A Shadow in the Reaping by Brynne Weaver

Chapter 22

That's the fifth one. What the fuck, I write, flicking an intrepid brown scorpion away from my hip. It flies in an arc and pings against the base of the stone wall across from us then scurries away into the sand.

"You're cold. It's a big attraction for desert creatures who are about to face a day of unobstructed sun," Ashen replies.

The Reaper sits to my right, the journal between us. We're stationed on the edge of a limestone wall at the Serapeum where we can face the stepped pyramids, our feet dangling over the edge toward the tawny sand. The majority of the site lies to the Southeast, and the first lighter shades of blue color the sky in anticipation of dawn.

I get that, but still. Hard pass.

Ashen flicks another away as it runs toward my leg. "The scorpion was a symbol of the goddess Serqet. She protected the bodies and viscera of the dead. I think it's kind of fitting that they like you."

Big bag of NOPE.

I drain my white plastic cup of blood tea and Ashen refills it from the thermos as I tap my heels against the stone.

"Feeling better than this morning?" Ashen asks as we cast our gazes across the ancient stone monuments of kings and gods. From here, we can see much of Saqqara, though we don't know where we should be looking when it comes to portals to the Realm of Light.

Much better. I threw up in your shower, by the way. Sorry about that. But don't worry, I totally cleaned off your mansoap.

"Yeah, I know. I heard you. I suppose it was to be expected. And I almost believe you."

I smile and we sit in silence for a moment as my legs swivel along the wall. The stars are slowly receding, only the brightest left to glimmer above us. I think about the last time I was in Cairo, and I wonder how long it's been since angels last passed through this land. I wonder how they'd even recognize it, the city sprawling ever further into the desert.

"I'm sorry," Ashen says. His voice is quiet but it still feels startling. The wire coils tighter across my heart. I look at him with an expression that asks what for, even though I'm not sure I want to know. "The old man was right. I knew it last night. I should have been more careful in the Shadow Realm. With you."

I'm not a fucking porcelain doll. I'm fine. Nothing happened. And I can look after myself. I have my sneaky vampire ways, you know, I write, and I give him a wink when he looks up from my note.

"Those crawlers tried to attack you. And that is not even close to the worst of what the Shadow Realm has to offer." Ashen looks away from me, his hands pressed tight across the edge of the stone as he stares at the sand below. "I know you can't see it, but you shine like a lantern in our realm. It's not just the Reapers who have their eyes on you there. I should not have taken a risk like that, taking you out at night. Giving you that much alcohol."

To be fair, you did owe me after I sniffed that dog dick. You were only upholding your end of the agreement to provide copious amounts of booze in compensation.

"Still. You don't belong there, as tempting as it is to believe otherwise."

I hold onto his words. I roll them around in my mind. Is it tempting? Is it something he wishes were true, that I could belong in their realm? I suppose he's right, it's not the best place for me, with all its creepy vibes and tripod dogs-that-aren't-dogs and the lack of tanning opportunities. That and the problematic issue of being a high-prized kill in their midst. I really got away with that one the last time. My luck probably won't last so I'd better not push it. But the Shadow Realm is not all bad. And I'm starting to believe it's not really where you are that matters. It's who you're with.

I tap my pen against my notebook, trying to work out what's worth saying and what's worth keeping hidden away. The lid of the box in my mind keeps slipping when Ashen is around. Thoughts I shouldn't have keep escaping, and they're the kind that can get you killed when you let your guard down.

When I look up he's watching me, waiting for some smartass response I'm sure. I feel the wind in that sail, just like Mr. Hassan promised. But even with it spurring me to flee, even knowing the risks, when I look at Ashen I want to try. I want to keep my eyes on the shore, my anchor down.

Do you?I write, turning my note to Ashen.

"Do I what?"

Belong there?

The journal faces him and he takes longer to read my note than two words can take to understand. He meets my eyes. A thousand thoughts seem to surface in his, like the sediment of time is washed away by an unexpected flood. He opens his mouth to respond, but he doesn't have the chance to utter a word.

There's a bright flash in the distance. A pillar of light erupts from the top of the Pyramid of Userkaf, reaching into the sky. It disappears almost as quickly as it came. But by the time it's gone we're already up and running across the sand, heading to the Alley of the Sphinxes, hoping to catch a glimpse of what has only been a myth for a thousand years.

