A Shadow in the Reaping by Brynne Weaver
Chapter 20
"Time to go, vampire," Ashen says, pulling his wine glass out of my hands.
I mount a silent protest, even though it's probably a good idea that he removes any alcohol from my possession. Because I am shitfaced.
When we got back to the table after our dance there was a replenished pitcher of fangria and a full bottle of Rakomelo at my place-setting. A small card was tied around its neck, written in a sharp, precise script. Everything they said about vampires is true. Enjoy your evening. Best wishes, Imani.
I haven't had Rakomelo in decades.
And now I remember why.
After four pitchers of fangria, the bottle of Rakomelo, and more than a few stolen sips of Ashen's wine (a full glass of which I downed just now before he could pry it from my hands), I am thoroughly hammered.
I would love to stay longer, particularly as Ember has been keeping her smart mouth shut. Cole has also been a pleasant surprise with some entertaining stories of his life as a human before his induction into the Shadow Realm. The process of induction was murky at best, and he deftly skirted around the topic in favor of anecdotes of his adventures. I was right about the surfer vibe. He has some great tales of travels from beach to beach, chasing waves, which of course I can relate to being a bit of a former beach bum myself.
But Ashen insists the hour is late. Something about creepy blah blah something Shadow Realm who cares. He pockets my journal and pen, loops the strap of the katana over his shoulder, then bids farewell to Ember and Cole on our behalf. He then extends his hand for me to take. My heart twists when I place my palm in his. Heat fills my chest as I stand and meet his eyes. Ashen looks at me for a moment that feels too long before he turns in the direction of the door, pulling me with him. I give a drunken salute to our dinner companions and sweep up a half-full bottle of wine with my free hand.
The cooler air of the night meets my skin in a welcome embrace as we pass through the doors of Bit Akalum. I don't even notice if there are other Reapers on the patio. I don't think about the fog, or the sounds that lurk in its depths. I just feel the warmth of Ashen's hand around mine.
I heave a heavy sigh and take a sip from the bottle of wine. What the fuck is wrong with me. I mean, other than being drunk, obviously. When Ashen doesn't let go of my hand as we turn down the road, I feel like I don't want him to. And I want it to mean more than just keeping me upright, or looking after me in this sketchy realm as I try not to wobble on my heels. I want it to be for me.
"All right, vampire?" he asks as the fog of the road absorbs us. I take another long draft from the bottle and offer it to him, but he declines.
I shrug. I notice for the first time that it's darker than it was before. I guess there are only two shades to the Shadow Realm: twilight, and night. Makes sense, I guess, and I gesture toward the road ahead and give him a thumbs up around my grip on the bottle.
Just as I put my arm back down at my side, something grazes the hem of my dress and darts past me. I catch sight of a shape running low to the ground. There's something a little off about it. It only has three legs... I think?.. I can't really focus on it, I'm too drunk for that, but I'm pretty sure it was a white dog. It hides around the corner of a hedge and I let go of Ashen's hand with a happy clap and dance as I mouth the word dog! and trot toward the hedge. I extend my hand toward it but the shape jumps out from the hedge and startles me with a vicious hiss before it scuttles off into the dark in a crab crawl.
"Not a dog, vampire," Ashen says as I back into him and his arm locks around my waist. "It's a crawler. An old and angry soul."
What the fuck, I mouth as I point with my bottle in the direction of the sound of its hiss as the creature continues into the fog. I hear a high-pitched, whistling cry, then another behind us, followed by a third to our left. Ashen takes hold of my hand once more and pulls me along, his other hand gripping his sword as the flame ripples to life across the blade.
"We need to go."
We pick up the pace, which is a mission in these heels. I pull Ashen to a stop so I can take them off and I expect he’ll roll his eyes or huff about it, but he doesn’t. He just holds my arm for balance and watches with a worried expression, his eyes darting toward a high-pitched call in the fog behind us. When I’m done, we carry on in tense silence, going as quickly as my impaired balance allow. We don’t see them, but I know they're there. I feel the presence of souls in the night, even when they're silent.
There’s a scuttling sound close behind us as we round the corner and start down the center of the road leading back to House Urbigu. Ashen lets go of my hand and spins away from me. I follow his movement. His sword cuts a low arc in the fog. Before he lands the blow, I see the crawler in the light of his blade, galloping toward him. It has the body of something once like a human with the movement of a beast. Its eyes are fixed to me, but it’s heading straight for the Reaper.
