Page 102 of Summer of Sacrifice

It was glorious.

No wonder Sorscha had slunk off to Eldritch so often when Livie was young. Livie the Poisonous—number Seven of the Eldritch Eight, she mused inwardly as they passed the swaying Black Moon Apothecary sign.

“It’s amusing really,” Grimm said, holding up the soul lantern to illuminate their way, paradoxically so, considering no one would be able to see the light it issued, save for the dark pair alone.

“What is?” Agatha asked, knowing that he’d deduced some of her own thoughts through the bond, while she could only tell his were merely a jumble of calculated amusement.

She was beginning to think she would never have their bond as strongly as he did, considering some of her Primordial magic lay trapped within the locket around her neck. Though, some of his power did as well.

“It’s ironic that two of the Primordial Thirteen are trudging through the dark carrying one of the souls of the Eight Eldritch Dreadfuls.”

“That’s one way to put it,” she muttered, avoiding an indiscernible puddle. All right, so the architecture and gloom of Eldritch were more enjoyable in theory than in beautiful boots.

They stepped behind the shop of Louis the Deranged, Grimm pausing to look in the window. After a moment of sombre silence, he said softly, “Louis was a good man.”

Agatha stood silently by his side for a few more moments, until he was ready to continue on, skirting the building onto the docks. “I see it, there next to Lilah’s Lounge.”

“Let’s give it a go, I suppose,” Grimm said, looking up at the creaking Riverside Mortuary sign.

She looked at Grimm’s profile, his dishevelled hair and short but unruly beard. “What if it doesn’t work? The souls are bound to their magic after all.”

“I have to try. I gave my word.”

She darted her hand out and into his, squeezing once. “Of course.”

With the tiniest wisp of magic, Agatha unlocked the door. It was an odd sensation. It had been over a moon since she’d used much of her magic, having been in Seagovian court meetings and then in the essence of magic within Achlys and The Void.

Part of her wished there had been time to see what all Grimm’s raw power could do when they were in Achlys. This walking god of a man.

He gave her a lazy grin. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Perhaps a moment of play wouldn’t hurt. Just a tiny one.

It wouldn’t hurt at all, his voice in the bond slid up her chest like the drag of his tongue. What did you have in mind, little witch?

“I once saw you disappear through a door, ody dispelled like smoke when you were on the draught, imprisoned beneath the Sanctuary. And you said you travelled through shadow to get to me from the Liminal Place.” She smiled wickedly. “I’ve unlocked the door, but I would enjoy very much to witness you enter this mortuary on your own.”

His eyes sparked with the challenge, laced with desire that coursed through their entanglement, leaving her a little breathless. “Your wish is my command, my queen.”

Agatha barked a laugh, rolling her eyes. “Stop that nonsense, God of Night.” She threw enough mocking into the title to choke a war horse. “Get on with it then.” Shoulders back and chin high, she clasped her hands, looking between him and the closed door. “Your audience awaits.”

Adder fast, Grimm closed the distance between them, bringing her hips toward his. The lantern swung against her backside as he kissed her fervently, his tongue sweeping over hers before he pulled away, biting her bottom lip.

Just as quickly, he pulled back, the edges of his lips curling as he morphed into his reaper. His bone and shadow cloak melted into smog, bleeding into the inky shadows along the alley, crawling and seeping into the wooden door until he and his soul lantern were gone.

Agatha opened the door to find her reaper looking as smug as a floating skeleton could. “Well done.” She mocked a slow clap. “Where to next?”

Grimm looked over at the pair of liquor glasses sitting in a small waiting area. “It doesn’t appear as if anyone has been in here since I took Gideon. Gods, it’s been moons. How could no one have come here?” He drifted off into thought briefly before finally answering her question. “To the chill chamber. And let’s hurry, the souls are getting restless.” He held the lantern aloft, and it swung violently, the soul lights darting wildly around.

“Lead the way.”

Gideon the Living, Number Four of the Eight Dreadfuls, certainly kept a tidy place. It wasn’t what one would expect from an Eldritch establishment. Though she supposed Louis the Deranged’s peculiarities shop had been elegant as well, save for the disturbed nature of some of his items. She wondered who had found poor Louis’ broken body after Chresedia had slit his throat those moons ago. Once Grimm had gotten over the initial shock of Queen Fleurina’s murder, she’d told him about Louis, and he’d found his soul a couple of days later, wandering by the river.

Agatha followed Grimm down a short hallway where he entered a room that was unnaturally cold. There were ways other morticians kept the deceased from rapidly decaying in their chill chambers, but this was something else. Her breath fogged in front of her like in the dead of Winter. Gideon must have achieved such a feat with the magic he’d concealed, but?—

“This one.” Grimm interrupted her thoughts, yanking down a heavy latch and opening the door, its hinges screeching. The bones of his hand clinked on the cold metal tray. Only purple feet were visible before he pulled, and a body was unsheathed from its temporary, metal coffin. “Gideon the—” Grimm stopped. “Hm. Almost Living,” he amended with a snort.

Setting the soul lantern on the autopsy table, he unclasped the latch and beckoned Gideon’s soul out, coaxing it to land on the tip of his skeletal finger. Watching Grimm with the souls never grew tiresome. Agatha was the only other one on the mortal plane who could see them illuminate the bones on his face and dance around his skull. They were like giant fireflies, full of life and their own magic.

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