Page 21 of Deadly Maiden (Dragons and Darkthings #1)

Rorsyd

My eyes adjust quickly to the dark. Dry leaves whisper and crunch under my boots. Wyntre stands between the shelves that lie to our left and right. Those hold the bodies of the dead. Or are these corpses? I suppose that’s the better word. Perhaps these were once wrapped in cloth, and shreds do remain, but most of the wrapping or binding cloth has rotted into dust, and the skeletons are exposed.

The space in here is limited. I could swing a man by his feet and hit the walls. The dank stone has dark tracks running over it, and rain has leaked in. The smell, thankfully, is of vegetable rot and ruin but not of decaying fae flesh.

Sunlight strays in past my shoulders, to slant down and strike the middle of the floor where leaves are strewn.

A skull shows on the left shelf, eye sockets a dark abyss. On the right shelf a jaw and a set of ribs are starkly pale. My vision shows me more and more detail. On the left, some of the long bones of the legs and arms have fallen to the floor, though are still connected at the joints by dried tissue.

“Has someone disturbed these?” I ask, wondering how much Wyntre can see.

“Perhaps? That might explain the ghosts remaining. Something tragic is the usual explanation,” she adds, absentmindedly, as she kneels to poke at the humerus of the left-hand corpse.

“From what you’re doing, you can see in the dark as well as I.”

“Oh! It’s dark here? I hadn’t thought.” She stares at the ceiling, where cobwebs show the tomb has more living visitors than us—the spiders arrived first.

I’m sure this is new for her—to have vision in the darkness. Some added necro skill has crept in and infiltrated her. It’s a little creepy. Or not. Wyntre is growing into a role, into her parents’ inheritance.

Her parents. It’s hard to let go of twenty years of hate.

What would Orish say? That I need to dispense with my prejudices?

“This place is tiny. If a ghost exists here, you should be able to see it by now? Or…feel it?” I’m unaware of anything strange.

“It’s here,” she whispers. “I’m trying to act nonchalant.”

“Oh.” Fuck. I back to the entrance, to the foot of the stairs, to give her and this invisible other occupant some room.

“Something else is coming.” Wyntre whips around, turns wide, scared eyes on me. “And it’s not a ghost.”

Then…all hell breaks loose.

Fun, fun, fun.

Action is my meat and broth.

I rip out my sword and unsheathe my claws. Something furred slithers down the stairs then leaps for my throat, blurring the air with its speed. The frightening simultaneous screech it emits is merely an audible attack. It’s not a freaking ghost, that much is clear. Blue light pours from its eyes. Drool spatters.

Love it.

In that last second, as this creature stretches forth, with its spindly limbs lengthening as it tries to, maybe, tear out my throat, from the corner of my eye I see Wyntre fling her arms high. White-lit and haloed, a tornado circles her and obliterates her from my view.

I stab the thing in front of me and pin it to the stairway wall. My sword crunches into the ancient sepulchral stone, spewing dust and fragments, burrowing in until the blade is buried to within a hands-width of the hilt. Blood spurts and drips around the splayed creature, staining the stone.

The creature wriggles, its toothed mouth gaping. I have it pierced through and through. It will not escape the sword’s steel.

Only then do I have time to spin and save my soulmate from what must be the most terrible demise.

I squint at her. She’s leaning against the right-hand shelf staring at the ampoule she brought with her and humming. The grin she throws me…

“I…what? You defeated it? The ghost?”

“Defeated? I encouraged it to leave this endless unlife and find peace. It is what it is. True death can be a blessing, Rorsyd.”

“Oh. I thought you needed me.” I gesture vaguely then swivel to stare at whatever it is I killed. “I suppose I gave this thing peace then?”

“What is that?” She propels herself forward.

I hold my arm out, barring her from getting too close. I really have no idea what I killed except it was vicious. I frown at it. Four legs, skinny, size of a weasel, and those round poppy eyes with the blue light that has faded. “Oh. It’s a kleech. They prey on the weak, the unwary, the stupid. Infest their minds and bodies by being absorbed into their prey.”

“I’ve never heard of these.”

“Rare, but this place has few visitors, so it would have been starving. It attacked the wrong people. Legend has it one of these grabbed a prince, took his mind, and made him wander in lost lands for a decade kissing frogs before he was found.”

“Poor thing.” She actually looks sorry. “Anyway. We have some gheist. Now all I have to do is turn it into etharum.”

“Excellent.” I take hold of my hilt and tug, then put my foot on the wall beside it and brace myself. It’s still lodged tight. “This might take a while.”

Once I get my sword to slide free, we go outside to test this final process. I agree with Wyntre that sitting in the sun is better than squatting on the floor of the tomb, with the kleech a dead and bloody pile on the step, the skeletons, the spiders, and all.

