
Instead, a slow smile spread across the lips reflected back at her. She nearly dropped the knife but couldn’t keep her eyes from staring at the nightmare manifesting before her.
“Lyra.” The lips were whispering to her now. “Lyra.”
“Has it truly been that long already?” she whispered back.
“Lyra, you owe us.”
“I owe one person.” Her voice deepened with severity. “I do not owe multiple.”
“Your debt is due.”
“I have time.”
“You have no time.”
“I refuse,” she whispered in a shaking voice. But even she knew that the likelihood was that she was doomed. A debt had to be paid, especially when her contract was held by one of the Lords.
A shiver went down her spine as those lips simply smiled again. She knew that her own face wasn’t making those movements. She could feel the frown that marred her usually beautiful expression.
If her debt was truly up t
hen she was in a lot more trouble than she had originally imagined. She was going to have to hide or run. Fat lot of good it would do her, but she could figure it out. The last thing she wanted to do was put her own team at risk.
The hand that held the knife shook. She didn’t want to admit any weakness to this apparition that had likely been formed through a curse. Her pride demanded that she remain strong and wait for her own reflection to return.
“Why the frown?” The deep voice cut through her concentration. The knife slipped from her grasp and clattered to the table.
The other patrons jumped at the sound. Lyra almost flinched at the angry glare the waitress burned into her. The plate on the table had cracked when the heavy silver had struck it. Just her luck really.
“Shit,” she muttered. Her hands were still shaking. When had her hands started shaking so badly?
Perhaps it was when she realized that her life had just been cut short. She had thought she would be ready to handle the reality of her situation. Apparently not. Lyra grit her teeth and tucked her twitching fingers into her lap.
Wolfgang sat down in front of her slowly. The worried expression on his face was not what she had expected to see. After the shit he had pulled in the cafe, she had fully expected him to be difficult.
“You alright?” he asked her.
“Yes.”
“Let me see your hands.”
The words were so curious that he almost managed to snap her out of her fear. Almost. She shook her head. “Why do you want to see my hands?”
“Just show me.”
“You don’t seem like the hand holding type.”
“I’m not.”
She needed information out of him. This was a simple action that would appease him. There were far worse things he could ask her to do, so Lyra lifted her hands and placed them on the table palm up.
They were still shaking. Her fingers seemed to have a life of their own as she forced them to remain open and not curl into her palm. If she allowed her hands to create fists, she might strike something. The last thing she needed to do was prove to that nasty little waitress that the leather clad Siren was really as bad as she appeared.
