Chapter 25

CHAPTER25

“You’ve gotta tell him to stop,” Ediye whispers as she sits next to me on the couch in the suite I share with Ashen. She passes me one of Cole’s homemade churros with spicy chocolate sauce, the sounds of laughter and the smell of cooking drifting from the kitchen to warm the apartment.

“Huh?”

“Your husband,” she hisses. “Tell him to stop.”

“Stop what? I have no idea what you’re talking about, babe.”

Ediye rolls her eyes and tears off a piece of a churro, scowling at me as she chews with more force than is necessary for the sweet dough. “The gifts.”

“Say what? What gifts?”

“He didn’t tell you?”

“Obviously not, no,” I reply, a hot lick of blush curling up my neck. I dart a glance to Ashen as he and Roman look through the collection of whiskey lining a shelf near the dining room, opening a few of the older bottles to sniff the contents as they chat in hushed tones.

“First, my room was filled with flowers. Like, filled, Lu.”

“Aww, that sounds sweet—”

“Sweet? It looked like the botanist’s version of a hoarder’s house. And it took me an hour to find my herbs so I could stop Cole’s sneezing.” Ediye’s face crinkles with disgust. “He had a line of snot, Lu. He sneezed it onto the roses.”

“Gross. But also, you’re a Healer. It’s not like you haven’t seen worse,” I say, taking a bite of the doughy goodness as I sink further into the couch with a contented moan. “Remember the time my arm got stuck to my side with all that goo when I was healing from burning at the stake? That was pretty gross.”

“Yeah, but I also don’t suck your dick. I’d have felt different about that if I regularly had your cock in my mouth. Snotty is not sexy.”

“I guess when you put it that way…”

“Then the Reaper brought me, like, sixty different kinds of glass cleaner and stainless-steel polish and car wax.”

“What the fuck?”

“Right?” Ediye says as she passes me another churro. “Apparently, they’re for Eryx’s wings.”

“To what, polish them? What kind of kink does he think you have, exactly?”

Ediye shrugs as Ashen and Roman laugh about something in the other room. We watch in chocolate-covered, dough-induced silence as they pour their drinks. “Anyway, it’s way over the top. He has to stop. I know he’s grateful for me bringing you home and all, but he doesn’t need to do all that. You’re my friend, and so is he.”

The realization fills my heart with a little ache as I look toward my husband. My gruff but generous, scary but sweet husband. “Shit…that makes sense, Ediye.”

“What, that we’re friends?”

“No, that he hasn’t had any. Gift giving is kind of his love language, you know? This ‘friends’ business is new to him, and maybe he’s struggling to make sense of it,” I say, watching as the Reaper and our vampire guest continue their perusal of the other liquors hoarded by the suite’s previous occupants.

“Well, he has them now, so he’d better figure it out.”

I give him one last look, averting my eyes before Ashen catches my gaze, a little twinge still burning in my heart for him. The thought plagues me as Ediye and I chew in silence. Even though Ashen might have had a sister or romantic relationships like Davina and Rosario, maybe he’s never really had friends. My attention settles on the other vampire in our midst as I watch the two men bonding over expensive booze, and though I smile at the thought of their fledgling friendship, that contentment falters when I remember the damage I sensed in Roman’s fractured mind.

“Did you fix whatever is going on with that one?” I whisper in Ediye’s ear, pulling away to nod toward Roman.

“No,” she replies with a shake of her head. “It’s not a one-and-done deal, unfortunately. We will need to continue the treatment daily for some time.”

“How long?”

Ediye shrugs, breaking the last of her churros to give me half. “Maybe a few weeks. Maybe more. As long as it takes, I guess.”

“Hmm. It might take a good long while in that case. He’s a strange one.”

“You’re strange. You’re the queen of strange.”

“Am not.”

“You once asked me if your labia was going to become a parachute.”

I huff a derisive laugh. “I was joking.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“Fine. Half joking. But there was a scientific precedent, Ediye. That hybrid had an enormous dick.”

Ediye’s eyebrows raise as she tilts her head and considers my point. “I’ll have to take your word on that one. But you have also set a precedent of strangeness.”

“Fine. Then let’s say strange knows strange. And that man is strange,” I whisper, my eyes still on Roman, my voice low enough that he won’t be able to hear me over his conversation with Ashen. “He’s… missing pieces. And there’s something within his mind that he doesn’t know exists.”

“What do you mean?” Ediye asks as she pops her half of the churro into her mouth. “Like a flatworm?”

I snort a laugh and Ediye gives me a devious smirk. “No, I mean a secret. But one he didn’t put there.”

