Chapter 13

CHAPTER

THIRTEEN

One of the things I loved most about living in a massive city like St. Athesall, was that no one batted an eye when you did weird things on the train. A couple years back, I saw a dance competition brought on by complete strangers vibing with each other’s music. Another time I watched a mime break up with his girlfriend, who was also a mime.

This city was a constant source of wonderful fever dreams, especially on the Westside B line.

Zane sat next to me, the car swaying with the steady momentum of the tracks, flipping through a massive tome of ancient burial practices. We looked like we were on our way to a very expensive funeral, and Zane had only managed to get one of his contacts out. Each time he looked at me he looked haunted, so I busied myself with flipping through the provided intel and research that had been stuck inside the book.

“According to this,” I told my heterochromatic vampire, “the cemetery has been excavated several times and they haven’t found anything that links it to the council. Why do they think these jerks were buried here to begin with?”

“The Silent Steps have been historically notorious for thousands of years, hunter. It’s the only place on the planet that still has a holy shrine to the Goddess on its grounds. All the other ones have been removed after the vampire outbreaks.” Zane set the brick of paper in my lap and tapped a page, a black and white picture of the shrine in question staring up at me. “It’s sacred to vampires and necromancers.”

The Goddess’s features were mostly worn away from weathering, the limestone bright against the gnarled branches of a tree that predated the damn dinosaurs. Her headdress was a crown of bones tangled in the braids of her hair, one arm outstretched to command her acolytes while the other stopped just below the elbow.

Her face was a stone shadow of what it once was, only a soft whisper of a mouth left after thousands of years of standing vigil over the sleeping dead.

“And apparently just filled with very dead bodies that don’t move around.” I offered him the paper I was reading, which was about as dry as the text he flopped into my lap. “They’ve dug up every inch of the place they were allowed to and only hit coffins and bedrock. They even checked under your Goddess’s feet and found nothing.”

“Not nothing.” Zane flipped to a page in the book and shuffled some papers, bringing a picture of a chipped mural to the front. “This was inside one of the mausoleums from their last excavation thirty years ago.”

“The guy had himself painted in front of the council inside of this grave? Yeesh.”

“It shows him standing in front of the council within the cemetery.” Zane pointed at something in the picture and added. “He’s chanting a prayer they couldn’t translate. It’s a dead tongue from an old human civilization that was deeply isolated and devout to the Goddess. This is our lead.”

“You speak it?” I lifted an eyebrow. “You know what he’s saying?”

“No.” He slipped the paper back into place and shut the book. “But we know someone who would.”

“We do?” I stood as the train came to a sliding stop, the doors hissing open to allow the parade of feet to exit. “Who do we know that speaks old, creepy human dialect?”

“Barnaby.” Zane said this like it was obvious, weaving through the masses who struggled to board. I followed, trotting after him to not get left behind.

“What the hell makes you think Barns knows this language? This is death magic shit, it has nothing to do with sex, fertility or weird genital stuff.”

“Every culture has a fertility ritual, even the creepy human ones.” The vampire tucked the book under his arm and escaped the train station, the cold wind slapping us in the face for sport. “Plus, he has a ton of books on ancient languages. I rearranged them a few nights ago.”

“Yeah,” I sucked in air through my teeth. “He might not help us because of that.”

“I’m hoping the mystery of decoding the language will help smooth that over.” He cut his mismatched eyes in my direction. “Also, that wasn’t my fault.”

“I’ll accept half the blame there.”

“Half?!”

“You know I take drugs all the time, you should have asked me,” I shot back. “You’ve met me before.”

“Unbelievable.”

“I know I am.” I raked my hair back, feeling very confident that I won that exchange.

Barnaby’s shop was closed by the time we made it home, the lights turned off with a polite sign in the door that let prospective customers know they could return promptly at nine AM the next morning. Behind the building near the alleyway was Barnaby’s apartment door, which we were given orders to use instead of barging through the front like before.