Also, ghosts are not what I’d invite to a picnic.

* Scared, you are . Ghosts are nasty. *

I grunt agreement at ID. Who cares. Of course, he knows. Ghosts are not my specialty.

* Pussy .* The bastard chuckles, deep and low, inside my mind.

Really? You had to think that?

But Wyntre has set everything on the bedroll: gun, collected ampoule of gheist, and our pendants. Their crystals seem to be the same as the one attached to the gun.

“These all appear to be warnite crystals.” I look to her.

“Yes. The only difference is the gheist colors the crystal blue while the pendant crystals are greenish. I’m tempted to switch them into the gun, or the other way around, and see what happens.”

“ Uhhh .”

“I won’t.” She flashes a smile. “Too risky. But I wish I knew if that would work. So.” She exhales and presses her palms together before her nose, fingers tapping on each other. “How to begin.”

Me, I’m at sea. I wish I was in the sky. If I could shift, we wouldn’t need this.

Wrong . It’s not that simple.

She places the fresh gheist ampoule beside the pendants. “I have to try feeding this into one of these?”

The question is obvious. What if this destroys the crystal?

“Use mine. I’m less recognizable than you. If I buy some dark spectacles, it will hide my eyes. Use mine.”

“I guess…” Her mouth firms. “Here goes.”

She stares at the ampoule and the crystal, focus moving from one to the other. I lean back on my hands while I wait.

After a while, I sit forward. “It’s not working? You can’t just pour it over them?”

“No. No, I don’t think that will work. It has to be changed from gheist into etharum. I have another idea, and you won’t like it. But it makes sense. Do not panic.” She lifts the ampoule, brings it to her eye then lowers it to mouth level. “I’m going to breathe it in and expel it as etharum.”

“What?” That came out squeaky. “No! Don’t?—”

Except she has. She’s put it to her mouth and inhaled. Wyntre shudders. The ampoule has emptied.

While I watch, unsure, her eyes change color to show a hint of blue in the center of the pupil, then a blue-white opalescence swirls into being. Her skin pales, and she sinks lower on her knees. Wyntre stares past me as if I am not here.

“You fool.” I’m choking, my throat clawed by fear. Calling her that seems a betrayal. My hand is trembling as I reach for her. “What have you done?”

I want to scream that question to the heavens.

The sun has barely traveled across the sky, but it feels like forever for Wyntre lies across my lap with her breath barely moving her chest. Nothing else of her moves. She feels cold, and her gaze is fixed on something far away, beyond where I can reach.

Tears wet my eyes, but I wipe them away and cradle her.

She still clutches the ampoule in her hand. I have not dared to take it from her.

She must return. She must.

Has it been ten, fifteen minutes?

Abruptly, her breathing ceases.

No. No this cannot be her death.

“No!” I bow over her, stroking her forehead and begging her to remain, as if I can change things and stop this from happening.

Then she inhales in one huge, sucking breath. She jerks upright and spits or breathes into the ampoule. A green substance fills it to the top. She steadies herself with a hand on the bedroll. A wide smile splits her face then she shakes her head.

“Wooo. Done. Boom!” She wriggles off me and holds the ampoule high. “Etharum! Gods, that tasted strange. Did it take long? This is excellent, no? Now we have only to visit graveyards and grab a ghost or two, then recharge.”

She stands up, wobbles, and I hastily join her.

I am aghast, in shock. Is this even she? Or has the ghost somehow taken my soulmate?

“What?” She cocks her head.

“Is this really you?”

“ Ohhh . Now I understand. I am fine. Let me see, you need proof? My parents’ last name? Gothschild. Where we met? In our house, you bad-boy enforcer. The color of that spot on your cock? Red?”

“What?”

* Ha. She has you there…big boy .* ID snickers.

“Bad boy.” Crap. Said that out loud. I widen my eyes and put on a stiff smile. “You are definitely okay?”

Wyntre spins then dances in a circle while humming a tune. “I feel better than ever. Excited? Hmmm .” She frowns at me. “I guess I am a little crazy right now. Make a note. Inhaling gheist gets a necromancer high.” She giggles.

“High as an eagle.” I gather her into my arms, enfold her and slightly squash her until she squeaks. “Bad girl. You have to tell me before you do anything that crazy next time, or else.” I try to look disapproving but likely fail.

“Next time?” She peers up at me, raises an eyebrow.

“No. Do not get more ideas. One heart attack is enough. You’re sure that is etharum now?”

“Yes. All we have to do is pour it onto the crystal, so you had that part right.”

“Great.”

Great, except for the need to visit grave sites to get more.