“Then who did? And why?”

“Both good questions. To which I can only say, who thefuck knows.”

“So…we’re off to a good start then.”

“Yeah, no shit. Also how is a mystery.”

“Then we basically know nothing aside from a vampire has a secret. How shocking,” Ediye says with a teasing smile. “Remind me, Lu…how long was it you were in hiding, keeping your identity a secret?”

I roll my eyes. “I get your point, but this was definitely not of his making. He doesn’t seem to know it exists.”

“Maybe you should tell him. Ask if you can look again.”

“The only way I can find out more about it is if I open the structure of it, and I’m not really sure I want to do that. It doesn’t give me good vibes,” I say, a little shudder flowing down my arms. “Besides, I don’t know that Wynter would be a big fan of me rooting around in his noggin.”

“Probably true,” Ediye says as we look over at Wynter as she hovers over an ancient book splayed open on the dining table next to a set of scales and small bottles of powder and liquid, her pen scratching across a notepad. “They seem a little protective of one another.”

“Whether they both want to believe it or not.”

We watch in silence for a long moment as Wynter reads a through the heavy text, or at least pretends to. Every few minutes she steals a glance at Roman. He does the same when he seems to think it will go unnoticed. Whenever their gazes happen to connect, they both look away.

“How much do you think she knows?” Ediye whispers. “She obviously realizes something is wrong and he’s struggling with memory, otherwise she wouldn’t have been looking for the ingredients she obtained from Mr. Hassan’s. It was everything she required for the potion to heal damaged memories.”

“Good question. She obviously knows something is missing. But maybe she doesn’t know something else has been put into his head to replace what was lost.” Our focus is pulled to the door as Cyrus enters with Davina, two additional guards remaining at the threshold to guard the hall. “Or maybe I’m wrong. Maybe she knows it all, but would rather not see.”

Ediye and I exchange a dark look before she rises to assist Wynter while Davina takes a seat to my left on the couch, the musky undertone of her usual lilac scent the only betrayal of her trepidation about the weight of the position she’s about to take on. When Wynter is ready, she and Ediye join us in the living room, Ashen and Roman trailing after them, their earlier levity gone in exchange for reserved concern and wary glances.

“Are you ready?” Wynter asks to Davina. The young apothecary grips a vial of shimmering liquid in one hand, one of fine grey powder and a glass of water in the other. Ediye stands close by with the book clutched in her fingers, the scent of dusty skin rising from the ancient leather pages. Ashen sits in an armchair with his whiskey as Roman stands off to the side, his back against the wall as he regards the unfolding scene with stern vigilance, his gaze resting on Wynter but always shifting away before she looks in his direction.

“Yes,” Davina replies, and though her voice is calm, her eyes aren’t. They dart from one person to the next until they rest on me.

“You don’t have to do this, Davina,” I say. A thousand worries seem to crash on my shoulders. Maybe she’s not ready for this. She’s been through so much already. No matter what I feel about Davina and her history with Ashen, this is too much for me to ask. What if she feels like she couldn’t say no? But Davina turns to me and smiles, and I think maybe I see a little excitement beneath the nerves.

“I know I don’t have to. But I want to.” With a final, fleeting smile, Davina squares her shoulders and shifts her attention to Wynter. “I’m ready.”

“I’ll give you a nod when it’s time to drink the liquid. You’ll want to lie down, but you need to stay awake and take the powder when I tell you,” Wynter says, passing Davina the vial of liquid. She turns to me next, giving me the ampule of powder. “Your job is to keep her conscious until she consumes it.”

“Got it.”

“Okay. Here we go.” Wynter turns toward the book in Ediye’s hands. The chant begins. The air seems to change around us, shifting like dust motes shimmering in sunlight. The liquid in the vial coats the glass with a viscous glimmer as Davina rolls it between her fingers. Wynter finishes the first page of text and then casts her gaze to Davina with a nod.

Davina pulls the stopper from the vial. The scent of sugar and smoke drifts toward me. My spine straightens as something diaphanous settles into my thoughts, something familiar hidden in the scent.

Davina knocks the liquid back. Time seems to slow. The pace of heartbeats, the rhythm of breath, the shifting of muscle and bone. Cubes of ice clink against Ashen’s glass as he leans forward in his chair. But it’s Roman’s eyes I meet across the room. He can smell the nuanced secrets that drift on a current of air, just like me. And as I meet his eyes, I know I’m not the only one who feels something is amiss.

“Lu?..” Ashen says from his chair as my brows draw together.

In an instant it’s too late to answer. Davina slumps, her shoulders falling. Her vertebrae seem to unlink beneath the hand I place on her back. Her eyelids flutter and start to close.