Somehow we got lucky that the fussy incubus wasn’t already in his grandpa-style pajamas when he answered our summons, but he did frown at us like we were noisy kids disturbing his soap operas.

“It’s late,” Barnaby announced in lieu of a greeting.

“Hey, Barns. Wanna help us with some cool history shit?” I asked.

Zane presented the book to him. “We’re trying to find information about a lost tomb. There’s an ancient language we wanted to ask you about.”

Barnaby eyed us with a confusing mixture of skepticism and intrigue, which made him seem like he was about to sneeze insults at us.

“Why?”

“Because you’re the smartest incubus we know.” I smiled my winning, million-dollar grin at him, and Barnaby started to shut the door. “And Zane will help reorganize the store if you help!”

The door hesitated, and Barnaby narrowed his inky black eyes.

“Even the stone sex position display?”

Zane inhaled and shut his eyes. “Sure.”

With a reluctant grunt, Barnaby held the door and waved us inside.

While Barnaby’s store was a dusty museum of antique dicks and elegantly curated vulvas, his home was ancient in a completely boring way. The fixtures were decades out of style but well maintained, fresh paint applied to the lumpy wooden baseboards and warped windowsills The kitchen was clean and tidy, with one mug resting upside down near a kettle that was sitting on the stove.

The small apartment was bigger than mine in that it had a dedicated space for a bedroom, and a carved-out area that served as his personal library near a window. A clock ticked loudly near the dining room table, which had one table setting and a candle holder that looked like a swan.

“I’m shocked you don’t have more fertility stuff in your apartment.” I peered over the spines of his books, which ranged from history texts to fantasy novels. “I don’t see a single dick on anything here.”

“Do you have swords on everything you own?” Barnaby quipped. “Some of us have multiple passions, you know. I love my work, but I don’t want to be surrounded by it constantly. I’m allowed to adore other things.”

“Like dragons apparently.” I plucked a book from his shelf. “Look at you being all multidimensional.”

“That’s signed. If you so much as crack the spine I’ll evict you.” Barnaby got his kettle going, digging deep in his cabinet for another teacup. “What is it that you’re looking into anyway?”

“Creepy human death stuff,” I answered before Zane could, so I got a sharp look.

“Ancient text in a two-thousand-year-old crypt,” Zane added a bit more context, and displayed the text and papers across Barnaby’s table. “We were hoping you know the language.”

Barnaby loosened the cuffs of his shirt and rolled them to his elbows, readying himself for the challenge. His short, black hair wasn’t as lacquered this late into the evening, so a few strands had emancipated themselves to hang across his forehead. His ram-style horns were well maintained but not dipped in any metal accents, which gave him a reserved look compared to his more modern kin. Because of his species, Barns was a handsome guy, with sharp features and a narrow frame that somehow looked stylish in his ridiculously old-fashioned attire.

It was only because he didn’t feed on sex energy each day that kept him from exuding the natural glow of a sex demon in his prime. Barnaby always looked a little tired, and always seemed a little irritated.

When he was reading over old text, or showing off a new piece to add to his collection, I would see the glow. I saw it now as he poured over the mural like the great puzzle it was.

“Zane, since you’re so familiar with my book collection, could you run into the store and grab the third volume of Classic Human Ancestry and Native Languages , please?” Barns extracted his keys from his pocket and handed them to the vampire. Before Zane could take them, he added a stabbing, “Don’t touch anything else.”

“Do I need to apologize again for the books, Barnaby?” Zane lifted both eyebrows.

“I suppose not.”

Neither one of us were convinced, but Zane left without another word.

After Zane was away on his errand, I attended the teapot that started to whistle.

“You know that wasn’t his fault, right?”

“Oh, I’m very aware it was yours.” Barnaby licked his finger and flipped a page. “I was curious if you’d own up to it or not.”

“Don’t be a dick, Barns.”

“Who is helping whom in this situation, Dallas Wilde?” He leaned on one leg to sass me properly. “Because I can go back to my night and leave you to decipher this on your own.”

