Chapter Twenty-Seven
A Breath Away
Pantomiming for Oliverto stay put, Felipe broke from behind the sarcophagus with his gun trained on Newman. At the sound of his footsteps on the stone, Newman barely glanced over his shoulder, but when he realized it wasn’t Jed, he grabbed the priest’s arm. Father Gareth turned with a dismissive shrug and nodded toward Felipe with his chin, though he couldn’t hear the words. Loosening one of the earplugs, Felipe stopped at the edge of the dais with the gun raised.
“Peter Newman, Father Gareth, by order of the New York Paranormal Society, drop your weapons and step away from the altar. You are both wanted for murder and theft of a magical object from the Vatican Archives,” Felipe yelled.
“Am I to assume, Inspector Galvan, that Jed Monroe is dead?” the priest asked calmly as he took the familiar jarred heart from Newman’s hand. “A pity, but a heart is a heart. Peter, if you want a relic of your own, take him. And do the job right this time.”
Felipe squeezed off a shot before the priest could finish, but with a flick of his gaze, Newman sent the bullet wide into a pillar. Before Felipe could cock the hammer back, the air around him stirred, ripping the gauze from his nose and the loosened plug from his ear. Dropping the gun, Felipe clamped his hand over his mouth and nose to keep the airmancer from reaching his lungs. Peter Newman’s face twisted into a grimace as he stalked closer. Suction ripped at Felipe’s hand as he turned away in hopes it would break Newman’s hold. The pain his brain had tried to block the night he died came flooding back. His lungs crumpling like wet tissue, his diaphragm ripping, the blood pouring up his throat. He couldn’t do it again.
Tugging the knife loose from his belt with his freehand, Felipe readied himself to charge when the invisible garrote tightened around his neck. Sputtering beneath his hand, Felipe staggered at the force of his grip. Spots danced in his eyes as the muscles and cartilage in his neck trembled under the immense pressure. Thoughts slipped away before they could come. His lungs ached. He needed more time. He needed Oliver to get away.
“You can’t hold your breath forever, Galvan. Let go, and I promise your death won’t be in vain. Your bones and I will do great things.”
Felipe raised his head, hoping he could futilely suck in a mouthful of air to stall when he saw Oliver rise from behind the tomb, grey eyes dark as a storm.
***
Even if Felipe couldn’tdie, Oliver couldn’t let Newman torture him again. The moment Felipe saw him, brown eyes wide with panic and his face purple as he buckled under Peter Newman’s power, Oliver knew what he had to do. The whole cathedral was built atop the dead, and if Oliver understood one thing, it was the dead. Hands open at his sides, he called to those who remained. They had been ill-used, unburied, and abandoned to make someone else powerful, but Oliver hoped they wouldn’t grudge his call for assistance. Bones trembled as they scurried across the floor, assembling themselves into a hodgepodge of a man. Oliver saw him in his mind’s eye, a warrior of old and his men merging as one with what remained, a broken, pitted sword in their hand.
Newman’s eyes never left Felipe’s prone body as he tightened the garrote until Oliver could see the depression on his lover’s neck. At Oliver’s call, the skeletal man swung their weapon. The pommel of the broken sword struck Newman’s head with a sickening crack loud enough to be heard through Oliver’s earplugs. Swaying on his feet, Newman’s grip slackened enough for Felipe to stumble away. He sucked in a desperate breath as the skeleton struck again, and the airmancer’s body tipped into one of the open graves.
Oliver ran to Felipe’s side. Deep red bruises blossomed on Felipe’s neck and face in dots and vines as Oliver loosened his collar and rubbed his back to help him get air in. Felipe retched and coughed, but he would be okay once he caught his breath. Ducking down, Oliver felt around for Felipe’s fallen gun and knife, but in the riot of broken stone, bones, and debris, he couldn’t find them. Oliver pulled the heavy knife from his belt and put it in Felipe’s hand. Popping out an earplug, he confirmed Felipe’s breathing was steadying. The bone man stood waiting at his side, and as much as Oliver was loathe to use the dead to do his bidding, at least they felt willing.
