Page 103 of Samhain Savior

“That’s good,cher,” Mex said, her eyes shining. “That’s real good.” Turning her gaze to me, Mex inclined her head, lips pursed as she gave me a meaningful look.

Scowling back at her, I opened my own Rip, taking a moment to find what I was looking for. When I found it, I smiled, knowing it was the right thing to offer to the woman who had once ruled over a significant part of the city and its people.

“Here, witch,” I said, handing the item to Delilah where she still knelt before the tomb. “Offer this from me.”

“Oh, Archer!” she gasped, and behind her, Mex hissed in a sharp breath.

“You play a dangerous game,mon ami,” she growled at me, eyes on the amethyst I had just laid in Delilah’s palm. It was easily the size of a hen’s egg, the deep, creamy purple color standing out sharply against the drab grays and browns of the surrounding cemetery. “This close to Samhain? You want to mess with the veil when it’s already thinning, that’s your choice. But you keep that shit away from me and my city, you hear me?”

“She’s not wrong,” Delilah whispered, setting the amethyst down and rising to her feet. “With everything that’s going on, it seems risky to tempt fate like that.”

“It’s just a rock,” Vine said, shrugging. “What’s the big deal?”

“Amethyst is well known to be a conduit between realms,” Delilah said, sending a soft smile his way. I did my best to contain my growl.

Her smiles should be mine.

I growled, but said nothing.

“Samhain is already stretching the veil thin,” she continued, but her smile told me she felt my jealousy—and she liked it. “It might be pushing our luck to stretch it even thinner.”

“Nathaniel did mention Samhain,” Corson said, his words hollow. “There at the end, I mean.”

I remembered. The final words of my friend rang through my mind like a church bell.

Samhain. Veil. Final. Savior.

What did it mean?

“The Feast of the Souls approaches, and you decide to be flippant.” Mex was pissed, her arms crossed and her eyes narrowed on me.

“I promise you, I am taking this very seriously,” I assured her, unable to prevent my own gaze from darting to Delilah. When I looked back at Mex, her expression had softened, but only slightly. “My offering was made in all earnestness. I meant no disrespect.”

She considered my words, her painted lips pursed in disgruntlement, then nodded.

“Yeah, you right. Amethyst is a fine offering,” she finally admitted. “But let’s not push our luck, yeah?” Reaching out to touch Marie’s tomb one last time, Mex turned and continued through the cemetery, calling over her shoulder as she went, “We’ve got a grave to rob, so let’s get to it.”

Chapter forty-eight

Delilah

The tomb of Sweet Baptiste truly was a Gothic monstrosity, a sight to behold amongst the more sedate and reasonably designed mausoleums that surrounded it. Made of spires and peaks that loomed high above me, it blocked out what little autumn sun there was, leaving me feeling cold in its long shadow. Looming taller than any of the others in the cemetery, it featured white marble, veined with gold and gray accents, looking more like a cathedral than a crypt. Standing before it, I stared up, taking in the half a dozen arched alcoves filled with carved gargoyles, their faces leering down at me with menacing glee, and an involuntary shiver ran through me.

“I’m here, witch,” Archer said, his large, warm frame pressing against my back and comforting me more than was probably reasonable. “No harm will come to you.”

“Plus, the guy’s been dead for over two hundred years,” Vine offered, a knife twirling casually between his fingers. “There’s not a whole lot he can do from beyond the grave.”

“He can answer some fucking questions.” Archer’s words were final, as though there was nothing he could conceive of that he couldn’t bend to his will.

The more I thought about it, the more I believed him.

“I’m not sure how likely that actually is,” Mex said, staring up at the spires, a thoughtful look on her gorgeous face. “The ways have been closed for over two decades, Archer. How do you expect me to reach him?”

“I have a theory,” he replied cryptically. “Let’s just get inside and see if it works.”

“You got a lot of attitude for a guy who came to my town begging favors,” Mex muttered, but still moved forward, stepping over a low wrought iron fence and approaching the front of the Baptiste crypt. “Alright, big guy,” she said, raising an eyebrow at Corson. “Time to put your muscles to work. Get over here and help me open this.”

Vine chuckled, but Corson said nothing, simply taking his place next to Mex without complaint. As I watched,the two of them heaved, grunting with the effort of their work.