Once the shadows of the looming buildings swallowed his silhouette, the dog rose and sauntered in the opposite direction, passing where Cassian hid.
It stopped and regarded him, panting and its tail wagging in a calm rhythm.
Cassian stared down at the visible chunk of bone exposed in its back leg, the hanging piece of skin dangling on the side of its shoulder, the pink meat of its flesh showing. It was a ghoul now. Undead but alive. Incapable of healing but spared from pain.
Creatures of mortality feared death. They saw it as an end. A journey into the cold Land of the Dead where life did not grow, where there were no pleasures like the ones life provided. A terrible myth Cassian was eager to rid from the terrified souls that appeared on his riverbank or at his gate.
An urge expanding in him as he crouched down and patted the dog’s head. “Hello, little fellow.”
Perhaps this was the reason he hesitated to curse the young god. It was evident Finnian had strong reservations with death, and Cassian wanted to prove to him those reservations were unnecessary.
The dog stepped forward to lick Cassian’s face, but he kindly held it back. “I appreciate it, but how about later? Greet me when I return to the Land.”
He pressed his palm against the dog’s chest, and his divine power pulled. The same spectral sphere Finnian had summoned from the command of his necromancy balanced in Cassian’s hand.
The dog’s shell of a body laid lifeless once more.
A form transfigured in the shadows. An Errai emerged, cloaked in graphite, face concealed by a mask of white and black marble reflecting off the warm streaks of the lamplight.
“My lord.” They bowed their head in greeting before stepping up and holding out their hand.
Cassian transferred the soul to them and quickly spun around, putting one foot in front of the other, determined not to lose track of the young god.
He came out onto a main street. Pansies decorated the cobblestone pathways. White brick establishments with painted windowpanes lined the walk. Ivy crawled across the exterior. Horses trotted down the streets, pulling carriages.
Cassian could feel the faint twinge of magic in the breeze. He could feel the remnants of Finnian’s power and followed it like an animal’s trail.
He turned off the main street and spotted vermillion wisps trailing like smoke in front of a theater hall. It was a large, several-story-tall brick structure with arched walkways and a columned peak reaching from its rooftop. Horse-drawn carriages lined the west side of the entrance, unloading patrons.
Cassian hid out of sight behind a nearby building before teleporting inside the hall.
He dropped into a grand corridor on the fourth tier lined with thick velvet drapes, individual entrances to reserved boxes. It was a possibility the young god would be on the floor-level where most of the middle class sat, but Finnian didn’t seem to be the type to enjoy the proximity of such close company.
The corridor was filled with travelers. Cassian maneuvered his way forward without knocking shoulders with mortals, tailing the magical trace as the strings of an orchestra echoed from within the auditorium.
He came to a stop in front of the entrance of a box at the end of the corridor. His gut tingled with an odd sense of anticipation.
Quietly, he peeled the curtain back and peeked inside.
Finnian sat with a concentrated posture, his elbow propped up on the arm of the chair, intently watching the performance.
Cassian peered out at the orchestra positioned at ground level in front of the stage, their movements possessing an irresistible synergy as they played. Two women in leotards and ballet slippers twirled and soared in dance to the melancholic notes of the music.
He knew little about the arts but could appreciate them when necessary. Though, it seemed the young god appreciated them fervently.
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Cassian assured himself the bump in its bridge was still there.
With the amount of divine power he’d put into shape-shifting, there was no way Finnian would figure out his identity. He’d turned his pale strands black, his alabaster skin the same honey-tan shade as Finnian’s, and had thoroughly reconstructed his facial features to rounder lines, rather than their usual sharp, broad strokes. The final touch had been altering the luster gold of his eyes to an indigo blue. It would be impossible for Finnian to recognize him.
With that assurance, he casually made his way to a chair on the other side of the aisle, on Finnian’s right side, and took a seat.
The god acknowledged him with a subtle sidelong glance.
Cassian’s heart skipped as he waited. To avoid the predicament that he’d found himself in last time, he’d descaled the traces of his powerful presence. All his efforts proved to be working, because the young god did not spare him another look.
His muscles relaxed. He settled into his chair and fixed on the lovely scenes of song and dance before him.
“You were in the Red Fox.” Finnian kept his focus on the show, his chin propped on the heel of his hand. Cassian could clearly make out his rings now—silver bands around the base of his index and ring finger and another sitting on top of the knuckle of his pinky.