“Keep her awake,” Wynter barks.

I do the only thing I can think of in that moment. Something that feels oddly cathartic.

I slap Davina across the face. Hard. Probably a lot harder than necessary.

Davina’s eyes clear from her haze and she manages to shoot me a questioning frown before I slap her again. You know, for good measure. Purely for Resurrectionist purposes and not for any residual jealousy. That kind of behavior would be super un-Queenly, after all…

She’s starting to look a little glassy-eyed.

I slap her again.

“I think she’s good,” Ediye hisses.

I shrug, giving Davina a poke to the ribs. “What? Wynter said to keep her awake.”

“I’m good,” Davina slurs, batting my hand away when I move to give her a few love taps to the cheek.

Wynter gives me a disapproving shake of her head and refocuses on the book, continuing her chant. I keep my attention on Davina, nudging her whenever her eyelids start to droop, slapping her only once more when she starts to slump. Fine, maybe twice. Or three times.

When Wynter finally gives the signal, I unstopper the other vial and draw it close to my nose before handing it over to Davina. There’s a faint note of cinnamon, an undertone of sulfur. Other scents too, like bleached bone and burnt fur, white sage and starlight magic, black blood and mist traveling through shadow. “What is this stuff? What does it do?” I ask as I close Davina’s hand around the vial and help guide it to her lips.

“It’s called ushgada. The Veil. It shields her from the boundaries of death and life.”

“I’ll take a few extras for me and the rest of my friends,” I say, only half-jokingly.

“There can only be one practicing Resurrectionist in each spirit realm, so in theory we could bring more here but it wouldn’t work for anyone else. If we had more, that is. It’s incredibly rare and the Vaultkeeper only releases it by approval by at least two members of the Guild’s council.”

Davina pours the powder onto her tongue and I lift the glass of water to her lips. As soon as she’s swallowed, her limbs become boneless and she passes out against me.

I slap her.

“It’s okay, she can sleep now.”

“Such a shame. This has been an oddly therapeutic experience,” I mutter. My ever-present, latent desire to grind her bones to dust has abated. For now.

I take the empty vials and bring them closer to my nose to analyze nuances within the scents. There’s a subtle hint of myrrh in the vial that held the liquid, ink in the one that held the powder. “Where did this ushgada come from? What is it made of?”

“It’s something very rare, distilled and kept with the Guild of Gilgamesh at the Enir building in Cairo.”

That’s…evasive. I straighten a little, Roman mirroring my tension as he pushes away from the wall. “What kind of rare something, exactly? And if you say ‘a little of this, a little of that,’ I’m going to start slapping you instead of her,” I say with a nod to Davina, not taking my eyes from Wynter’s as I give my new Resurrectionist another tap on the cheek.

“Truthfully, Lu—” she starts, Ashen interjecting with a curt cough, “—Queen Lu, I’m not entirely sure. There likely aren’t many apothecaries who do know it intimately as it’s locked away and used so infrequently. All I know for certain is that a Scythe is needed to procure the ingredients, so I’d assume it contains at least a little of a human or creature, but I’m not sure what exactly.”

“Human or creature,” I repeat, my gaze colliding with Ashen’s. I set the vials on the coffee table and rise, heading toward the dining room where the bottles sit next to the scales Wynter used to weigh their doses. I pick up the one containing the powder and raise it to my face to smell the residual scent clinging to the stopper.

“Do you know who created this ushgada? Is there a record of who gave it to the Guild or where it was obtained it from?” Ashen asks as he stands. Wynter’s gaze darts between us, flicking briefly to Roman. “Where did it come from?” Ashen says, drifting closer to Wynter while trying his best not to be too imposing, though he’s failing miserably. Roman approaches and Ashen gives him a look of warning, but it doesn’t deter the vampire from placing himself between the Reaper and the apothecary.

“I don’t know who made it,” Wynter answers with a shake of her head. Her brow furrows as her eyes dart between us. “It’s old, and rare. It was made before my time.”

“I didn’t say who, I said where.”

I turn over the bottle of the powder in my fingers to read the scrolling text of the handwritten label. “Évora,” I say, turning toward the group, meeting Ashen’s eyes. I don’t need to see his face to know the blood has dropped from his skin. I can hear it rush to his heart, swirling through his veins as his eyes latch on to Davina’s sleeping form.

“The Scythe,” he whispers, and I follow the hot flame of his simmering rage.

I twist the bottle between my fingers tilting it to watch the grains within coat the glass and dance like live yeast. “And the demigod.”