Chapter Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Seven
Okay, things are not ideal. Some might even call them bad. But when the going gets bad, the bad get out of the house to clear their head. And nothing clears the head like a little grave robbing. The spell said we needed a bone from the deceased, so I’m going to get a bone from the deceased.
That’s how I find myself in a graveyard at midnight with Rook, lugging shovels and a crowbar.
Moonlight casts long shadows across the headstones, mist curling over the ground. It’s bitingly cold, the only sounds an occasional hoot of an owl and the crunch of leaves underfoot. That whole spooky thing the others would appreciate, but whatever.
I mean, yeah, it sucks they left. But they walked out before, and I was fine.
I’m fine.
We’ve forgone flashlights so as not to garner attention.
If Credence were buried in the cemetery across from my house, we’d have to deal with the city lights and passing cars.
But luckily, we’re far enough into the suburbs that as long as we stay out from under the streetlights, we should go unnoticed.
Rook didn’t question my demand to go to the graveyard when I showed up at his house unannounced, but now he keeps shooting me sidelong glances, and I can’t tell if they’re worried or calculating.
Here’s where I’m at vis-à-vis Rook’s involvement with the Cult of Hades:
The Cult kills Credence because Rook won’t give up one of his magical antiquities. The morning we all first meet, they attack him, and he gives up that he hired heaven hoppers to steal the grimoire. The Cult then pressures him into stealing the codex out from under us once it’s translated.
I will admit this is probably not super smart of me, being alone with a guy I think may be about to betray me. Definitely against at least fifty of Dante’s rules, but I’m just so tired of following all those damn rules.
Besides, I can’t dig this grave by myself, and Rook is the only one left.
We find Credence’s unassuming headstone near the back of the cemetery. It’s crowded by trees and other grave markers, and I have to get right up next to it to see the words etched across it:
Credence Crawford
Quod est superius est sicut quod inferius,
et quod inferius est sicut quod est superius
Rook drops the crowbar and takes the shovel with both hands. He gives a nod, and we start digging.
It’s slow work. The sod has already established stronger roots than I anticipated.
I try to pry it up in neat chunks, but the whole time, I can’t stop thinking about how easy it would be for him to take me out with the shovel and stick me in the grave we’re digging up.
I wonder if the others think I would deserve it.
I clear my throat and say lightly, “You don’t have to do this, you know.”
He pauses, muscles tense.
“I mean, definitely keep digging. I can’t do this myself, but I’ll take care of the…you know…”
Two, three months in, the body is in what’s called “active decay,” which is exactly what it sounds like. It’s going to be pretty gross, and as much as I hate corpses—Crowlene being the obvious exception—at least I’m not related to this one.
I silently thank Dad for keeping Dante’s baby teeth. I know he did it to protect us from bone magic, but not having to see my brother’s rotting corpse is an added perk.
Rook gives me a silent nod, jaw set. I still can’t see his expression, but I note the tension in his shoulders.
Even though the night air is frigid, I’m sweating by the time we finish with the sod. Digging through the soil will be easier. It’ll be more time-consuming, sure, and definitely no walk in the park, but at least we won’t have to make it pretty.
We take a quick water break before we start.
My head is leaned back, cool water pouring down my throat, when out of the corner of my eye, I see Rook lift his shovel. It’s something about the way he handles it, gripping it with the blade up, forearms tensed, that jolts me into action.
I chuck the water bottle in his face in the same movement that I’m crouching into a somersault.
The crowbar is in my hand in an instant. Lighter and easier to wield than a shovel. I hook it around the back of his knees.
He tries to get his shovel up, but I land a kick to his wrist, and he drops it.
I have him on his back before it hits the ground and angle the crowbar so the claw sits at his throat.
For a moment, we just stare at each other. His face is hard, a slight sneer on his lips. I press my knee a little more firmly into his solar plexus and he grunts.
“You know,” he groans, “I could take you out with a flick of my wrist. You’ve seen my magic.”
“Then do it,” I grit out.
I don’t know if I’m calling his bluff or if I just invited death upon myself, but either way, it’s a killer line.
“What’s the plan?” he taunts, voice rough and sharp at the same time, tugging at my edges. “Kill me with a crowbar? You’ll have to be fast and precise. And strong.”