Ashen’s sword cuts it clean through the middle, the two halves of the soul separating like slices of meat. Thick, putrid blood and the smell of decay flood the road as the creature falls at the Reaper’s feet. I press my hand across my nose and mouth and swallow down the bile that rises in my throat. This is so not a good time to be drunk, I think, though it’s a little too late now.
“Shit,” Ashen says, looking down at the creature. A screech from further down the road fills the still night air. “That’s not good. Run, Lu.”
Ashen turns in my direction. I drop my shoes and throw my bottle of wine, hoping the shattered glass might slow some of the creatures down. And then we run. We run as fast as we can go together, Ashen’s hand clasped around mine. My legs burn, my heart surges. More screeching calls pierce the fog. Bare feet and palms smack the surface of the road behind us. I smell their rot and ruin. I feel their hatred and malice.
House Urbigu looms ahead in the fog, and we dart up the pathway framed by gas lamps. I catch movement on my right but it disappears into shadow before I can get a sense of how close it is. Ashen pulls my hand ahead to send me up the stairs and I turn on the landing, watching as he stops behind me.
Hellfire ripples on the silver sword as Ashen sweeps it behind him. It slices through the air above his head. “Maqlu kalusa isbura,” he says, and drives the blade down until it cuts the stone beneath his feet.
Fire spills down the stairs. It burns the fog and shadow. It pours down the path and lights the road, illuminating the crawlers that scuttle toward us from all directions. And then it coats them all in flame.
The souls twist in pain and screech their dying calls into the night of the Shadow Realm.
Memory rips through my drunken haze. My heart roars. Bile climbs my throat. I cover my ears and close my eyes. Their suffering is too much like mine. Before I can open my eyes again and force myself to witness their plight, Ashen grabs my wrist and pulls us into House Urbigu, shutting the door behind us as the souls die their final deaths outside.
“I’m sorry, Lu. I’m sorry,” Ashen says, his voice despondent as he pulls one of my hands away from my head. He threads his fingers through mine and guides us away from the door and the keening wails on the other side.
Ashen doesn't seem to relax at all as we enter the vestibule of House Urbigu. It feels like being tethered to a ticking bomb as we walk quickly past the cauldrons and through the grand hall. The sounds of the shrieking fade behind us, and by the time we reach the stairs I can’t hear them at all. When we finally enter his room, Ashen leans against the door, heaving a heavy sigh as he lets go of my hand and drops his sword. He bends his head and folds his hands across the back of the neck, his gaze locked to the floor.
For a long moment, there's only the silence of the room. There are only the things I can hear that no one else can. Heartbeats. The air in our lungs. The slow blink as Ashen presses his eyes closed. I sense the worry and fear battle the resolve within him. It’s the swell of the ocean battering a lighthouse in a storm. The weight of water behind a dam. I move closer and touch his arm. A question lingers in my expression, but he doesn't look at me. He only lowers his hand from his neck, grazing my fingers on the way down to his side.
"I need to rest," Ashen says, his voice quiet and low. He doesn't raise his head or look in my direction. I feel like something has been bruised within me. "Get some sleep, vampire."
Ashen pushes away from the door and walks past me to the bathroom. The light turns on but I hear no sounds. I watch from where I stand for a long time, waiting for a shadow beneath the door. But nothing changes. After a while, I go to the sidebar and take a long sip of whiskey from a bottle, climbing onto the bed and pulling my hair free of my bun. A few more sips and I set the bottle down on the nightstand, then lay my head on the cool caress of the pillow. I close my eyes and I dream of nothing at all.
It seems like I've only blinked when I feel something peeling from my cheek. I crack open an eye. A finger hovers in front of my face with a fake lash stuck to the tip.
"Good morning, sunshine," Ashen says.
The room is swirling around me. Someone is scraping pins across the inside of my skull and I'm ninety-nine percent sure it's Ashen. If I vomit, I'm past the point of caring.
Holy fuck I feel like death.
I push my face into the pillow as I open and close my hand in a request for my pen. I feel the cool, polished abalone slide across my palm, the journal landing open near my hand.
I uncap the pen and scrawl a note without lifting my head from the pillow. Fuck you, it says.
"Flick you? Whatever you say, vampire."
A sharp ping snaps at the exposed skin on my back. All praise to Cardi B that I still have hours left on my mutism spell because I swear I would have yelled a string of obscenities. I flail my hand around and manage to whack some part of Ashen and he lets out an oof. I try another note.
F.U.C.K. Y.O.U.
"Oh. I see. That makes more sense."
Go. Away.
"I'm afraid that's not possible. We need to go to Cairo and find the apothecary. Night is already falling there."
