Chapter 34 #2
Say something! My conscience screams at me, but my instincts, honed by the very people I’m hiding from, scream louder that I can’t trust them.
I have chosen my side. Gods over the Order.
I’m a traitor, a rogue. Dangerous in their eyes. Finnian doesn’t trust me, that much is clear. What happens to rogue slayers? No one knows. There hasn’t ever been one.
“Fine,” Cormac grumbles. “Let’s get this over with so we can see that nothing is amiss.”
They exit through the back entrance, and I dither before I commit to the insane decision to follow them.
I have to know what they find, or don’t find.
I give them a thirty-second head start, counting the heartbeats thudding against my ribs.
Once the heavy iron door clangs shut, I move.
Silence is usually my friend, but today it feels accusatory, amplifying the squeak of my wet boots on the stone floor.
I slip out the iron door, moving the journal uncomfortably against my hip bone to make movement easier. Nothing says ‘stealth operative’ quite like waddling through a downpour with stolen property down your pants, but needs must.
Outside, the rain has turned torrential. It’s a miserable, grey curtain that swallows visibility, which works in my favour. I spot the trio ahead, huddled under umbrellas like black mushrooms sprouting from the tarmac. They’re heading straight for the graveyard.
I stick to the shadows of the shop fronts, moving with a fluidity that feels foreign. Before, I was good. Now? I’m a ghost. My feet make no sound on the slick pavement, and my breathing remains steady despite the rapid pace.
They turn up the track toward the old church. I hang back, ducking behind a dripping oak tree, expecting them to enter through the rusted iron gates. Instead, they stride past and aim for the path that leads to… Marrow House.
“What the fuck?” I mutter and move forward.
Marrow House. The site is not the crypt? Since when?
Or are there now two breaks in the veil?
Was the original site from centuries ago, where Marrow House stands now?
That would explain why the gods were drawn to it.
Voren in particular. There aren’t just old ghosts hanging around there.
There will be enough residual energy from the banishment to power a fucking nuclear station until the end of time.
Of course. It’s always the creepy mansion on the hill. I should have guessed.
Panic claws at my throat. If Taye gets within sniffing distance of the front door, she won’t just smell a fox; she’ll smell three varieties of ancient deity and me.
I skirt the hedgerow, ignoring the brambles snagging my leggings. The stolen journal digs into my hip bone like a dull knife, a constant reminder of my treason. Rain lashes my face, blurring my vision as Finnian stops at the rusted gates.
“It’s thickest here,” Taye shrills, pointing a gloved finger at the peeling facade of the mansion. “Like ozone and rot. It tastes like... ash.”
The heavy oak front door of Marrow House creaks open.
Taye places her hand over her heart as I strain to see who opened the door. But no one is there.
“Just the wind and loose hinges,” Cormac grumbles, dismissing it. “Come on, let’s hurry this up a bit. I’m soaked.”
They push through the iron gate and circle around to the back of the house.
I follow, feeling eyes on me. I look up and see Dreven at the window, glaring down at the four of us intruding on their property.
I shrug and wave my hand about as if that explains what the hell I’m doing here.
He doesn’t seem to understand because he glowers at me like he wants to skin me alive. I ignore him and sneak around the side of the house to see the Order heading towards the lake. Taye is swaying like she’s gone into a trance, and I curse under my breath.
This is not good.
I flatten myself against the wet stone of the house, peering around the corner.
The lake looks deceptively normal under the slate-grey sky, ripples dancing across the surface from the downpour.
But I know better. That water has seen things.
Felt things. Considering Dastian turned it into a tropical jacuzzi not twenty-four hours ago, it’s probably radioactive with chaos magic.
Taye drops to her knees in the mud, her umbrella tumbling away like a discarded shield. She plunges her bare hands into the freezing water before Cormac can stop her.
“It burns!” she shrieks, scrambling back as if the water bit her.
“Don’t be daft, woman, it’s three degrees out,” Cormac snaps, though he retreats a step, eyeing the shoreline warily.
“Not heat,” Finnian corrects, his voice sharp. He draws a silver flask from his coat and pours a drop into the lake.
The water hisses violently, spitting red steam that smells like lightning and popping candy.
My stomach drops. That’s the scent of Dastian’s magic.
“Corruption,” Taye gasps, clutching her chest, her eyes rolling back in her head. “Raw, unfiltered chaos. It’s been… used.”
Used. That’s one word for it.
I hold my breath, crouching down.
“Right,” Cormac says with a huff. “I’m not sensing any veil breaks. Are you, Finnian?”
He shakes his head but slowly, almost reluctantly, like he wanted to find something.
“Taye?”
“The water,” she hisses.
“Is not a veil break,” Cormac states. “It’s probably all haunted. God only knows what spectral energy lies here.”
Wind and loose hinges, my arse. He knows this place is haunted to fuck.
“Come on,” Cormac barks, grabbing Taye by the elbow and hauling her up from the mud. “We’re done here. I’ll log it as residual ectoplasmic residue. Nyssa said she handled the sea beast; this is likely runoff.”
Bless Cormac and his profound desire for a warm fire and a whiskey over actual investigation. His aversion to damp socks is currently the only thing standing between me and a treason charge.
Finnian stares at the red steam dissipating into the rain one last time before holstering his flask.
He doesn’t look convinced, but he follows orders.
I move quickly around the front of the house, scraping my back against the wall until I find a sad-looking lavender bush to hide behind while they trudge back around the side of the house.
I wait until the heavy clang of the front gate echoes through the grounds before I peel myself off the wet stone. That was too close.
I look up as I sense someone hovering.
Dastian is in the doorway, looking insulted. “Residual ectoplasmic residue? I’m insulted. My residue is far more potent than that.”
I storm past him into the entrance hall. “Shut up. They know something is wrong. Taye tasted you.”
“Lucky girl,” Dastian drawls.
“Dastian,” Dreven’s voice cuts through the air like a whip. “Enough. Nyssa. You were told to stay away from the Order.”
“I overheard them talking and followed them, so they didn’t out you,” I snap, pulling the journal from my waistband and waving it about, “while looting the archives. You’re welcome.”