Page 113 of Eldritch
“It isn’t tea, love. What’s in there will leave you ass up in the snow, if you drink too much.”
“Well, then.” Torryn raised his mug and tipped it back. “Catallys claw it is.”
“Now, wait a minute— how come you’re allowed to curse but we can’t?”
Morwenna slapped Ravezio upside the head. “Because I’m older, and I’ve earned the privilege. Now drink up.”
Lifting the mug for a sip himself, Kazhimyr paused when a dark figure flashed in his periphery. When he turned that way, itslipped into the wall of the adjacent room. Deimosi. A fear in the form of a shadow, left behind after death.
Aunt Morwenna slowly turned back around, the corner of her lips pulled into a smirk. “Looks like Uncle Grendel is active tonight.”
“How’d he die?” Ravezio asked.
“Accident. Damn shame,” Aunt Morwenna said and tipped back her mug for a drink.
“Was it, though, dear Auntie?” Amusement colored Rykaia’s tone as she stared back at her aunt. “Because I heard it was an ombrevor that did the job.”
Aunt Morwenna’s eyes narrowed. “You know what I forgot? A bit of flowerbark. Catallys claw always tastes better with flowerbark. Excuse me, will you?” She pushed up from the table and shuffled into the kitchen without another word.
A knowing smile lingered on Rykaia’s face.
“Ombrevor? What’s that?” Ravezio sniffed the tea and tipped it back, his face quickly souring at the awful flavor.
“In the old days, when someone sought to harm you, you could call upon a seer to summon the death spirit of the abuser’s future self,” Rykaia explained. “Their ombrevor. So, Aunt Morwenna may, or may not, have called upon the future death spirit of Uncle Grendel.”
As if emphasizing the point, the Deimosi darted overhead, slipping in and out of the walls.
“That makes no sense. Why would his death spirit be inclined to kill him?”
Rykaia shrugged and finished off the rest of her wine. “Vengeance for stupidity. Can’t change his fate, and as I understand, we’re all a bit regretful when we die. Particularly restless spirits that stay behind.”
“So, you call upon this future spirit, and…what?” In spite of his obvious distaste for the last sip he’d taken, Ravezio took another.
“He devours you. I’ve been told it’s the most traumatic and painful way to die.” Her gaze lifted toward the ceiling. “But Uncle Grendel was an awful man to her. So, as far as I’m concerned, he got what he deserved.” The Deimosi slipped into the adjacent wall and didn’t bother to appear again.
“I’ll not lie …” Everyone turned to where Morwenna stood in the doorway holding a jar of flowerbark. “This place gets lonely sometimes here by myself. Grendel was a mean codger, and I wouldn’t take him back for all the coin in Aethyria. But I do miss the sound of voices in this house. It’s nice having all this company.”
Kazhimyr sat on the ledge of the opened window in his room, staring across the courtyard at Allura, who stood admiring the stars from her balcony. Personally, he couldn’t have cared less about the stars in the sky. They paled in comparison to her beauty. Unfortunately, academics fell into a much higher social class, revered by highbloods. Well out of his realm, but he enjoyed the view, at least.
When her gaze lowered to his and she smiled, Kazhimyr quickly looked away.
And in doing so, he noticed a dark figure lurking through the window in Dolion’s room, below hers. Kazhimyr leaned forward. Eyes focused. In his periphery, he saw Allura shift where she stood, but he didn’t dare take his eyes off the figure.
At the sound of breaking glass, Kazhimyr seized his blade as he raced from his room and around the curved corridor to the other side.
Pounding and clattering erupted through the door there, and he jiggled the lever. Locked. “Dolion!”
“What is this nonsense?” Aunt Morwenna approached, wearing a faded moon-patterned nightgown and a nightcap that failed to contain the nettled strands of hair haphazardly shoved into it. “Can’t get a damn bit of sleep!”
Shouts and more shattering glass upped Kazhimyr’s nerves. He wriggled the lever again and pounded on the door.
“You may need to take that door down, love.” Aunt Morwenna shook her head. “These old locks are like a well-seasoned woman. They aren’t made for gentle jiggling.”
A blood curdling scream from the other side sent Kazhimyr into a frenzy, and he slammed his shoulder into the wooden panel. “Dolion, open the door!” He slammed again, harder than before, but the damned thing wouldn’t budge.
“What in seven hells is going on?” Torryn asked, approaching the two from behind.
“You.” Aunt Morwenna pointed at him and gave a sharp nod. “Put some muscle into it. Break it, if you have to.”
