There are only six territories, and countless creatures would kill to run one. Considering many of us are damn near immortal, there are not many chances for leadership transfers, so news of Harlow’s disappearance will travel far and fast.
The farther west we travel and the closer we get to our destination, the more swampy forests start to give way to sloping hills. It would take more than a couple of hours to reach the mountains that separate us from the Black Hearts’ territory, but the elevation shift is clear.
After twenty more miles, Lore slows her bike. We still have several miles before we’ll reach Sacred City, but I follow her lead and slow.
While we’ve passed plenty of cities and other travelers on our short journey here, the remaining miles are empty. I’ve only been here once, and even then, I didn’t venture beyond the gates and into the city of the dead.
Up ahead, a single sign comes into view. “Sacred City” is etched into the pristine white stone, announcing the turnoff. Lore glides her bike into the turn and heads down the tree canopied lane to the entrance.
The arch looks like every imaginary picture of the pearly gates. There’s no Saint Peter blocking the entrance though, just an eerie air of sorrow that blankets the place that’s so thick, you wouldn’t even need to sense emotions the way I do to feel it.
When Lore’s feet touch the ground, I stop my bike and cut off the engine. I may not have entered with her father out of respect for his grief, but I can’t give her the same honor. Not when I don’t know what she’s walking into.
She looks over her shoulder, and I wonder if she’s even been aware I’ve been her shadow this entire time. Her face is blank, but it’s at complete odds with everything she’s feeling.
Lust is always the strongest emotion I sense, but picking up on the others is as natural as breathing. Her gaze is flat, but I’m not fooled—she feels something when she looks at me, even if she’s not ready to acknowledge it yet.
She sweeps her gaze from me and kicks down the stand of her bike, so I follow suit. “I haven’t been here in a while,” she says, as if it’s a confession of wrongdoing.
I’m not sure what’s the right thing to say, so I keep my mouth shut. I find that works more often than not in these situations. I don’t think she would like to hear how I’ll visit my father’s grave as often as I can, if only to piss on his body, after the fucking bastard dies.
“You good to go in?” Lore studies my profile while approaching the gates. The grounds are blessed, just like the church she lives in. If I were still an agent of Hell, I wouldn’t be able to accompany her, but now I’m just another damned soul, and that makes me like half the people of this world.
“Are you worried I might burn?” My voice is unintentionally deep. My body is reacting to the desire, even though it’s my own.
“Worried might not be the right word.” She keeps her eyes focused in front of us.
“Concerned then,” I offer.
“Concerned your big ass might ignite the whole place if you spark up with holy fire.” She passes easily through the gate. I pause for just a second as she looks over her shoulder. Her eyes scan me from head to toe, and my dick twitches at the attention. Lore pivots as I inch closer. I like the way her eyes are alert and assessing as she watches me, as if she really thinks something might happen to me.
“I’m good,” I say as soon as my boot lands on the hallowed ground, reassuring her, even if she swears she wasn’t looking for it.
Lore
There’sa chill in the air, which I would normally welcome, but this biting breeze is different. It’s as if the sun hasn’t yet touched all the cool stone and it’s generating its own frosty air. More likely, it’s the dead creating the bitter temperature, or maybe it’s all in my head.
Modeus is at my side, so close our arms occasionally bump as we amble through all the crypts and graves. I’m doing a good job pretending my first thought after realizing he could enter the consecrated grounds wasn’t that he would be able to do the same in my home or my bed. You’d think losing his ties to Hell would dampen some of the effects of his powers, but if it has, I would have hated to run into him when he was more potent.
The first stone gargoyle I spot looks to be standing sentinel over the congregation of tombs, guarding his people as he would have in life. He’s crouched low, poised to either take flight with his wings stretched out behind him or strike. His maw is wide, displaying rows of shark-like teeth and a forked tongue. I lower my eyes in respect as I pass under the shadow of his wings.
My mother’s tomb is elevated on a hill and made of the most beautiful amazonite granite, making it easy to spot. I search the area near her resting place, praying I won’t find a new statue among the marble.
As I reach the door of the vault, Modeus hangs back, giving me the space he hasn’t offered as of yet on the journey here. His presence has been both unnerving and reassuring, which is pretty fucked up.
Knowing I’m not alone in my pursuit and that Harlow trusted him could explain the reassurance, so that’s what I’m choosing to believe, instead of examining the shit going on in my head.
The ornate metal door swings open on soundless hinges, revealing stairs that descend into the darkness. I stuff my hands into my pockets, tightening my jacket over my stomach to ward off the chill that seems to have seeped into my bones while I plunge into the crypt.
I keep my eyes on my feet, pretending it’s important to watch my steps, but really, I’m afraid of what I’ll find when I reach the bottom of the stairs. When I run out of excuses, I look up, and a huff of warm air leaves my lungs, sending a misty fog out into the room.
My mother’s effigy is still in the center of the floor. She’s crouched demurely—if you could use that word to describe a fearsome creature turned into stone—her wings are partially unfurled, and her head is lifted in pride. She looks powerful yet impeded, but that’s how I’ve always known her.
Most importantly, she’s alone. This place is as empty as it’s always felt. There’s a tiny sense of relief, but it’s short-lived. Harlow might not be here, allowing himself to waste away, but he is still missing.
I slowly walk around the room, trying to find that connection that Harlow must have had with this place, with her, that made him continue to come here, but there’s nothing.
Modeus’ silhouette is in the doorway, as if he’s been holding himself back from entering. “We good?” he questions before I’m even up the stairs.
