As Beau, Lyria, and Victor talk over one another, mostly calling out the improbability of Grimm’s return, Sylas’s eyes study me. He walks over and stops next to the table, glances at my rough drawing, and sighs. He steps past me and pauses in front of the tall windows, looking outside, with his hands in his pockets.
“We know the puppeteer wants my relic,” I say calmly, bringing them back to the plan. The sooner we stitch their bodies, the sooner I can leave. “They may have a tracker, so they’ll know where I am.” The moment I say this, I think of Olivia’s arm, riddled with claw marks. My throat closes, thinking of stepping outside of Gorhail’s walls again. The last time, Mara ripped my body to shreds.
The room falls silent, and Beau, Lyria, and Victor meet my eyes.
“Victor, how long will it take to bring you back?” I ask.
“How long does it take you to weave?” He glides back to the fireplace.
I return a puzzled look. “I’ve never…”
“Victor,” Lyria chastises, glaring at Victor as he waves his hand through the fire again, the crackling sound more of an annoyance now. “Resurrection is part of the blood arts and strictly forbidden. Besides, she isn’t a Firstline Mortemagi, so she isn’t even allowed to practice thread magic. I would love to have Beau back, but not at the expense of Viola’s execution.”
Execution. I haven’t come this far to die. “Didn’t I practice thread magic in the catacombs?” I ask.
Lyria sighs. “Yes, but that was nothing. You were using the magic of the catacombs; it hardly counts. Ghost materialization isn’t illegal, is it?” She looks at Beau in question.
“No,” he says, glowering at Victor. “But non Firstline Mortemagi shouldn’t practice any form of thread magic for their own safety, let alone stitching a ghost back to their body. And if Lyria hasn’t mentioned it yet,resurrection, puppeteering, and summoning the undead are all forms of the blood arts… if DOTS catches you using any of these, it will execute you upon capture.”
“Stop fearmongering.” Victor pulls his hands out of the fire and glances at the low wooden table separating the two sofas. “This is a simple resurrection and doesn’t require the blood arts,” he explains. “She already has our materialized ghosts, so she’ll merely be using the magic from her cuff to stitch our bodies with our ghosts. Complex resurrections are the only ones that use the blood arts. They require raising someone from the Underworld and ancient magic that most Mortemagi don’t learn.”
“You never mentioned anything about resurrections or even materialized ghosts before.” Beau gets up, narrowing his eyes at Victor. “Whatare you plotting?”
Victor rolls his eyes, then looks up at Beau. “We’re dead, and Olivia, my longtime friend, met an atrocious end that wasn’t meant for her.” He pauses, glancing toward me. “Sorry.”
Then he continues, “Gods forbid I’m in a hurry to get my body back so I can investigate our deaths properly, starting with whoever paid me to help Olivia keep up her facade.”
Whoever was paying Victor to keep up with Olivia’s lies knew she didn’t have magic. I thought only she and I were in on the lie. Clearly, I was wrong, and Olivia had more secrets than she cared to share. I hope this person can shed some light on Olivia’s mysterious life.
Sylas clears his throat, his back still facing me. “Enough. Are we bringing Beau’s and Victor’s bodies back, or are we going to sit here and bicker like children? The longer we wait, the more we risk not having bodies to return to—”
Victor nods. “I have less than a day before decomposition begins, and Beau… I don’t know how much venom your aspier injected in your blood.”
“About a day left for me,” Beau replies. “Silver released about the same amount I sold to you.”
Sylas is right. Victor has been dead a week and Beau six days. If aspier venom only lasts a week, there’s a chance Victor’s body has begun to decompose. We don’t have any more time to waste.
I tap the pen on the rough sketch of Dearly Departed. “I’ll go in as bait. Lyria can wheel the bodies out while Mara is distracted with me, andonce they’re out, Sylas can handle Mara while I stitch the bodies together. The puppeteer shouldn’t be far, so as soon as Beau and Victor regain their bodies, we can search for them, and we’ll finally find who killed you and Olivia.”
“I’ve always wanted to visit a cold room.” Lyria shoots up from her seat.
“You’re not coming,” Sylas clips, then turns around and stalks over to me. I straighten up, suddenly aware that we’re only separated by the width of the table. “It’s not up for debate.” He rests his hands on the desk and tilts his head toward his siblings.
Beau clears his throat. “What he means—”
“Are you his translator?” Lyria glares at him.
“I meant what I said; out there, I’m a patrol leader, and you’re not field certified, so I’m not risking your life… again,” Sylas says, defying her. “Besides, I need you to go to Paltro’s office. Inform him of everything we’ve found out. If Gryff noticed something was amiss within DOTS, I’m sure Paltro’s already aware of what’s at stake.”
Lyria pauses for a second, her stare drilling into her brother. She walks around the sofa, picks up her sweater, curses the Gods, then slams the door on her way out.
“Was that really necessary?” Beau throws his hands in the air.
“You’re dead.” Sylas levels his brother’s stare. “Need I say more?”
An awkward silence stretches between them, until I wave my makeshift map. “I’ll go through the main entrance. If Mara’s there, Sylas, will you—”
“No.” Sylas turns his attention back to me. Without leaving my eyes, he pulls out a chair and lets himself drop in the seat, his long legs thrown over the arm, his face an endless map of frustration and exasperation. He pulls my cuff from his pocket, studying the filigree.