Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 113319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 567(@200wpm)___ 453(@250wpm)___ 378(@300wpm)
“The what?” Aurora asked.
“The bathroom!” Niamh said. “Do not leave the bar, understand? Broken Sue, ye will go with her and protect her. Unless ye also feel fear, and then the two of ye lock yerselves in the bathroom together. They won’t force a lock here. Not in a Dick establishment with me in the way.”
“What is it—”
She held up her hand to cut off Broken Sue as the shape darkened the doorstep. Wisps like steam rose from the rotting flesh covering its body. Tattered gray-black robes covered most of it, ruffled by the wind of the closing day behind it. Its hands ended in glistening black claws, once broken nails from its having dug its way out of its own grave, that had become hardened and talon-like from age. The image of a scythe vaguely hovered behind it, as though fastened to its back, and its lips had pulled back from its shining, white, perfect teeth.
Odd.
It glided more than walked into the bar, the holes where its eyes had once been sensing more than seeing, similar to a bat’s sonar.
Bar patrons tensed as they felt the presence passing them, looking back at it in sudden, anxious wariness. Non-magical people wouldn’t see its true image. Nor could magical people without…darker origins. To everyone else, it would look like a businessman in a suave suit with a scheming smile, a vicious glint in his eyes, and slicked-back hair that wouldn’t ever be affected by the wind or rain. His skin would appear sallow but human, and the sound of his soles on the run-down hardwood would faintly squeak in their perception.
Neither Aurora nor Broken Sue tensed or flinched in any way as the creature passed behind them and around the corner, stopping behind the seat Aurora had just evacuated. Broken Sue wrapped his fingers around Aurora’s drink, pulling it a little closer to her. He then touched her upper arm briefly, a sign of comfort or support, showing he was there, before returning to his own drink. He took a calm, collected sip. The message was clear: he didn’t see the being’s true form, but he was ready to battle if necessary.
That was good. One needed to keep one’s head around such creatures. This being was only a steppingstone to the dark underbelly of the magical world, but if it took a notion, it could still rip out one’s heart in short order.
“Puca,” the creature rasped, a sound like insects scurrying over dried bones.
“Ezra, how goes it? Or are ye operating under a different name these days?”
He took the vacated seat, and his sigh sounded more like a hiss of satisfaction. “This seat is still warm. Full of conflicted emotion.”
“I’m sure she’s thrilled ye told everyone.”
He touched the soda Aurora had left behind before swinging his gaze toward her slowly. His tattered clothes rustled like skeletons dancing, bone sliding on bone. The effect wouldn’t translate into the image she could see, but she would nonetheless feel the being’s presence, crawling in through the pores of her skin and tainting her blood like a disease.
She lifted her eyes from her drink and swung them Ezra’s way, the movement both slow and deliberate. Her expression remained entirely passive, her body language loose. In a moment, however, she rose from her seat, bourbon in hand, and walked off toward the bathroom.
Broken Sue’s eyes held pure carnage as he rose behind her, locking eyes with the creature for a solid beat before following her.
“The female is bursting with vivaciousness and vigor,” said the revenant, a creature who’d crawled out of his grave over two hundred years ago, seeking vengeance on his wife, whom he’d thought poisoned him in a fit of jealousy over his many mistresses.
By rights, as soon as he’d gotten that vengeance, he should’ve returned to his final resting place, his undead purpose resolved and his presence no longer sanctioned in the world of the living.
But in life, the man had been shrewd and cunning. He’d inherited wealth and prestige from his father and poured it into the burgeoning industrial industry. He’d stolen and cheated his way to success, becoming a respected and feared businessman and compounding his wealth and his social status. His marriage had been calculated—he’d wed a plain woman of fortune who would join two competing businesses to monopolize their trade. He’d stashed her away in their mansion and then ignored her for more interesting pleasures, like pretty maids, friends’ wives, and young ingenue.
A man like that didn’t succumb to something so trivial as eternal rest.
Before claiming his vengeance, he’d managed to acquire an essential piece of ancient magic that had allowed him to avoid the fate of other revenants—he was able to avoid the compulsion to return to his grave and be sealed up in it.
Niamh’s cousin had worked that deal and then taken off with just a fraction of the estate. Podrick had always been miserable at bargaining. It was a wonder he’d survived as long as he had.