He lifts his chin, stretching the muscles and tendons, one of his veins protruding. It could be the one I’m supposed to aim for, I don’t know. I never got that far in the YouTube videos.
“Killing you wouldn’t get me answers,” I hiss.
“That sounds like a good excuse,” he says. “But you’re just not a killer.”
“That’s not really an insult.”
“You lack follow-through.”
“Alright, that is an insult.” I press the end of the crowbar into his throat, adding pressure to what I hope is an uncomfortable but nonfatal spot. “What did they ask you to do? Kill me so they could take the book?”
Rook scowls. “Kill you? You’re the one who attacked me.”
“Yeah, because you were about to attack me!”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“Yes, you were,” I insist. “You’re working for the Cult of Hades, and your job was to stick with us until we got the codex translated and then steal it right out from under us.”
“What?” He has the audacity to look offended. “None of that is true.”
“Please,” I say. “So I guess someone else beat you up the day of our first meeting. And I misread all of the anxiety at the gala and how squirrelly you got when I mentioned the Cult of Hades.”
“Yes,” he says. “Yes to all of that. You’ve made up this whole story based on, what…body language and coincidence?”
“Like body language and coincidence aren’t important.”
“If I was working with the Cult of Hades, why wouldn’t I have just let that demon at the gala take the codex?”
I pause. I have to admit that’s a good argument.
“Hold on, give me a minute.”
That demon could have easily overpowered us and taken the grimoire. There was no good reason for Rook not to reveal himself at that point. Instead, he protected me from the demon’s spell.
“Can you please,” he grunts, “get off me? I’ll explain everything. Answer every question you have. But this is quite uncomfortable. And I’d also like to point out: You forgot to pin my arms, and I could have shoved you off at any point.”
He lifts his hands by his head and waves them.
Oh. Damn.
I scramble off him but don’t drop the crowbar. I sit in the dirt, knees pulled up to my chest, trying to process what just happened. Rook pushes himself up and sits next to me. He breathes heavily for a few moments, letting out a few coughs.
I grip the crowbar tighter. “I may have a problem with trusting people.”
“Really? I hadn’t noticed,” he says dryly, brushing dirt off his clothes.
I take a deep breath. “Okay, explain. First the injuries before that first meeting.”
“That was the people who killed Credence, as you guessed, but they’re not the Cult of Hades. I’ve seen neither horns nor claws. They are…specialty art dealers who wanted a painting I didn’t want to part with. They’ve mentioned nothing about the codex or resurrecting Hades or any of that.”
I swallow and look away. “Well, I guess that makes sense. How did you get to me so quickly when the demon at the gala was going to attack me? Did you know what it was going to do?”
He laughs. “No. I just knew you were going to do something reckless.”
“Oh, thanks very much for that.”
He leans closer, bumping our shoulders together. “Reckless but brave.”
Ugh. Stupid butterflies in my stomach. Stupid Rook, saying all the right things.
“But then why were you so nervous at the gala?”
He’s silent, and when I turn toward him, he’s already watching me with a soft expression.
“Because you looked so beautiful.”
He lets out a shaky breath. And then he’s leaning toward me, and I’m leaning toward him. The night air is cold, but there’s a light breeze, just enough to rustle the leaves. His lips are almost on mine, and I open my mouth and—
“I’m conning you.”
Rook freezes. Then leans back.
“You’re conning me,” he echoes, like a question.
I nod, unable to meet his eyes. “I needed your money. To do this job. Because my brother died, and I knew, like, in my heart or whatever that I could bring him back. But I’d already used all the family money, and I didn’t have enough to finance the rest of the job…
” I wince. “So I took advantage of your grief to get you to back it.”
Rook is quiet for a moment, then stands slowly, shaking his head. “But I came to you. I had to convince you—”
“That was part of the con.” I bite my lip, tracking him as he starts to pace. “I made sure my name got back to you, and then I had to make you believe the whole thing was your idea.”
He stops mid-stride, brow furrowed. “Were you ever going to resurrect Credence?”
I stand, resisting the urge to reach for him. “Yes, actually. That was the trial run. We’d resurrect her first to make sure we could do the same for Dante.”
“Why are you telling me this now?”
I shake my head, looking around like an answer will appear.