I feel like crying. I love that city, I really do. I love it so much and it's been years since I've been there. But it's loud. And my brain hurts. It physically pains me to even make thoughts. I don't know how I'm going to survive music and talking and car horns and lights. No. Hard fucking pass.
I am dead. Leave a message. BEEP, I write, and then I pull all the sheets I can grab and smoosh them to my face. He's right, they're fucking luxurious and cold and I regret I ever talked smack about his silky sex sheets.
"Come on, vampire," Ashen says, and I feel the sheets slipping through my weak grasp. I try to roll myself in them like a burrito but it's no use, so I just curl myself into a pathetic ball instead. "There's bloffee."
Sleep only.
"There's a shower."
No hairdryer. Stinky soap. Only sleep.
"What about a Bloody Mary."
What do you think I am, a peasant? Only Bloody Caesars are acceptable.
"Lucky for you that I went and got some Clamato in that case."
I open an eye and shoot Ashen a suspicious glare through my tangled strands of hair. He points to the nightstand and I follow his smug finger. Sure enough, there's a steaming cup of bloffee, a tall Bloody Caesar with extra blood (obvs) and a random plate of bacon. I point to the bacon and look at him with a question in the crease of my brow.
"Everyone loves bacon."
Not vegans.
"Everyone but vegans love bacon."
Fair point.
I push myself up to a sitting position as slowly as possible. The room tilts at a disturbing angle and I reach out for whatever my fingers hit first on the nightstand. Booze it is, then.
"You look like I dragged you through the streets by your face."
What a charmer you are today. This is not one of those romantic comedies where the protagonist wakes up with perfect hair and fresh makeup, if that's what you were expecting. Although you don't have Netflix, so how would you know anything about romcom tropes,I write, taking a slice of bacon and dipping it into the Caesar.
"I have Amazon Prime Video, and Apple TV. And Disney+. On my laptop. In my bag," Ashen says, his nose crinkling as he watches me take a bite of the wet bacon.
What... the... fuck?..
"What?"
You're a Reaper. Why the hell do you have Disney+?
"I like the Mandalorian. He's... relatable. And baby Yoda is all right."
Who even are you? Did I die? I did, didn't I. I'm dead.
"Probably not far off, all things considered," Ashen says.
I finally realize that I'm only wearing one false lash and pull it from my eye. Ashen, on the other hand, looks rested and ready to take on the world. I watch as he pushes a cufflink through the sleeve of his midnight blue shirt and I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. I'm still in last night's dress, which feels decidedly less cute now that I'm barely able to sit upright.
Did you sleep?I write, whacking Ashen's elbow with my journal to show him my note.
"Yes."
I look around the room, but I see no pillows on the floor. I smirk as I think of him sleeping while standing in the shower. I could totally see that happening.
...Where?
"Here. Next to you."
I meet Ashen's eyes. I thought the way he retreated last night with barely a word meant he'd stay away, maybe even slip back out into the night. He looks at me as though there's something he wants to say. An apology perhaps. An explanation. Maybe something about calming whatever this is between us before it pulls us both out to sea. Anything about the way he feels. But he won't let himself say it.
"We should get going soon," Ashen says as he turns toward the nightstand and picks up my bloffee to hand it to me in exchange for the now empty Caesar glass. I sigh as that moment between us passes and I take a sip of the hot liquid. I feel marginally better with a little blood in my system, but I make no guarantees that I won't still barf in the shower.
Which is exactly what happens.
I feel a bit closer to normal afterward, aside from a raging headache. Brushing my teeth three times also helps. I pull on some jeans and a long-sleeved white shirt, toss my hair into a damp bun, and forgo any makeup because who has the energy for that. Definitely not me.
As soon as I'm ready to go, we head downstairs to the grand hall. There's no one else there. Our footsteps clatter up the walls and fly like bats among the stone pillars. The closer we get to the cauldrons, the slower I go, and when we're near enough I stop altogether. I want to ask Ashen about the fate of the crawlers from last night as he lights a torch, but I don’t. He throws the fire into a sleeping cauldron and the embers roar to life. When Ashen joins by my side my heart is already surging with the panic I can't seem to subdue. The hangover all but disappears, the room stops spinning. The only thing I see is flame.
"It will feel the same as last time," Ashen says. His voice is patient and calm. I see movement in my peripheral vision and look to my feet as smoke swirls up my body. It climbs across my arms and Ashen takes my hand. "No pain. No burning. No different from when you came here, Lu."
