My eyes roll.
That’s the fifth time he’s mentioned Tysin this evening, and I’m worried it’s developed into some kind of nervous compulsion.
“Is her name just constantly on the tip of your tongue?” I ask.
“Oh, piss off. If I have to hear about Iris’s smell one more time, I’m going to rip my fangs out.”
He’s so dramatic. I don’t mention it that much. But even if I did, who would blame me? She smells like heaven.
I ignore our respective infatuations to explain to him for the third time tonight what we’re doing here.
“I can’t catch his scent onthisplane,” I say. “But maybe there’s something in the shadow plane that can tell us who was here. Which means I need a shadow walker. And you are a shadow walker. It’s really very simple to follow.”
Dred nods, scanning the sidewalk.
Valorath Rd. isn’t as empty as it was the night I met Tara. There’s a steady stream of customers walking by, but luckily, this crowd tends to mind its business. So, even though I am hunched in front of the door, picking the lock with the arrowpoint pendant that hangs around my neck, no one bats an eye.
“And our only choice was an abandoned apothecary?” Dred asks.
He bares his fangs, lip curling as he peers past the frosted glass, and I stop fiddling with the lock as I stand to look at him.
“No, but there’s too much foot traffic around the grove. Sorting through the threads is impossible.” I’ve tried and caught everything from birds to banshees. “But this place has been empty for the last six months,” I remind him, tapping the condemnation notice on the door. “If there is a trace of him, he’ll be the only one here.”
Dred nods, but I know he’s not listening when his only response is, “What do I get out of this exactly?”
“How about I don’t tell Tysin about you mind-weaving all her male coworkers to quit?”
Dred’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t move.
“Stop being such a high-born ass, and just open it?” I say.
I’m three seconds away from strangling him and starting a clan war neither of our families would ever recover from when he sighs, dematerializes, and reappears on the other side of the door.
With a simple turn of his hand, the door is unlocked, and I step inside before anyone on the street decides to change their mind about keeping the status quo.
“This place is disgusting,” Dred says, cringing as the door shuts behind me.
That’s an understatement.
Disgusting implies something foul. But this…this is just unholy.
“Oh gods,” he mumbles. “What is that smell?”
“Probably the sulfur.”
The telltale signs of a possession are splattered everywhere. Ectoplasm dripping down the walls, a salt line as thick as my arm guarding the door, and the fragrant scent of rotten eggs hanging heavy in the air.
“They must’ve botched the exorcism,” Dred says dryly. “The whole building is possessed.”
I nod, watching the old till behind the counter open and slide shut repeatedly, the little chime of a successful sale ringing over and over.
“Can you see it?” I ask. “In the shadows?”
Dred shrugs.
“Not really. It’s too mangled. Probably the old shopkeeper, though, if I had to guess. Wouldn’t be the first time someone couldn’t let go of their livelihood.”
That would make sense. Given the eerie groaning coming from the far right corner, whatever is in here is in pain. But it doesn’t seem corporeal enough to do much more than open and close the drawer, so we should be fine.