“You’re in a mood tonight.” When Barnaby moved to shut the book I pivoted, “I know I haven’t been doing a great job at getting you intimacy crystals. I know you’re hungry. Sias and I had a…it’s complicated. Another thing that’s my fault, I guess.”

Barnaby halted slamming shut the massive death ritual tome, opting to leave it open on the table.

“Oh.” He scanned the text, lowering his sass levels by taking the weight off one leg. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“I’ll see what I can do, okay? I’m sure I can stock up if I could just get a night to myself.” I rubbed at my eyes, exhausted by the idea of trying to be charming and tumbling into bed with some stranger. Normally that prospect would be just what the doctor ordered.

For some reason, it wasn’t the pill I wanted to swallow.

My heart ached.

I felt lonely.

Hell, I would have taken another hug from the vampire if it was offered, which sat in a weirdly comfortable spot in the middle of my chest. I touched the emotional blocker to make sure it was still on, quietly embarrassed.

“I can get crystals from other sources, you know.” Barnaby leaned his palms on the table and hovered over the pages.

“Aren’t they crazy expensive?”

“I can manage.” He tossed a glance my way. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“You do not want to talk about my sex life,” I said around a laugh.

“Not your sex life,” he snapped, softening his tone as he continued. “I’m an incubus. Maybe I can help navigate whatever it was that…caused the ‘complication.’”

My chest went from feeling like a pit of loneliness to a fragile little nest of comfort: gentle and finite, but more than I’d had in a very long time.

“It’s not an incubus thing,” I said after the lump in my throat dissolved. “But thanks, Barns.”

Barnaby’s lips thinned as he pursed them, giving a silent nod that the topic would be dropped per my request.

Zane reemerged from his fetch quest with the book requested, placing it on the table for Barnaby to reference with his shop key on top.

“I locked up,” he said before Barns could ask.

“I’m relatively sure this language is a specific dialect of an isolated human culture that was absorbed by the takeover of the jinn empire a thousand years ago,” Barnaby told us as he got busy thumbing through the newly arrived book. “The roots of which run very deep within the death magic cult. Actually, it’s very interesting. The jinn empire was almost overturned by the power of the uprising necromancers but it ultimately lost due to in-fighting and corruption.”

“Sounds like us,” I supplied.

“If humans could just stop fighting each other, your species would be a force to be reckoned with, you know.” Barnaby sighed. “A shame, really. You have truly eclectic fertility rituals. Some of my favorites, actually.”

“That’s not going to happen. We’re too good at it.”

“You think this person was involved in the Death Goddess worship?” Zane pulled us back to the matter at hand. “I know this language is tied to the old text. My past master owned some original copies.”

“I have no doubt this is a passage meant to guide fellow Death Goddess worshipers to her council.” Barnaby tossed the new book open to a section detailing the language and its roots, smoothing out a page. “They have very similar guides for the life deity, before the split when the Saint divided the religion. Those who follow the original life deity’s text, like this group, believed that they could offer life essence to bless a womb before conception.”

“Life essence?” I asked, worried about the answer. “You’re going to say something gross, aren’t you?”

“Blood, Dallas.” Barnaby cut me a stern look. “Blood is the cornerstone of this civilization’s rituals. Bloodletting was used in fertility ceremonies, death passages, the changing of seasons…it was the holy essence that brought life and death.”

“Yep. Gross.”

“I strongly disagree,” said the vampire.

“This mural is talking about bringing the essence to the gate, or door, which is also sometimes meant to be the body. Similar to the fertility ritual.” Barnaby’s eyes bounced between the tomes, a crease etched between his brows. “There’s something specific I can’t translate though. This word here, it’s giving the blood offering a property. It’s a qualifier of some sort.”

“How do you know?” Zane leaned over the text to see what Barnaby was talking about. “What makes you think it’s meant to signify the blood type?”

Barnaby went to his bookshelf and pulled a volume from his personal collection, which was surprisingly not about dragons. He flipped through the pages and placed it down near the black book of death. In the pages of the new addition to the table was another picture of an old mural, strikingly similar to the one painted on the inside of the mausoleum.