I nod and gather my fears, and then we walk forward, the smoke obscuring the cauldron as we draw near. I know it's irrational, but I'm still afraid. My breath still comes quicker than before. My ribs still quake. My hands vibrate and I feel the urge to run. The memories of villagers shouting their insults and incantations ring as bright as bells in my mind. I can still see Bobby Sarno, standing in the back of the crowd. He enjoyed every second of it too, his sweet retribution for my sisters sinking his merchant ship, taking him prisoner. Even though I was the one to set him free, he was happy to sell me out to the Reapers, and even happier to watch me burn. I still feel the malice of his smile as he watched me writhe and wither at the stake.
I step into the cauldron with Ashen, and this time I don't weep. But I do close my eyes. I cover my ears. Ashen's arms fold around me in an embrace. When the flame ripples around us and the pressure builds in my head, I feel his hand lay on the back of my neck where his skin can touch mine.
When the flame falls to our feet and the smoke clears away, I open my eyes. I sense the difference in the air here. It's a heavy heat. I smell Ashen, his scent of unsmoked tobacco, the ink that lives in his skin. But I smell other scents too. Limestone dust. Time and history. Cumin and cardamom cooking in the distance somewhere, drifting in on the night breeze.
I let my hands slide away from my ears as I recover my breath. I look over Ashen's shoulder. We're in a courtyard framed by palms and limestone walls. A blue mosaic fountain trickles nearby. Only the brightest stars glimmer above us, the rest washed away by the light of the city's heart in the distance.
"All right, vampire?" Ashen asks as he lets the strength of his embrace diminish.
I nod, realizing for the first time that it no longer bothers me when he calls me vampire. It feels like an endearment. The warmth of his arms around me pull my soul to the surface. I feel safe, and cared for. I don’t feel so lonely anymore.
Ashen draws away just enough so that we're not pressed together and lays a hand on the side of my face. His fingertips sweep across my cheekbone, checking for tears. "Better this time, right?"
I nod again and Ashen pulls away, meeting my eyes for a brief moment before his gaze darkens and he lets go. He looks to the floor and steps out of the cauldron, offering an arm only long enough for me to join by his side. His arm drops from beneath mine and he starts walking toward the house, leaving me behind. That bruise from last night blossoms to a deeper color in my heart.
I am a reckless, silly creature, thinking of embraces and endearments and emotions. I’ve been afraid of what I feel about him. Now I can’t seem to stop it, and I fear that too. And worse still, I’m even more afraid of what he doesn’t feel for me. It’s a fear that bends and knots around me, holding my feet to the floor.
Ashen looks back to where I stand and tilts his head, eyeing me with an assessing gaze. A crease appears between his brows. I sigh and then follow Ashen into a dark, palatial house. The lights within the foyer flare to life as we enter. The house is sparsely decorated with landscape paintings on the walls and simple furnishings. We don't stay to explore. We head down a corridor and out another door, into a garage. An older model Land Rover rests along the far wall. A row of motorcycles are lined before us, all covered with dusty canvas.
"Can you drive a motorcycle?"
I give Ashen a dead-eyed glare. This guy. Can I drive a fucking motorcycle. I put my hand out for my book and pen, and he rolls his eyes as he hands them over from the pocket of his jacket.
Of course I fucking can, you tit. Can you drive a tank?
"Yes. Can you fly a helicopter?"
Yes. Can you drive an excavator?
"Yes. Can you pilot a submarine?"
Fuck. No I cannot. Who would want to do that anyway? Submarine pilots I guess. I glare at Ashen and he smirks in reply.
"Now that we've established that you cannot pilot a submarine, follow me." He tosses me a key and pulls the canvas from a Triumph Scrambler. My headache spikes in anticipation of the sound of the engine roaring to life and I haven't even put the key in the ignition yet.
Ashen pulls the canvas from another Triumph and presses the button for the automatic garage door opener. The folding white panels rattle above us and the heavy night air floods the space with its weight. I shove my notebook and pen into the saddle bag of my bike and pull my helmet on.
"Wakalat al-Makwa," Ashen says, and he gives me a half smile as both of our bikes roar to life. That wound in my heart seems to bleed at the sight of that lopsided grin. "In case we get separated."
I give him a single nod. We straddle our machines and roll out of the garage. We wait beside one another and watch as the door closes behind us.
"Follow me," Ashen says again, and we turn out of the driveway and onto the quiet suburban street.
At the first turn, Ashen heads right, and I wait until his headlights are a few houses down before I speed away in the other direction. I fly around two corners. I take an unlit alley. I lose myself to the darkness until I find the light, until the cacophony of the city streets swallows me whole. I drive until I imagine that no one could find me. Not even him.