Page 104 of Summer of Sacrifice

Agatha sucked in a breath, recalling the names she’d found while searching all the tomes Vera had brought her when they tried to learn more about animancy and Grimm’s powers. “They were there too long to not have been witches and warlocks. I saw their names listed over and over for too many natural years in a book about the Academy.”

Gideon rubbed at his chin. “The Pollocks were magi, far as I know. That line kept to The Order, father to son, for generations. Hidden in plain sight as members of the beau monde, then doctors, solicitors, and the like. Judging by that treatise I lifted, they were on to some dark arts, though.”

“There were four of them that were at the Academy for ages, weren’t there?”

Gideon shrugged. “Beats the fuck out of me, Your Majesty.”

Agatha frowned at him but Grimm snorted. Ignoring them both, she summoned three tomes from their dusty rooms in Castle Merveille. She handed one to Grimm and one to Gideon. “Look for the names,” she commanded.

“I’d rather not,” Gideon drawled, tossing it onto the autopsy table. “This is Lyronia. You’re not my queen, love.”

Grinding her teeth, Agatha stared daggers at him. “Try using your lost magic, love.”

The mortician’s cocky façade faltered. He blinked at her before he held his hand, palm up, and summoned a ball of magic—a deep wine colour. She watched him blink rapidly, the magic dissipating, as gratitude became evident in the set of his mouth.

“You got it back.”

“I gave it back.”

Clearing his throat, Gideon picked up the book and flipped it open. “Right. Pollock…Pollock…”

Agatha and Grimm followed suit, all of them searching until Gideon whooped. “I win!”

He held out the book, perfectly manicured nail—despite his stint with death—pointing to a list of names and dates. Four of which showed up year after year after year.

Orrin Pollock

Chresedia Gauthier

Nadja Rashad

Achilles Zivai

“Nadja Rashad?” Agatha looked at Grimm as Gideon moved about, opening and shutting all the doors to the corpse wall. “Asa and Lena’s mother?”

But his face was white as a sheet, her words lost on him. “Achilles Zivai. He was Gaius’ grandfather, Lady Manu’s father.”

Chills ran up Agatha’s arms that had nothing to do with the cold chamber. “Gaius’ grandfather who was killed on the road along with his daughter and her husband?”

“The very same.”

Gideon cleared his throat. “This has been a fun History lesson and all.” His magic took all three books and stacked them off in a corner. “But I can’t very well open back up for business if my chill chamber is full of corpses I didn’t put here.”

Grimm shook his head, then ran a hand through his hair. “Right.”

Gideon pulled out the trays of corpses one by one, making a show of it when he was done.

Without shifting into his reaper, Grimm coaxed all of the souls out of the lantern, whispering for them to find their bodies. They obeyed, hovering above them while Agatha restored the magic of any that had held it before death. Grimm gently placed the souls back in their chests. As each body gasped back to life, Gideon wrapped them in warming magic while Agatha calmed each of them and spelled clothing onto their naked bodies.

One by one, they offered their thanks to Grimm for bringing them back, their gratitude so much that it overwhelmed him. Agatha had never seen him blush in such a way, matching the embarrassment and deluge of emotion she could feel from him in the bond.

Eventually, they began slowly herding them out, directing them to where ships and carriages would soon depart from. Where he pulled it from she didn’t know, but he handed them each far too much coin and wished them well.

When the last of the people had gone and they returned to the chill chamber, Gideon was sitting on the autopsy table, his cheeks rosy with life but none of his swagger present.

“She took some of our magic,” he said as they entered. “Why?”

Agatha could feel Grimm’s calculation. How much to reveal. How much to trust him.

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