We run down the ancient causeway, slowing as we draw near to the Pyramid of Userkaf where the entrance lies on the north side, facing us. When it feels like we're close enough to see without being seen ourselves we stop, hunching next to one another behind an eroded slab of limestone.

Do you think we missed it?I write, tapping Ashen's knee with my pen.

"I don't know," he says, glancing down at my note. He meets my eyes and the flame comes alive in his pupils. His sword is drawn, but he keeps the smoke and hellfire at bay. I can tell he doesn't like this. At all.

We look back toward the entrance of the pyramid, and just as I'm starting to think we must have imagined the light, a figure emerges.

It's tall. A man. White pants and tunic, both pristine despite the desert dust. His face is obscured by a white veil that tucks beneath the high neckline of his shirt. It clings to the features of his face, almost like a slick second skin. His limbs seem just a little too long, as though they slow his movement as he walks with the immortal grace of another realm, radiating light. As he passes from the shadow of the ancient tomb the sun illuminates his wings. They shimmer, translucent. One moment they catch the light to scatter it, the next they are invisible. It's a mesmerizing display of iridescence and trickery.

It's really fucking cool.

See also, FUCKING TERRIFYING.

That thing vibrates with power. You can feel it from a distance. Like a hum in the air, the buzz of static before a storm.

I draw my dagger and turn to Ashen, making a stabby motion and mouthing kill, kill, kill with a menacing smile.

"No fucking way," he whispers.

Come on, I whisper soundlessly. It'll be fun.

"I do not agree with your assessment of fun."

I give him a pout and my saddest puppy eyes and Ashen smirks in response. His gaze lingers on my lips when my expression collapses into a smile. I can feel the heat of his gaze tingling in my skin. We're so close in the sand that our legs touch as we huddle behind the stone. It would take barely any movement at all to lean forward and press my lips to his. I see him swallow and I wonder if he's thinking the same thing.

There's a flash of light so bright I'm not sure if a star hasn't exploded in front of my eyes. I'm pushed into the sand. I scramble to find my bearings but I can't see. It's gone from bright light to utter blackness. I smell tobacco and ink. The blindness of the flash fades just enough that I can see my fingers in the sand. I'm covered with smoke.

"Stand down, anunnaki," I hear Ashen say. He is not fucking around. I can hear the ripple of fire on his sword as the blade scorches the desert air.

"I have no quarrel with you, demon," a deep voice says. "I am merely curious."

"Curiosity fulfilled. Now leave," Ashen says.

I push myself up to stand behind Ashen, my kaiken ready in my hand. The angel is perched in his bare feet on the stone we were just hiding behind. Ashen glances over his shoulder at me. A streak of worry flashes in the fire of his eyes and he turns back to the angel, raising his blade.

"So, it is true. Werewolves making hybrids. Vampires saving Reapers. The Living Realm crumbles before my very eyes," the angel says. I can't see his face behind the veil, but I hear the mockery in his voice as he turns his head toward me. This outfit of his is very haute couture with his weird, shroud-like veil. It's like he's cosplaying a mummy in Chanel.

Ashen moves his free hand behind him, trying to push me further back into his shadow. "You know about the poison."

"Of course."

"Who gave it to the wolves?"

"I have some ideas."

"Care to share?"

"No."

The three of us stand, unmoving and uncomfortably silent. I have a super inappropriate urge to start dancing, or maybe make fart noises. The angel tilts his head as he looks at me and I try to subdue the smirk that's creeping across my face.

The angel raises a gloved hand and points.

"They need one like her to make another. She would be safer in our realm," he says.

Hellfire surges across Ashen's blade. "No."

The angel draws his arm down. His wings stretch behind him and he stands to his full height on the stone. "Suit yourself, demon. It will be your own demise,” he says. With a flash of light and movement and a crack of sound, his wings draw to the front of his body and slap both our faces. I fall to my knees as the angel takes off into the sky.

"Fucking prickface motherfucker," Ashen says, spitting hot blood into the sand. "I fucking hate it when they do that."

I'm still down on my knees, my palm pressed to the side of my face. It's damp with thick, black blood that colors the grains of dust beneath me. The pain was on delay but it's hitting hard now and I struggle to steady my breath.

"All right, vampire?" Ashen asks, and I feel his hand on my shoulder. I nod, but I'm not convincing either of us.

Within a beat of my heart, Ashen is kneeling in front of me, prying my hand from my face.

"Fucking hell," he whispers. He whips his jacket from his shoulders and presses it to my torn skin. "You'll be safer in his realm my ass. He's here for two minutes and rips half your fucking face apart."

