Chapter 29 #2
“I also found this,” Dax sets a small leather-bound book on the coffee table between us, shaking me out of my thoughts. I snatch it, more than happy for a distraction. Flipping through the pages, I squint at the dates and the faded scrawl.
Not a book, then. A journal.
“And this,” he places the second object down a bit more gently.
It’s a dagger with a bone-carved hilt. The bone is smooth and polished. A white that doesn’t occur in nature. It’s weirdly perfect with no obvious signs of treatment.
My fingers curl around the hilt, and I blink back a wave of dizziness. Fates, I have the strangest sense that this bone’s never actually been in a body.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end, but instead of putting the dagger down, I tighten my grip.
“What the fuck is it?”
Dax plucks the journal up from where I tossed it unceremoniously on the couch. “That’s the dagger the Omega had when I walked in after the grid went down. Figured I’d take it before she could use it to stab us in the back.”
“Who’d it belong to?” Gavran leans over and pulls the dagger out of my hand.
I want it back.
My body leans forward instinctively, fingers twitching like I’m about to snatch it right out of his hand.
Not because I have to have it. Definitely not because it was warm and pulsing in my hand, like it’d been made to fit there.
“Alright, Gollum, calm the fuck down.” Dax slaps my hand away, using his other arm to shove me back into the couch cushions.
“That right there,” he adds, pointing at me, but directing his answer to Gavran, “is why I took it from her.”
I blink, trying to work out what the hell just happened.
“That feeling you’re getting? Like you want to hide it and never let it out of your sight?”
Gav and I both nod.
“That’s why I didn’t leave it with the Omega.”
His eyes flick to the weapon. I have to admit, I’m having a hard time looking away from it, too. It’s strangely beautiful. Plain in design, but so perfect it feels like it shouldn’t exist on this plane of existence.
“I initially just wanted to see it because the bone looked odd,” Dax admits.
Gav nods, turning it over in his hands. “It’s too neat. Too white to be real bone,” he murmurs. “The grain is too fine. Look here.”
He angles the hilt between us. “It looks like it was worked, but… not. It’s too dense. It’s definitely not human. Not vampire or wolven, either. And it’s…”
He hesitates, frowning.
I groan. “Just say it. But I’m telling you right now, if it’s cursed and needs to be thrown into the fires of Mordor, I’m requesting hazard pay.”
Gav smirks. “I don’t think it’s cursed, so no need to grab your walking staff just yet, Frodo. It is, however… glowing. Like the blood Caelan found.”
“No,” I laugh, but it sounds wrong. Frantic. “No, that’s— no way.”
Dax takes it, lifting it up to the lights. Sure enough, now that I know what I’m looking for, I see it clear as day. It shimmers, like it’s been mixed with Mother of Pearl.
Except it hasn’t, because the glow is coming from the inside.
My packmate and I share a long look. Dax sets it back down, but he also looks like he has to make himself let it go.
Gav raises a brow. “So, whose was it?”
“Well. That’s the other weird thing.”
“There’s another weird thing?” I throw my arms up in exasperation. “Of fucking course there is. It’s only been four hours since the last weird thing.”
Dax ignores me.
“There’s no record of that dagger belonging to anyone. Not a Bastard, not a trainee, not even a staff member. Not digital, and not in the Archives that haven’t been uploaded into the database yet.”
He flips open the journal and sets it between the three of us.
“I did find this. The Omega said it was in the same satchel as the dagger. Belonged to a trainee we lost about a hundred-and-thirty years ago during a mission to the Black Hills region of South Dakota. I barely remember it. Had to go back in the old logs to look it up.”
“There was a lot of weird shit happening in that area of the US back then,” Gav replies thoughtfully. “It was so wild. Unpopulated. The perfect breeding ground for rogue vampires and Severed Nests.”
“That’s exactly what they were doing,” Dax confirms. “We sent them out after a group of rogue vampires from one of the minor Old Houses. The specifics don’t really matter.” He waves them away.
“What matters is, this guy—Benedict—never came back. We deployed three males, and only two returned.”
He picks up his whiskey and rolls the glass slowly between his palms.
“They were gone for a few weeks, tops. When they returned, it was with news that they lost their third. He disappeared one night when they were making camp. They spent three days looking for him before making the call to fall back. Never found his body, or anything he had on him.”
“I remember him,” Gav says, his tone solemn. “No major blood ties to anyone. Just a Freeblood, who wanted to be a warrior. He was quiet. Didn’t cause any issues. But that’s all I remember.”
