Epilogue #2
Cyril looked around. “This place feels dead.”
“Well, if Meridian lives here, that makes sense.”
“Does it? Because even if he’s changed, he’s still alive.”
Vale didn’t understand necromancy or how the Threshold worked, so he had nothing useful to offer. Maybe technically Meridian was alive, but that could mean a lot of different things.
The building wasn’t far from the pier. Up close, it was even stranger than it had looked from the shore. It was tall and narrow, built from dark stone that was almost black and clearly damp. It looked a bit like a lighthouse, with thin vertical windows spaced irregularly along the upper floors.
But there was no light here, and no one could ever want to come here.
The stone was cold-looking even in the afternoon light, and the plants at the base of the walls had been left to do whatever they wanted—and clearly, that was climbing the stone wall and engulfing part of the building, including a few windows.
With every step Vale took toward the place, the urge to turn around, grab Cyril, and run grew stronger.
He held it down because he knew Cyril needed this, but it wasn’t easy.
“I can feel him watching us,” Cyril said.
Vale agreed. He couldn’t see anyone in the windows, but the sense of being observed was unmistakable. He stepped closer to Cyril without thinking about it. Whatever happened next, it was them against whatever waited inside.
They moved slowly but steadily, and Vale only stopped when they were standing in front of the building’s front door.
It was made of heavy wood, dark and scarred with age.
Once there, they paused and looked at each other.
Cyril was standing slightly behind Vale, Oscar tense at his feet.
The pet’s tentacles were fanned out as if he were bracing himself for something.
“Ready?” Vale asked.
Cyril chuckled darkly. “I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for this, but sure. Let’s say that I am.”
Vale turned toward the door.
It opened. Vale’s first reaction was to step back and place himself in front of Cyril.
He heard Oscar’s tentacles scrape against the stone, but he didn’t look down.
He also didn’t reach for his gun, even though everything in him screamed to shoot first and ask questions later. It was a good thing he didn’t.
Vale had no idea what to expect of Meridian. After talking to Asher, he’d imagined something monstrous, though he’d known that couldn’t quite be right.
Meridian was just a man. He looked to be in his mid-fifties, maybe a few inches taller than Cyril, and he was rail-thin.
His skin was pale in a way that told Vale that it hadn’t seen much sun in a long time.
His hair was dark and unkempt, falling across his forehead and curling at his collar.
His beard had grown in unevenly, obscuring part of his jaw.
He was dressed plainly, with nothing unusual about him except for his eyes.
Nothing could hide his eyes. They were dark and still and cold, and when they landed on Vale, it felt like being looked through rather than at, as though Meridian was reading something written behind Vale’s sternum.
There was something deeply wrong with the man despite his ordinary appearance.
His presence was wrong, but Vale couldn’t explain why.
Meridian felt less like a person and more like a space where a person used to be.
Vale’s fingers twitched at his side. He really wanted his gun.
That urge sharpened when Meridian’s gaze shifted from Vale to Cyril.
He couldn’t see much of Cyril past Vale, but it was enough to make him narrow his eyes.
Vale went still and ready. There was no reason for Meridian to attack, but there’d been no good reason for Asher to kill the people he’d killed either.
“You shouldn’t have come,” Meridian told Cyril.
His voice was flat and dry, like he didn’t use it much. It made Vale’s skin prickle. He felt Cyril move closer behind him, which meant he wasn’t the only one feeling it.
Maybe Asher hadn’t been wrong when he’d said that Meridian had died. Even though he was standing in front of Vale, Vale wasn’t sure he was alive.
But he was here, and he was talking. And he was the only chance they had to face the Threshold and win.
* * * *
CYRIL DIDN’T KNOW WHAT to make of Meridian, but even though everything in him wanted to turn around and run, he didn’t. He couldn’t afford to. Meridian scared the hell out of him, but he was here precisely to avoid becoming whatever Meridian was. He wouldn’t leave without answers.
“I need to talk to you,” he said.
Cyril had been living alongside death his entire life.
They were old friends, and he’d never been afraid of it.
But whatever Meridian was, it wasn’t simply death.
He felt hollowed out, like something that had once been alive and was now caught somewhere between.
Was that what the Threshold did? If it was, Cyril wanted nothing to do with it, ever.
He’d give up his ability before he let himself end up like this.
“I’m dangerous,” Meridian said.
“Are you going to attack me?” Cyril asked, keeping his voice steady.
He felt Vale tense, so he pressed a hand against his boyfriend’s back.
He knew Meridian wasn’t going to attack them physically.
He might be right that he was dangerous, but it wasn’t in that way.
The danger wasn’t Meridian himself; it was what he represented.
It was the Threshold and what waited on the other side of it.
“I won’t,” Meridian said.
“Then we’ll take the risk.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“Maybe not. But I think you know why I’m here. I need to know what happens when you cross the Threshold. I need to know what happened to you when you did. I’m not planning to do it myself, but I’m afraid I might not have a choice, and I want to be prepared when—if—it happens.”
Meridian stared. Cyril swallowed, wondering if the man was about to turn them away.
If he refused, Cyril didn’t know what he’d do.
There was no one else to ask. Everyone else who’d crossed the Threshold was dead.
Meridian might be too, in a way, but he was still standing here answering questions, which made him their best and probably only option.
It took Meridian so long to respond that Cyril fully expected to be told to fuck off. He grabbed the back of Vale’s shirt, just in case. He wouldn’t put it past his boyfriend to try stronger methods if Meridian refused.
Vale hadn’t taken his gun out, which was frankly impressive, but Cyril wasn’t going to pretend he didn’t notice the way Vale’s hand kept drifting toward his side.
Eventually, Meridian sighed and stepped aside. It was a small, strange sound coming from him.
The inside of the house was dark. Nothing about it made Cyril want to go in, but he was going to, because the answers were in there.
“Okay?” Vale asked quietly.
Was Cyril okay? No. Did he want to leave?
Desperately.
Was he going to? Not without what they’d come for.
He reached out and took Vale’s hand, lacing their fingers together and squeezing hard. Vale didn’t flinch. He squeezed back and waited, leaving the choice to Cyril.
Cyril took a breath and stepped inside.