Because I’m the reason my brother is dead? Because my crew just walked out on me for the second time? Because apparently people expect honesty, and I don’t want to do this alone anymore?
“Because I think I want…to be a good person.” I cringe.
Rook raises his eyebrows.
“I know,” I say. “I’m shocked too.”
His gaze softens, and my stomach twists.
“And also…” I wet my lips. “I like you.”
His smile is sudden and wide and vulnerable in a way I haven’t seen from him before, and part of me hates that I’m still reading him, gauging how his emotions and reactions can benefit me. Bad habits and all that.
“You’re brilliant,” he says, grabbing me by the shoulders so he can look me in the eye. “But also an idiot.”
I shrug. “Those things aren’t mutually exclusive.”
He’s lets out a laugh. “You could have just asked me for the money, told me about your brother. We could have helped each other.”
“That’s not…” I wrinkle my nose. “That’s not how things work…”
He clicks his tongue. “You might have a skewed understanding of how things work.”
Before I think better of it, I rise up on my toes and kiss him.
It’s just a ghost of a kiss, barely a whisper of my lips against his. Even if I wanted it to go on, I’m not steady enough on my toes to keep going. I fall back down on my heels and watch his reaction.
His eyes are on mine and from the twitch in his jaw, I can tell he’s considering something. But it’s too dark to see if his pupils are dilated, and part of me doesn’t want to know. Doesn’t want to use this as an exercise in reading my mark.
Because he’s no longer a mark. And I’m no longer whatever role I was playing to gain his trust. Now we’re just Rook and Elle, two people having their first kiss.
The anticipation fills me with the same rush as when I hand off a target to a mule, as when that first hit of Miracle Max kicks in. It’s that moment you let go and have to trust that you’ve laid all the Groundwork for a soft landing.
But when Rook just continues staring at me, a new feeling sets in. The realization that I may have miscalculated.
I open my mouth—to say what, I don’t know. To apologize? To suggest we get back to work? A self-deprecating joke should do the trick.
“I—” I start, but then his mouth is back on mine, and this is no phantom kiss.
One hand is on my waist, and the other snakes around my back. I’m still on my toes, but now he’s bent to meet me, now he’s holding me steady. He groans into my mouth, and I realize it’s because I’ve slipped my hands into his hair—seriously great hair—and he pulls me closer.
It’s different than kissing Tolliver, and I hate myself for even thinking about other kisses at the moment, but all I can think is how thrilling this is. I was nervous when Tolliver kissed me. I had butterflies. But it felt safe.
Kissing Rook is like we’re in competition. I’m not sure what we’re fighting for or how to win, but that’s half the fun. I gasp when he bites my bottom lip.
I don’t realize he’s been walking me backward until my shoulder collides with a tree. Mist clings to my ankles and the scent of upturned earth is sharp in my nose.
“Wait! Wait!” I pant, pushing gently against his shoulders.
He pulls back immediately, and I feel bereft.
“I’m sorry,” he says, voice hoarse. “I shouldn’t have…”
“Um, no, you most definitely should have. It’s just…” I point behind him. “We have to finish digging up your sister’s dead body and steal her finger bone.”
He blinks at me, eyebrows raised, then lets out what can only be called a snort. I bite my bottom lip, and then we’re both laughing.
“Well,” Rook says, after taking a deep breath, “this is not how I expected this evening to go.”
“We really put the ‘fun’ in ‘funeral,’ ” I say.
“Elle,” he says, shaking his head.
I grin. “The ‘bone’ in ‘boneyard.’ ”
He leans down to grab his shovel, and I’m in the middle of coming up with my next pun when he tilts his head and gives me a wry smile. “The ‘romance’ in ‘necromance.’ ”
In the end, it takes us until just before dawn to finish our grave robbing.
Once I pry open Credence’s casket, Rook waiting just out of sight, I use some pliers to detach one of her pinkies.
The bone is…not completely exposed, so Tolliver is going to have to macerate it.
I pocket her finger and almost turn to go when something shiny catches my eye.
The tower obol she was buried with has fallen onto the floor of the casket.
I don’t know why, but I grab the obol and tuck it into my pocket.
I don’t mention it to Rook as we refill the grave just before the sky turns pink and the sun’s first beams crest the horizon.