I’ve got to admit, I’m shocked he remembers even that much.
I was here that whole time and can’t even remember the mission, let alone this Benedict guy.
I feel a little shitty, but after centuries, unless it ended in explosions, the death of someone close to me, or catastrophic fuck-ups, chances are I’ve deleted it to make space.
“Well, he never made it back, but apparently,” Dax nods to the journal and dagger, “his shit did.”
I grab the journal, flipping through it. “You’re telling me this is his? Stuff he had when he went missing?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
“How do you know it belonged to him?”
“Because his fucking name is written on the first page,” Dax replies, flatly.
“Well, that’s comforting,” I grunt. “Dead guy’s body disappears, but his weapon and diary make the trip back, randomly resurfacing over a century later. Fantastic.”
I want to chuck the dead guy’s journal across the room, but I’m low-key creeped out, so I set it gently to the side and subtly scoot further away.
When I glance at my packmate, he’s grinning at me.
“Oh, it gets better,” he says, and his shit-eating grin grows wider. “I read through it. Most of the stuff at the beginning is useless. Training notes. Gossip about the other recruits. Rants about how much he hates Caelan. Complaints about how I’m a dick. You know, normal Bastard-in-training shit.”
“Riveting,” I mutter.
“Then we get to the mission entries. Again, all normal. He’s excited to go, he wants to find the rogue Vamps, and prove he belongs. Blah, blah. Then we hit this entry.”
I turn to Gavran, hoping to appeal to his… I don’t know…? Authority to make Daxen shut the fuck up?
“Please make it stop,” I beg. “I do not want to hear the 19th-century version of The Hills Have Eyes.”
Gav gives me a long-suffering look and, like the fucking traitor he is, gestures at Dax to continue.
And because he’s an absolute asshole, Daxen clears his throat, squares his shoulders, and starts reading from the Death Diary like it’s the final round of a High School speech competition.
“‘I didn’t mean to lose them. Told Reid and Silven to go on without me while I relieved myself. Just as I was buckling my belt, the fog rolled in thick and fast. I walked around, searching for the boys, yelling their names and continuing to walk in the direction I thought they’d gone.
But the fog plays tricks with sounds. It muffles and throws back echoes that don’t belong to you. ”
The entry sparks a memory. “Isn’t that what Riven said happened to him?”
Dax shoots me a look that says, ‘Keep up and stop talking,’ and continues reading.
‘I’ve been careful. Marking trees, following the slope of the land.
I don’t believe I’m walking in circles, but all the trees look the same.
My compass just spins uselessly. I’ve tried to climb for a better vantage, but the fog is too thick, and the branches are brittle.
I believe I’ll sit by this cedar and rest. Perhaps the fog will lift by morning. God willing.’
Dax pauses, eyes scanning the next few lines. His voice drops when he speaks again.
“There’s a line break, and then he finishes the entry with,
‘I know it sounds mad, but I’m sure the air was pulsing earlier. As though something were trying to push through..”
“Interesting.” Gav stands and starts pacing a circuit of the room, expression thoughtful.
“Interesting. Sure,” I mutter.
Dax starts reading again.
‘I reckon it’s been over a day now—possibly longer.
Came to the realization this morning that my pocket watch has stopped functioning.
Looks to have ceased ticking around a quarter after five yesterday evening.
Thinking back, that’s near the time I lost the boys.
The fog has worsened, and I haven’t seen hide nor hair of them.
I was forced to take from a squirrel this morning. The first blood I’ve had in a week. Oddest thing— it made my hands tremble and my heart race. Like I had drawn from the vein of one of my own kind.
The small mercy is, I shan’t need to feed again for some time. Given I haven’t the faintest idea how to make my way out of these cursed woods, that’s one less worry.
I found a beautiful dagger in the foliage a few hours ago, so I suppose this hasn’t been a complete loss.
I’ve decided to rest for a spell. Perhaps the boys will happen upon me while I slumber.
Sleep was hard to come by last night. Every time I’d lie my head down, I could swear I heard voices under the ground. The higher the moon rose, the louder they got. There was singing. A lilting, beautiful lullaby that seemed familiar, and made me yearn for home, of all things.
Yes. I believe I’ll stay put a while longer. I pray that they return.
The voices, I mean.’
The air’s heavy. Chilled. Goosebumps rise on my arms. There’s a beat of silence before I jump up, backing away with my hands raised.