Wrapping an arm around Felipe’s back, Oliver helped him to his feet. “I don’t know how long Newman will be down or if the priest will notice. We have to—”
Under his hand, Felipe stiffened. His eyes went wide as he shoved Oliver away, his face twisting into a grimace. Oliver’s heart lurched in his throat. What had he done wrong? Terror, raw and cold, flooded across the tether. Turning, Oliver raised his gaze to find Father Gareth staring down at them from the dais. Tongues of undulating orange light radiated behind the altar, bathing the macabre statue in shadows that made the figures appear to writhe. The priest’s lip curled as his eyes roved between Oliver and the patchwork skeleton standing at his side. Catching Oliver’s gaze, Felipe’s mouth worked silently. Sweat dripped down his temple, despite the cold, as he mouthed,Run, please run.That was when Oliver noticed the missing earplug and that the gauze in his nose had blown away in the struggle with Newman. Oliver couldn’t smell it, but he felt the priest’s pull as a faint pain in his forehead.
“Abomination,” Father Gareth yelled, turning his full attention to Oliver. “I should have known only a creature from hell would be immune to my word.”
Oliver swallowed against the knot in his throat as the skeleton wobbled before collapsing in on itself in a heap.Necromancer.Creature from hell. Put him in a room full of skeletons, and the first thing he did was destroy and manipulate. Tears blurred Oliver’s eyes as he stared at Felipe. The tether hung heavy between them. He would be a burden to Felipe. When he realized what he was, how far he could fall, he would hate him, too. He would drag Felipe down with him and destroy every good part of him. His love would turn Felipe into a monster. He should end his life before that happened. He had no weapon, but he could end one thing. Oliver reached to catch the tether when he saw the ink on his hand.Felipe loves you.
His hand trembled. The man across from him loved him. Oliver was supposed to remember that, and that he loved him back and would never hurt him. Felipe had seen him reanimate the dead, seen him call to bones, and he hadn’t been afraid or appalled. Felipe didn’t think he was a monster. Felipe didn’t want to die and neither did Oliver. Oliver coughed and tasted the faint spice of burnt incense.The priest. Oliver shook out his hands. Father Gareth watched him keenly, his gaze sharpening as Oliver coughed away the fog.
Fury stole over Oliver so fast at seeing Felipe frozen in place he could scarcely think. “I am not an abomination, but you are. You, who would willingly come to a place like this and still think what you’re doing is right. God knows what you want a relic for, but it certainly isn’t for anything good or holy. I can control the dead, but you control the living, and that is far worse.”
The orange light flickered dangerously behind Father Gareth, like a fire sputtering to stay alight. For the first time, something akin to anxiety passed across the priest’s face. Dark blood dripped heavily down his arm as if he had nicked a major vein during his sacrifice. Beyond him, what Oliver assumed was theClausum Librumsat on the altar surrounded by complex chalk drawings with the shriveled, crystalized heart forlornly in the center.
“I don’t have time for this, but you leave me no choice. I would have preferred your friend’s heart, but an abomination’s will do. Kill him and take it.”
With a final wave of his hand and a volley of incense-laced air, Felipe transformed. Gone was the man with pleading eyes who shoved Oliver away to protect him, and in his place stood a stranger wearing his face. Felipe tested the weapon in his hand, the one Oliver had put there, and took a measured step toward him.
“Felipe. Felipe, please listen to me,” Oliver called softly, his voice tightening when his gaze fell on Felipe’s gloved hands. He forgot to take them off. “It’s Oliver. Oliver who loves you. Remember what I wrote on your hand before we left. Look what mine says.”
When Oliver raised his hand, Felipe lurched back and tightened his grip on the knife, but Oliver thought he saw a flicker of something besides galvanized hostility. Behind Felipe, the priest’s chanting grew louder and the metallic scent of ancient magic crowded out the remnants of smoke and incense. Panic rose in Oliver’s breast as he focused on the weight of the tether running from his heart to Felipe’s. If Father Gareth finished the relic before he could get through to Felipe, he would never get him back.
