Page 22 of Samhain Savior
“You should know,” I growled, my shadows once again creeping up her body. This time, they ignored her wrists, bypassing her hands where they cradled a small pouch she wore across her chest. Instead, I directed them to her throat, one tendril encircling her delicate neck lightly. “After all, you killed him.”
“I did nothing of the sort!” she protested indignantly, her fingers coming up to claw at the shadow currently writhing against her skin in a panic.
Watching her, I tightened the shadow collar briefly, smirking as her eyes widened even more, then allowed it to relax again. She let out a relieved breath, but her fingers stayed curled under the shadow, as though the barrier between it and her throat meant she could stop it from happening again.
It couldn’t.
“I don’t believe you.”
She opened her mouth to protest once more, but I dismissed her with a wave of my hand. Tugged by my shadows,her body slid away from me—away from Phips—and the squeal that she released was loud in the quiet of the morgue.
Knowing she was contained for the moment, I once again stepped up to the table, resting my hand on the white sheet covering William’s chest, sorrow filling me. The others joined me, Mal and Vine across from me, Corson at my side. For several long moments, we said nothing, silently mourning our friend. Together.
“Your work is done,” Corson intoned, his voice low and rough. “Return to Grace.”
“We now shall stand,” the rest of us joined him, our words weaving together nearly seamlessly. “In your place.”
How many times had we said those words? How many brothers had we lost, fighting the endless battle against the darkness?
If I really thought about it, the numbers might drown me.
“How did he die?” Mal asked into the quiet of the room. I could hear the witch behind us, still struggling against the shadow collar, but I didn’t turn to look at her, instead reaching out with my other senses. The morgue was oppressive, the air full of chemical smells, and I lamented that I could barely find her sage and lavender scent under it all.
“He was murdered,” Vine responded stupidly, and Corson reached out and smacked him upside the head. “Ow! What the fuck, Cor?”
“We know he was murdered, you moron. Mal was askinghowhe was murdered?” Turning, Corson leveled a glare at the witch, and she shrank away from him. “How did you do it, witch? How did you kill a fucking Guardian of the Brotherhood?”
“For the last time, I didn’t kill him!” she rasped, and I realized that I was perhaps squeezing a tad too tightly. Relaxing the grip my shadows had on her throat, I settled the collar more gently around her neck, leaving it in place as I drew the rest of my shadows back to me. A crease formed between her eyebrows as she rubbed at the reddened skin along the column of her throat. My eyes followed the path of her fingers, my mouth watering at the thought of what that delicate skin might taste like. “I was trying to reach him, but he was already dead by the time I’d arrived. I’ve never even met the man!”
“A likely story!” Vine said, sing-songing like a detective in an old-timey movie.
“It’s the truth,” she insisted, one hand on her hip, the other stroking the pouch on her chest again. “I’m just as upset about his death as you are.”
“Why would you be sad about the death of a man you’ve never met?” Corson questioned.
“Because he was supposed to—” She stopped, her lips pressed together as she considered her words more carefully. “I just am, okay?”
She was lying. That much was obvious. But what was really surprising to me was the fact that I believed her. Between her obvious distress over Phips’s death and the fact that she didn’t smell like the rest of the bound witches we’d been dealing with, I had to admit—albeit reluctantly—that she probably hadn’t been the one to kill the priest.
That still didn’t mean I trusted her.
“Fine,” I said, prepared to allow her to keep her secrets for the time being. “Let’s get this done and get out of here.”
Reaching into my jacket, I withdrew the jewel encrusted relic I’d pulled out of the crypt at Trinity Church. Turning it over in my hands, I inspected it again. Small and moderately heavy, it was inscribed with several different runes and sigils, most of which I recognized.
Sitting proudly in the center was the circle and flame symbol of theUmbra Fratrum.It was a symbol I was very familiar with, the same one that had been on the iron plaque that had sealed the crypt. Staring at it now, Icouldn’t help but wonder what other secrets my own order was hiding from me.
I’d never doubted my brotherhood, not in all my years wandering earth. But I was now, and that made me unaccountably nervous.
“You need his blood,” the witch muttered, and I threw her a glare.
“I know how a blood lock works.”
Setting the relic down on the table next to Phips, I began to slowly draw the sheet down his chest, exposing even more of his pale skin.
“Holy Hell,” Vine muttered when the sheet reached about halfway.
“Is that a bite mark?” the witch asked, her tone horrified.
