Chapter 34
EMBER
Two days later, and I was almost sure I understood the technical aspects of our plan, though it made me nervous that we still didn’t know who’d stolen the swords.
Rhiannon and I had both exhausted all our contacts and research methods, and so had Ares.
There was no sign of the mysterious Maere that had sought out the Chioric threat so long ago.
That didn’t worry me so much. If they were Maere, they’d know how to keep themselves hidden.
It did further confirm my theory that the mysterious “Mother” was probably one of them, though, and I liked the idea that there might be someone out there on our side.
The most likely answer now was that the Chiorics stole the swords and were baiting us, probably with the Authority’s go-ahead, which would explain why no one had seen hide nor hair of Fairchild since we rescued Briony.
Too much was still unknown for my taste, but we had plenty going for us.
Ares understood what Myrine had meant by using one of our auras as a “lens” for his power, to create just enough of a disruption in the spirit traps to loosen their grip on the five imprisoned, unascended Maere.
It had just been a hint, but he’d run with it, figuring out exactly how to maneuver his power to disrupt the spirit traps.
He said it was easy once he thought to look at it that way.
I gave silent thanks to Amarante for Myrine’s generosity.
I wanted to be the one he used, but Lara made a godsdamn compelling argument against it, given that she was the explosives expert between us, and I was the best fighter.
Someone had to watch her back while she set the targeted shape-explosives that would blow the bottom off the case and send the swords straight through the floor of the National Gallery after the others disabled the spirit traps.
All in all, it was a risky plan and we would get out of it by the skin of our teeth, if we were lucky.
The morning was rainy, as per usual, and in the background of the office, Briony was watching the news.
The Ceti had been sighted near shore again, causing another round of massive waves on the coast. Humans were uneasy.
Rumors were already circulating that somehow parapsych groups were enticing the monsters to shore.
The Senate was meeting in a special council to go over a bill that would require parapsychs to have a special section on their identification keys, explaining what level of parapsychism they possessed.
In my experience, the bill was unlikely to pass.
The Senate met to discuss such measures any time humans drummed up hysteria over parapsychism, only to be wooed later by the Consulate in back room meetings—and, of course, with bribes.
Bribes paid for by our people’s tithes to the Consulate. I tried to shut out the news, but couldn’t stop listening to it. To distract myself, I found a pair of noise-canceling headphones in my desk drawer and put them on.
When it was quiet once more, I looked over the real estate listings Rhiannon had sent me again.
The connecting properties downtown were in a neighborhood primarily inhabited by necromancers and cognoscenti.
The two houses had most recently been for sale for nearly four years.
Though both mansions were in lovely shape, the smaller of the two was considered to be the most haunted place in Orphium.
The spirit activity there was especially malicious.
I didn’t believe the neighborhood lore that there was treasure hidden somewhere between the two properties, but it was hard to deny that anyone who’d purchased them met a grisly end if they spent too much time in Oleander Cottage.
And they always did. It was why the properties were tied to one another.
Whoever owned Hemlock House always ended up in Oleander Cottage at some point, and they always died gruesome deaths.
The most recent owners simply never moved in, having disappeared.
The two houses had been empty for fifty years at this point.
No one wanted them. No one but Rhiannon, who was sure that if anyone could survive the most haunted houses in Orphium, we could.
She and Lara both argued that once we got the swords back, we couldn’t stay here.
That if we wanted our power back, to be the force the island thought they were sending to Orphium eons ago, that we would have to leave the Carlyle and the Consulate’s money behind.
I didn’t disagree, but the houses troubled me a little, though I couldn’t put my finger on why.
If we had our swords back, we could ward off Oleander Cottage.
That would be simple enough for us with access to the island’s real magic, and then we could live in Hemlock House.
The photos were lovely. It would make a good home for Briony.
Ares sat across from me, going over Avaline’s morning EMF readings from the National Gallery, comparing them to the ones she’d taken before in a spreadsheet that hurt my head to look at.
He wore a pair of horn-rimmed glasses as he entered more variables.
I sighed happily, looking at him. I wanted to play professor and cute co-ed while he wore those glasses…
I let myself daydream a filthy little scene for a few moments before crossing my legs and dragging my brain out of the smut factory.
I tried to remind myself that he was playing with spreadsheets, not my clit, but that didn’t help much.
According to him, he was testing the calculations of auric energy he would have to channel through Rhiannon’s aura to reverse the aspects of the spirit boxes that trapped the unascended Maere inside.
Reminding myself of all that was enough to quiet my lust-ridden brain down a notch or two.
It was all more than I could hope to understand, but Rhiannon seemed to, and that was all that mattered.
They’d tested their theory several times this morning, having constructed several spirit traps of their own.
I hated the thought of them doing any of it while Briony watched, but the girl was fascinated by it all.
“What do you know about Hemlock House and Oleander Cottage?” I asked Ares, keeping my voice soft as I took my headphones off.
He looked up, taking his glasses off so he could see me. Apparently, he only needed them for reading. “Hemlock House was the first official Necroline property in Orphium. Roman is actually the one who sold it.”
Of course, I knew that already. It was why I asked. “Would you ever buy the property back?”
Ares sat back in his chair, narrowing his eyes at me. “Maybe. But Oleander Cottage is the real problem. Even I couldn’t exorcize the spirits haunting that place. Roman had me try twice before he sold it.”
Ares held my gaze for what might be an uncomfortably long amount of time for someone else, but simply lit a fire in my core that reopened the smut factory, as I imagined what we’d do together tonight. He was definitely going to wear those glasses while we did it.
“I always thought Eryx could do it, though. But Roman insisted that he go nowhere near the place,” he continued. “I got the impression he had higher information on the matter.”
“A spirit?” I asked.
Ares shook his head. “No, a Seer.”
I made a noncommittal noise in reply. Without more information, it was futile to speculate on what a Seer might or might not have predicted.
“Why do you ask about the houses?”
I shrugged, turning my screen towards him. “Rhiannon wants to buy them. They’re expensive, but we have more than enough, especially if we drain the last of the funds from the Consulate.”
Explosives were expensive. The account that had once seemed like it would last forever was practically gone, and I wasn’t the least bit sorry about it.
Ares nodded. “It would be a good buy. If anyone could survive Oleander Cottage, it would be you.” His tone was clipped.
Fear rose up inside me, dousing the heat that had mounted in me only moments before. I knew I should ask what was wrong if I wanted to know, but like a coward, I couldn’t seem to form the words.
All the sex we were having was divine, but the more he fucked me, the more fearful I became.
We’d been screwing like wild hares every chance we got, but I thought it was leading to more.
If it wasn’t, I might die of shame, I wanted him so much.
It would be just like me to let love finally be the thing that killed me.
Love? Terror dug its claws into me. I couldn’t think like this.
Instead, I asked a less controversial question than “what’s wrong?” “Did you want to buy them?”
He’d gone back to his spreadsheet and looked up again with a little sigh. He sounded so annoyed with me, but I truly couldn’t say if it was in my head or if he actually was irritated with me. “Not at all. Have at it.”
And with that, he went back to typing. I tried telling myself that he was in the middle of something important.
That this very likely had nothing to do with me whatsoever and not to make everything about me.
But rational thought wasn’t actually helpful in moments like these.
I was so used to rejection, so prepared for it, that I saw it everywhere I looked.
It wasn’t that I didn’t know that. It was that no matter how hard I thought about it logically, I couldn’t make it go away. Tears filled my eyes, but I couldn’t cry. Not here. Not in front of him, when he would soften at the sight of my sorrow and confuse me all the more.