Page 108 of Hexbound
Horroway laughed, a dry, rasping sound. "Aye. When I woke that first time in a new body, that crushing weight was finally gone. It worked.Maladroisedon't have time to build before I've got to skip to the next body." The humor faded from his face. "But you don't ever forget that feeling."
"Is that what you're doing now? Preparing to skip bodies?" Bishop circled the half-empty grave at their feet. The scent hit his nostrils like a fist.
"Fresh three days ago." Horroway smiled bitterly. "This one's half worn out. Got to get meself a fresh body every month or two."
It was horrible in a way that Bishop had never thought of before. Horroway was legendary within the Order. A menace, a sniveling coward, a traitor, a necromantic wretch.... But Bishop alone knew what the man had gone through. Or part of it.
He couldn't do this. It disgusted him on every level but hecouldunderstand the desperation that could drive a man to these lengths. He himself searched for that freedom, just not like this.
"The question you need to ask yourself is: was it worth it?" Horroway continued, as though Bishop saw it as the answer to his own illness. "To have those you love turn away from you in horror? To never have a woman look you in the eye with longing ever again? To find yourself with but one friend left, a friend who could sell you out for a rare copy of a book."
Guilt tasted bitter in his mouth. "Marius didn't want to sell you out. I threatened him and threw in the book as a deal."
Horroway shrugged. "All the same from this end of the spectrum." He looked weary as he surveyed the night. "I didn't want to die," he whispered. "I didn't want to kill meself, but Becky.... I couldn't do that to her. I just wanted to be free of it."
"I cannot let you walk away," Bishop told him.
Horroway unscrewed his flask again. "I know." He took another mouthful, his eyes watering. "I don't want to die. I still don't... but...." His knuckles flared white around the flask. "There ain't nothing left for me but this. I'm so fucking tired, boy. And alone. The betrayals just don't ever stop, do they?"
Bishop stared at the grave. "You'll barely feel it," he whispered.
"What?" Horroway started.
"I can give you what you crave," he said. "Freedom."
Horroway's face twisted in fear but he forced himself to sit still. The pulse in his throat was racing, a beckoning lure that Bishop looked away from. "In exchange for?"
"In exchange for the hope that someday there will be someone to guide me into the long, lonely dark."
"I'm afraid," Horroway whispered. "What if there's nothing there? What if the Christians' beliefs are true, and I wake up in hell? Or the Egyptians.... What if...."
"We cannot know," Bishop replied, clasping his hands behind his back. "None of us really do, not until we face such a challenge ourselves. But you will have peace. I promise you that. And I can make sure it doesn't hurt."
Horroway looked down at his flask, a look of determination crossing his face. "Me little girl, her name's Becky Whitshaw. Married to some tanner in Bethlem Green. She's got the gift, but I didn't dare bring her into this world."
"I'll see that she's taken care of."
"You know, I almost believe you." Horroway shook his head. "You. My killer."
"I keep my word."
Upending the flask, Horroway poured its green bubbling liquid onto the mound of grave dirt. Hissing and bubbling continued as the liquid ate away at the stone and pebbles. "Then do it. Do it fast." His voice broke. "Before I change me mind."
Bishop moved before Horroway could blink, the etheric blade forming in his fist and sinking into Horroway's back, angled up under the ribs.
Horroway gasped, catching at his sleeve, but Bishop held him through the first spasm. Distilling his power through the man, he forced the body to shut down quietly, each organ going to "sleep" as his sorcery worked through Horroway's veins. "You're not alone," he told the man, for that was the one thing he feared himself. "I don't know what comes next, but you're not alone now."
"Thank you," Horroway whispered, clutching his coat. His chest gave a wracking heave. "You ought to know.... There might be a way to avoid it.... The Chalice... is the key. And there's... a book. Almay'sTheory on the Grave Arts. Got the info you need to work... Chalice. Won't be easy... Takes a sacrifice of some sort." He coughed and looked down at the blackened ichor weeping from his chest. "Irony is... it takes... l-life to be able to use it.... That's one thing that bitch lied... to me about."
"Morgana?" He didn't dare hope but it stole through his veins, a tingly warmth that rushed straight to his head.
"Never should've trusted... her again. But she promised... me the Chalice. Promised me... an end to this." Horroway's strength was fading, his grip on Bishop's collar loosening. "Morgana has the Blade of Altarrh. It weren't... destroyed... last month like she claimed. Has all three... relics. Or had 'em. Don't know... where the Chalice... is now. I were meant to give it back to her, but some bitch stole it, and then Morgana tole me I didn't have... no more use... for her."
Why was he telling Bishop this? Bishop lowered him to the ground.
"Kill that bitch," Horroway rasped, his skin paling and the light fading in his eyes. "Kill 'er... for me. And burn this... body."
And then his soul extinguished from the body, floating like a hot white spark above the rotten flesh. Bishop reached out and closed his fist around it, setting Horroway free.