Instead of a figure walking toward a realm of shadows and skulls, it was a person with a child in their belly, offering their palm to the holy beacon of life while it dripped crimson tears.

“This person is asking for a healthy birth, and is offering birthing blood. See this symbol? This makes the blood specifically ‘birthing.’ Usually given by whoever would carry the child,” Barnaby explained. “They have this all over their fertility rituals. But the symbol in the cemetery isn’t something I’ve seen before.”

“Could it be death’?” I offered. “Maybe he’s offering his corpse blood for a chance to talk to the Goddess?”

“The Goddess doesn’t bargain with the dead,” Zane spoke on behalf of his deity. “If he was already gone, he’d be in the void. This would need to be before his passing, while he was still alive.”

“Something about his blood was special,” Barnaby confirmed. “He offered it to the Goddess and it opened a passageway to a room with five skulls.”

“The council.” Zane nodded to the painting. “The five necromantic voices of the Goddess, one for each stage of a body’s journey of returning to its primal elements while the soul slips further into the void.”

“Ambitious goal,” Barnaby mused. “Why would someone want to speak with the council?”

Zane explained, “They speak for the Goddess. A regular person would be able to ask about death and commune with lost souls. A necromancer could ask for blessings, guidance and power.”

While Barnaby and Zane chatted about the council, I flipped through the pages of the tome that discussed the Silent Steps. From the few dated, grainy pictures of the graves, I noticed the mixture of sizes, shapes and wealth that went into some of the resting sites. A few understated headstones leaned with the weight of time, next door to mansions of carved elegance topped with mourning skulls. This cemetery was a smattering of diverse classes and stations, all human, all devoted to knowing where they were going beyond the grave.

It was beautiful in its macabre majesty, a statement to what humans were capable of before we took things too far. Had it just been a religion of preparing for death, it would be a peaceful art gallery of death rites and gravestones. Instead, it was a reminder that at one point, we made dying our sole personality trait and had tried to impose it on the rest of the world with black magic and void goddesses.

While the Silent Steps were still around, countless other human resting places had to be torn down in fear that the cult would try to use their corpses as tools of destruction. This was the last stand of the Death Goddess’s garden, and all the thorns had been trimmed back centuries ago. Now it was just a maze of stone no one could navigate, its secrets lost or buried deep.

And that got me thinking.

“When was this mausoleum built?”

“According to the book, about four hundred years ago.” Zane flipped the page back and pointed at the date.

“Well past when the cult was erased and the Goddess’s shrines started getting torn down?” I lifted my gaze to see Zane nod. “Did they find a body in there?”

“They did.”

“Barns, you said the language for ‘gate’ or ‘door’ is often also used as ‘body,’ right?”

“Yes?” Barnaby’s eyebrow crease deepened. “And?”

I saw the moment Zane landed on the same conclusion as I had, his face melting from deep thought to dawning understanding.

“If the body is well preserved,” he said. “It could work.”

“What could work?” Barnaby was still catching up.

“The archeologists that excavated this place weren’t thinking like necromancers, Barns. They were looking for a literal door to the council, but like all treasures, you need a guide.” I tapped on the picture of the mausoleum. “We gotta talk to him.”

“Talk to…oh. Oh .” His eyes widened like surprised inkwells. “You mean…reanimate his corpse?”

“Just for a few questions.”

“That is horribly sacrilegious and offensive to modern sensibilities but deeply fascinating.” Barnaby rubbed at his chin like the fellow detective he was.

“It’s the best lead we have, so we’re going with it.” I pulled out my phone and tapped in the address of the cemetery, watching as the GPS app muddled over the best route for us to take. “It’ll take two days to get there if we leave tomorrow morning.”

“This place is locked down. They don’t let visitors in.” Zane shut the book gently. “We’ll need to go at night to keep our profile low.”

“Hey, if we’re going to go break into a cemetery to talk to a dead guy, why not go full cliché?” I turned to Barnaby. “Thanks, Barns. We wouldn’t have figured this out without you.”