I look at him with a question in my eyes.

"Yeah, it's pretty bad."

I open and close my fingers to ask for my pen with a faint smile. Ashen rolls his eyes.

"Really?" he asks, the sarcasm heavy in his expression as I give him my sweetest doe eyes and cast my pen across my journal.

Do you think I could get salmonella?

"No."

E. coli?

"No."

Rabies?

"...maybe."

Nooooo. Not angel rabies. The HORROR.

Ashen tries to smile but pulls the jacket from my wounds. A darkness embeds itself into his eyes and his pupils flash with flame. "It's not healing very fast. Do you have more blood in the thermos?" he asks as he pushes the fabric to my face once more. It smells like him, and it doesn't fix the pain but it's comforting.

A little.

"Is it enough?"

I don't know. How bad is it, really?

"To the bone. Those feathers are like knives. It's a lot of damage."

I sigh and look toward the pyramid. I wonder how their portal works, if it's anything like the cauldrons that the Reapers use. But I have no desire to find out. It would be handy to have one right here. I think I'd like to go back to the Shadow Realm now. I think even the fire in the cauldron would be okay.

"Take my blood," Ashen says, his voice rich and warm, like the first rays of the sun that find us on this ancient ground. I meet his eyes and he stares intently into mine, as though he's reaching right into my heart. It pulls the air from my lungs. I feel a sudden rush of tears sting in my eyes and I shake my head. It's not like I would take enough to harm him, and I know my venom won’t harm him like it does the werewolves. It's the act of offering that overwhelms me. On any other day he could be my executioner, and now he's rolling up his sleeve and offering his wrist to me. "It's all right. I know you will only take what you need. Go ahead."

I look at the network of veins beneath his skin, feeling the beat of his pulse as though it lives within me. I hear the four chambers of his heart, the surge of blood through valves and arteries.

"Go on, Lu. It's okay. Just trust me."

I flick my eyes to Ashen's and find only truth in his words. I look back down to his arm and my canines slide to their full length in my mouth. Venom colors my tongue in sweetness. I lay one hand in Ashen's and his fingers curl around mine. With my other hand I grasp his elbow.

Thank you,I whisper without sound. I feel a tear breach the corner of my eye, creeping around the grains of sand stuck to my skin. Ashen's thumb caresses the back of my hand in a reassuring touch. I close my eyes and draw my lips to his wrist. I take a deep breath. I press a kiss of gratitude to his skin before I bite down.

Blood, hot and rich, fills my mouth. It's like nothing I've ever tasted. Sweet but not cloying. Spiced but not burning. Ashen doesn't move as I draw in his blood from the bite, and I relish the sound and the feel of it as it flows from his body to mine. When I sense the wounds across my face begin to knit together, I slow down, until I can finally let go. As I lift my fangs from his flesh, I press my palm across the bite and we wait for a moment, kneeling in front of one another, unmoving aside from our heavy breath.

When the bleeding has slowed on both our wounds, Ashen stands, pulling me up with him. He unfurls his black jacket and pulls it across my shoulders to hide the dark stains that flow down my shirt. "Better?" he asks.

I nod and I touch my cheek, still sore but healing. Thank you, I mouth.

Ashen grasps my chin and tilts my face to the sun to see the progress of the wound. He offers a faint smile as he casts his gaze over the healing skin. Even with its subtle tones, I see relief, and I see pride.

Our eyes meet. The warmth of his thumb caresses my chin, grazing the edge of my lip. My heart rages to climb closer to him, pulling my body with it. His blood sings in my veins.

Part of me wants so badly to lean forward and press my lips to Ashen’s. I want to feel the heat of his breath on my skin. I want to memorize his features with the touch of my fingertips. But the winds of fear catch my sail.

I swallow a thick knot in my throat. My fingers curl around Ashen’s wrist and I lower his hand from my face. I take a step back and look at Ashen for a moment longer before I turn away. My heart rebels against me, hammering furious beats that ring in my ears. It just doesn’t know that I’m trying to save it.

We walk in silence back to the Serapeum, grabbing the apothecary's thermos before we head back to our bikes. By the time I pull my helmet on, the wound is nothing more than pink slashes across my skin. We drive off toward the city and I follow Ashen's taillights into the morning rush of cars.

Asallah libakkunu, I think, over and over on the drive back into Cairo, remembering the words of my spell. I overpower your heart. But I'm starting to worry that mine has already succumbed.