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This place is fucked. And I lied.
"I know." Ashen's index finger travels a slow and careful path across my skin as the rest of his hand lays steady pressure across my bones. It's like a weighted blanket, soothing and heavy on my flesh. "Ediye was right about you," he says, his voice low and quiet.
What, about me not belonging here? I think we figured that out in the first ten minutes.
"We did. But that's not what I meant."
We don't talk or write anymore. We just walk. Ashen's hand drifts back down to the center of my back. I wonder if it's less for my benefit than it is to catch me if I run.
There is mostly silence as we travel the road, which has its own eeriness in the twilight. But sometimes there are sounds in the mist. Scuttling. Shuffling. At one point, a keening wail that sounds like a bird, but I don't think it is. The sorrowful cry carves an indelible memory in my heart.
A looming black shadow emerges ahead from the curl of the fog. A building comes into view. The stone is matte black, unpolished and ominous. A row of doric columns holds up the sharp peak of the roof. GIRGINAKKU, it says along the top of the facade. Library. Two souls stand guard beside the entrance, looking out upon the fog. They are chained by the wrists to the iron handles of the doors.
They won't let me in. I don't have a library card. Maybe we should go back, I write, holding it up to Ashen's face.
"They will let you in, not to worry," he says, his hand steady and strong on my back against the resistance of my slowing steps.
Nah, I think I'm good. If you take me back to your room I can just chill there. I'll watch something on Netflix.
"I don't have Netflix."
YOU ARE A MONSTER.
The puff of air from an almost-laugh escapes from Ashen's lungs. "Might I suggest a book for entertainment? I know where we can get one."
No it's fine, I'll do some yoga instead. Or I'll find the spa for a massage. Or maybe just stare at the wall. The world is my oyster in your fucked-up Shadow Realm.
"Now might be a good time to let you know that Urtur enjoys showing up to my room una
...the library of horrors it is, I write, and I heave a heavy sigh.
We ascend the steps and the souls grip the handles and open the doors for us to pass. Their chains clank as the links roll against one another. I fix my gaze to the spectre closest to me as I pass, forcing myself not to look away. His face is somehow empty of defining features. Thin lips, papery skin. A small nose that could be anyone's. Whispers of flowing gray hair on a round head. But the eyes are electric blue beneath a swirling cloud of grey. They land on me and seem to find focus. They follow me over the threshold as I pass, watching until the crack between the door closes shut behind us.
An Alpha werewolf, I write, holding the note up for Ashen.
"Yes," he says as we continue through a dark foyer, the low ceiling pressing the weight of its darkness upon us.
What did he do? What was his crime?
"I don't know."
I stop abruptly, Ashen halting at my side as I turn to face him.
So he has been chained there, opening the door for you Reapers for who-knows-how-long and you don't know what he did?
Ashen looks back toward the closed door for a long and quiet moment. The only sound is the ripple of candle flame trapped behind the black glass of the sconces on the walls. "No, I don't," he says as he turns his gaze down to me. His hand falls away from my back. I feel the tension in my brows as my eyes bounce between his. I'm looking for a reason to be angry with him. But all I see is sorrow and guilt, buried beneath the strata of time. And all I feel is sadness.
I turn away and continue to a set of interior doors whose smoky grey glass obscures the sanctum beyond. I'm eager to get this done, to be out of this place. I want to be anywhere but here.
I open the door and lurch to a halt. I feel like my veins have been seared with lightning. It's not the expanse of the room that steals the breath from my chest. It's not the rows and rows of ancient texts, lining three floors of shelves to the ceiling. It's not even the souls that wander in the shadows, listless and alone.
It's the three black marble slabs before me, inscribed with names in shimmering filaments of gold.
The one in the center is for House Urbigu.
Beneath the house name: The Reaping.
The first name on the list is Ember's.
The fifth name beneath hers is Aglaope.
Ember was the one who reaped my sister's soul.
And I killed the wrong Reaper.
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Chapter 16
Well shiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiit.
That's not good. That's not good at all.
For one, no wonder the Reapers are so pissed. They would have been pissed regardless, seeing as how I killed one of their own. But accidentally killing the wrong one is extra bad. In my defense, I totally thought it was the guy I saw skulking around Anthemoessa when I climbed back onto the island, armed with the sword that killed Aglaope and a spell from Sarno in exchange for his freedom. The Reaper I encountered looked pretty shifty as I watched him rifling through Aglaope's home, so it seemed like an obvious conclusion to draw at the time.
...My bad...
So I guess that's how Ember recognized me, if she was the one that drove the blade through Aglaope's back. I never saw who it was, I only saw the sword of silver and hellfire as it pierced through Aglaope's chest. I only saw the fear in Aglaope's eyes. Not for herself, but for me. But even knowing now that it was Ember, it doesn't answer the question of what she wants, and she must want something. Otherwise, she would have cut me up the second she saw me in House Urbigu.
What's also pretty shit, however, is the obvious conundrum of now wanting, perhaps needing, to kill Ember, even though she's Ashen's sister. Whether I want to admit it or not, he's growing on me. Sure, it's a little complicated, considering I'm basically lying to him on the daily about my identity. Being bound together by my shitty spell doesn't really help either. Also, there's that tricky issue of me being supposedly dead but actually not, making me the biggest vampire bounty on the planet. Not super straightforward when your new buddy (ugh fine, 'crush', but like, mild crush) is an executioner of immortals. Any way you slice it, killing Ember would go down like a lead balloon.
The one saving grace is that I don't recognize any of the names listed beneath Ashen's entry on the stone. That said, he does have nearly twice as many souls to his name as anyone else in House Urbigu.
Good for you, I write, sweeping a shopping cha
"Yeah, I guess..." Ashen gives the slightest grimace as his eyes shift from mine to the list of names beneath his own. "If it helps to ease your discomfort, this werewolf was an asshole, to use your favorite word," he says, pointing to a name halfway through his list. "You would have hated him. He stabbed me through the eye and killed me in the Living Realm. He sent me back here."
I like the sound of him already. I have a feeling we could have been BFFs. Tell me more. I look up at Ashen and smile as he gives me a side eye glare. What's with this Cole guy? He doesn't have many souls to his name, I write, pointing to the bottom of the stone and a Reaper with only three souls listed.