He hummed a non-committal response, replacing the book from his shelf before scooping up the other one from his collection. Placing the shop key on top, he presented it to Zane, who cocked a brow.

“Are you asking me to take this back to the store now?”

“I’m not asking,” Barnaby corrected. “I trust you know the correct place it goes, yes?”

Zane did not appreciate being bossed around by an annoyed incubus, but he really didn’t like me grinning at him like the whipped servant boy he was. Somehow, I was the one who got punched in the arm and not Barnaby, even though I hadn’t been the one commanding him to do things.

I waited until Zane left before rubbing my arm. Damn vampire had sharp knuckles.

“Leave this book tonight, I’ll go over it for any more clues to your theory,” Barnaby told me, drumming his fingers over the black book.

“It’s past your bedtime as it is,” I teased him. “It’s almost ten PM!”

“Some of us prefer to get a full night’s rest, Wilde. I don’t run off of idiocy and unhealthy habits like you do. The store is closed tomorrow so I have time to stay up tonight anyway.”

My stomach tightened at the mention of his store being closed, though I knew he didn’t mean permanently. Not yet, anyway.

“Yeah, speaking of that.” I extracted the envelope Florence had given me, which was thick with bills intended to fund our trip. Barnaby eyed it as I tossed it down onto the table.

“What this?”

“Rent, plus a little extra for pain and suffering.”

The envelope was picked over, the bills inside counted by running his thumb over them. Whatever appreciation or relief I had been expecting to see on his face was painfully absent, a mounting rage boiling in the way his jaw ground.

“Zane told you.”

“He mentioned it in his intoxicated ramblings.” I felt the urge to shift my weight on my feet, nerves crawling up the lining of my stomach. “Why didn’t you say something to me about it?”

“Because it’s none of your business.”

“Barns—”

“Don’t you dare pity me, Dallas Wilde. Not you.” Barnaby wheeled on me with fire and pain, glass coating his stony glare. “I don’t want it, and I don’t need it.”

“I don’t pity you,” I tried to explain, but it just added fuel to the fire.

“When have you ever given someone money out of the goodness of your heart?” he challenged.

“Probably once before, I don’t know.” I shrugged. “I can do nice shit sometimes!”

Barnaby plucked a few bills from the envelope and tossed the rest back onto the table like the thing was made of fire.

“I’ll take rent, but the rest can be thrown out of the window for all I care.” Barnaby shoved the money into his pocket and inhaled sharply through his nose. “It’s not your job to try and come in like a white knight, Dallas. It’s an insult to both of us.”

I showed my palms in surrender, taking the envelope so the money didn’t get thrown out of any windows.

“We’re leaving early tomorrow after I get us a car. Let me know if you find anything else helpful in the book.”

“Fine,” he tossed over his shoulder as he worked on cleaning out the two used teacups. “You can see yourself out.”

I left feeling terrible and with no idea how to fix it. A part of me thought about slipping the money under the door or finding a way to smuggle it into his pocket, but I knew it would end up back at my place once he found it. I had underestimated his pride, and how sensitive he was to feeling helpless.

That was something I could empathize with, even if I would have personally taken the cash.

I knew what it was like to feel helpless and see the pity in someone’s eyes. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, especially not Barns.

Zane was on his way back to drop the key off, and I intercepted with a shake of my head.

“Drop it off in the morning.”

“Alright.” Zane pocketed the key, sliding a glance my way as we made our way around to the other side of the building where my apartment stairs were. “Something happen?”

“I tried to give him money for his store.”

He inhaled through his teeth. “Bad move, hunter.”

“No shit. You think he’d take the money from you?”

“Not a chance.”

“I figured.” I climbed the stairs with a sense of dread, worried that soon it would be the last time.

Twig was howling for attention when we made our way inside, only muting when she was scooped up by her undead servant and promised treats. Kevin, who was a much quieter diva, judged me by my lack of providing bloodworms for him.

Even after I obeyed and gave the little shit what he wanted, I got a side-eye in return. I loved him so much.

I tugged my tux shirt loose around the collar and tossed the ruined jacket onto my bed, battling with myself on whether or not I wanted to commit to a shower. My mind was torn in too many directions, each impending-doom situation lacing hooks into my concentration.

What the hell was I going to do about Florence?

How was I going to find the key?

What was going to happen with Barnaby’s store?

How was I going to mend the rift between me and Sias?

Was I going to see Austin again?

Why was there a note in the vampire den? Did Austin do that?

I really wasn’t up for a family reunion. The thought of that tied my intestines in knots. What the hell would they think of me now, after all this time?

“Dallas.”

Zane’s voice cut through the noise, sounding a bit firmer than usual. I blinked at him and had to do it twice, because I was distracted by his appearance.

Yet another thing to rip at my mind and destroy my already fragile concentration.

Zane.

Zane had gotten a little more complicated lately, and I desperately wanted something to stay simple. He stood watching me with his muddled look of annoyance and concern, both contacts finally out of his eyes. Blood red and probing, his gaze was starting to be a grounding rod to all the bullshit surrounding me.

What wasn’t helping my overloaded brain, or my internal battle of conflicting morals, wants and ambitions, was this fucking vampire and how he wore his suit.

Listen, I know. I know . He’s a vampire, he’s technically undead, and he’s a creature of black magic manifested by death worshipers to do their bidding—which often meant destroying the lives of mortals and torturing others. I had some personal past with Thralls in particular, so this made the situation very confusing for me.

But Zane wearing a tuxedo, shirt unbuttoned and untucked, hair a little messy from the wind with a scowl on his face, really sent me on a ride.

Listen.

It was kinda hot.

Which really, truly, fucked with my world view.

“What?” I felt my neck start to burn and I touched the emotional blocker around my neck in a panicked state, only breathing when I felt it was still “on.”

He did not need to know my moment of insanity, and I begged the Saint that he didn’t notice I was eyeing his chest a little too long.

Don’t judge me. His chest hair was growing back after getting some blood, which made me remember the blood thing and—yeah.

Yeah.

“I asked you if you’re going to take a shower,” he said. “You were staring off like you didn’t hear me.”

“Yeah. I mean…no.” I rubbed at the fuzziness in my eyes. “If you want to shower, go for it. I have a lot on my mind.”

“You want to talk about it?” he offered.

It was tempting, because if anyone was going to help me unpack at least some of the things on my list, it would be the guy who’d been present through the bulk of it.

But then he had to rake his fingers through his hair and rub at his neck, which made his chest move, and his shirt slide aside so I could see the trail of hair under his navel and I had to shut it all down.

“Nope.” I sat on my bed and rubbed my temples to massage away my very bad, dirty and gross thoughts of a vampire and his pubic hair. “I want to somehow get to sleep and forget about this shitty day.”

“Don’t take anything strong. I want an early start tomorrow,” he scolded before stepping into the bathroom.

“Yeah, yeah.” I only opened my eyes after I heard the curtain to the bathroom get pulled and the shower turn on. With Zane safely out of view, I tore my nice, but no longer returnable, tux outfit off and tossed it over a chair. My boxers weren’t exactly hiding the fact that my body was more awake than I wanted, so I crawled under the blankets before Kevin or the vampire could judge me.

I needed to get my head on straight. I needed to focus on the extremely terrifying situations at hand, and I knew for a fact if I tried to “handle” anything in that moment my mind was going to wander into territories I did not want. So instead of wrangling the beast, I tried to distract myself by searching the best routes to the Silent Steps for our trip tomorrow.

My phone pinged, a message waiting for me to help destroy any heat that had been building in my body.

An arrow through my heart. A precision cut that left me quietly bleeding.

Sias simply messaged, “We should talk.”

I didn’t think my heart could take anymore, but it kept surprising me.

Instead of calling him, messaging back or handling it with any grace, I just shoved my head under my pillow and wrapped it around my skull.

I didn’t want Kevin to see me cry.