Relic and Ruin Read online

  Click. Click. Click.

  She pressed herself against the wall and edged closer.

  Click. Click. Click.

  The edge of the wall was at least four feet away. She needed to get closer. She put the safety back on and shoved the gun into its holster before opening a worn leather pouch hanging from the side of her belt. It bore the golden stitching of her aunt Maura, one of the family Seers. Inside were numerous charms and protectors, amplifiers and warding items—things like wolfsbane or peacock iris set in amber to protect—gems of every color to help amplify one’s strength and power. Ancient bits of jewelry to bring luck.

  Nyx dug through the contents, looking for one item in particular.

  Black pearl? No.

  Tiger’s tooth? No.

  Dragon’s eye? Yes.

  From the bag, she pulled a small, spherical, cloudy, jade-colored gem. The dragon’s eye, according to Maura, was to “See shit you can’t see on your own.”

  Crouching, she rolled the gem across the concrete floor. It came to an abrupt stop in the shadow of the butcher’s table. Her vision flickered. From its position, the eye allowed her to see the space on the other side of the wall. Directly across from the table, an iron sliding door was set in the wall. It was slightly ajar.

  Beyond it, she could hear more click, click, clicking—someone, or something, was on the other side.

  She blinked and her vision returned to normal. Crouching down and holding her hand to the ground, she watched the eye roll back obediently. Nyx dropped it back into the pouch and, grabbing her gun again, crept around the corner. She flattened herself against the wall, pistol to her cheek.

  Three more steps.

  Click.

  One.

  Click.

  Two.

  . . .

  THREE.

  Just as she was about to hook her foot around the door and slide it open, it slid back, and Nyx came face to face with the source of the noise—a boy.

  The ruby flared brighter than ever, practically searing her skin.

  She had her gun level and cocked in milliseconds. It was then she realized that he, too, had his gun ready.

  The boy looked just as startled as she felt. “Watch yourself,” he warned.

  She stared at him, confused. Detectors only ever gave off warnings when something supernatural was around. While some hunters had theirs specialized to detect other forms of prey, Nyx’s was tuned to seek zombies and Inbetweeners made from dark necromantic magic—the bad things for which a Necromancer was responsible.

  When a Necromancer performed a raise, it was never perfect.

  They might be able to call a soul back from the Other Side, but they could never fully restore a body and mind as it once was. They simply placed the soul back into a rotting body—they restored life, nothing more.

  This boy wasn’t dead. He wasn’t decaying or falling apart or something intangible. He wasn’t throwing shit at her. He wasn’t screaming so high and loud her ears bled. He wasn’t trying to eat her or project himself into her body. No orange eyes, no fangs, no tail, no demon’s wings.

  A perfectly normal-looking human. Tall, dark-auburn hair, a pair of heavy eyebrows set disapprovingly above two peculiar eyes—rich, lapis lazuli blue, spotted with gold. He wore a long black trench coat, its hem dusty and starting to fray. The legs of his jeans were covered with straps and holsters sporting blades.

  “What are you doing here?” he said, pulling back to look at her.

  “What are you doing here?” she shot back. Neither of them moved. His jaw twitched as if resisting the urge to smile. “What’s your name?”

  There was a long pause. “Erebus,” he answered suspiciously.

  “Are you seri—that’s actually your name?”

  “No, I just said so for the fun of it.”

  The ruby on her chest grew warm but didn’t light. A whisper then. A name.

  Eros.

  Nyx gripped her gun tighter. The boy looked off to one side, having heard the same thing. He looked clouded, confused.

  “What?” Nyx asked. “Eros? Is that your name?”

  He looked at her darkly. “No, I told you, it’s Erebus.” He tightened the grip on his gun. “Who are you?”

  “Nyx,” she replied.

  “Well, Nyx, you need to leave.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He shoved the gun back in its holster. “Can you please vacate the premises immediately. Like, right now,” he said politely, looking straight at her. He turned back into the cold room he’d come from.

  Past him, Nyx could see a large metal barrel with several other guns sitting on it—the clicks were magazines being loaded. He finished the last few. A duffel bag on the floor next to the barrel was filled with gleaming, silver items.

  “What are you doing down here?” She lowered her gun.

  The boy continued as if she hadn’t said a word. “You need to be out of here by nine,” he said bluntly. “It’s currently eight fifty. I suggest you run.”

  Annoyance bubbled up inside of her. Nyx pointed her gun at him again. “I’m not going anywhere, and if you’re not going to move your ass then you might as well tell me who you are, what you are, and what the hell you’re doing here.”

  He checked his watch again. “Look, it’s now eight fifty-one—”

  “So I guess that only leaves you nine minutes.”

  He looked at her. “No.”

  Her pendant flared again, although he didn’t notice. Nyx leveled the pistol at his head.

  “Look,” he said, stepping toward her, “I don’t need some trigger-happy kid running around here while I’m trying to do my job.”

  “Your job? I was called—”

  “I don’t know what kind of costume party or whatever it is that you’re dressed up for,” he continued, “but I assure you, it’s not here, so you might as well leave.”

  “What? I—”

  “Please, just leave.” He sighed.

  “You know what?” she snarled. “Make me.”

  In a flash, his hand was at her neck. He tightened his grip, looking for a pressure point. Nyx’s pulse raged. Time slowed.

  Erebus’s eyes widened suddenly, glimpsing the orange of hers.

  Something only found in her kind.

  Necromancer.

  He sighed again. “Ah fuck.”

  He loosened his grip enough that she was able to flip the gun over in her hand and bring it down on his skull. Erebus dropped to the ground.

  “Asshole,” she said, hooking her hands under his arms and dragging him back into the freezer. The small box of a room could hardly hold him.

  He needed to be out of the way when her family finally found what they were looking for. And Nyx didn’t need her mother killing some random boy because her detector lit up.

  She eyed a duffel bag atop one of the barrels. Inside, there were boxes of bullets, extra guns, knives, and a dirty cloth. She tipped the contents out onto the barrel’s top, scrunched the bag in her hands, and lifted Erebus’s head, sliding the bag beneath it as a pillow.

  She stood again, wiping her hands on her jeans. A quiet alarm sounded. She scanned the room, spotting a watch and a piece of paper atop the barrel.

  The watch read 8:59. The paper, worn, fold lines brown and dirty, read:

  - Killed five girls.

  - Girls hung up out front.

  - Sanderson’s Amusement Park.

  - Strong enough to power entire park.

  - CANNOT be killed by a bullet. Can only be killed by a blade made of Starbone Metal.

  - Every night at 9:00 p.m. enters meat room, where girls are disfigured before being killed.

  - Extremely dangerous.

  - BEWARE the trickster with emerald eyes.

  Be careful, Erebus ~ M

  In a few seconds, Nyx became sure of three things:

  1. Erebus obviously was a hunter, sent here by someone to slay the creature at the park.

  2. Starbone Metal was another
name for Reaper Iron. Which meant Erebus was able to handle the iron. Which meant . . . what exactly? If he was a Reaper her detector would have let her know, as it would have had he been a Necromancer. A human would have burned up the second they touched a weapon made of Reaper Iron.

  3. If the being that powered the park came to this room every night at nine, then . . .

  Nyx quickly turned and shut the sliding door. That’s when she heard them—footsteps, echoing above. Moving toward the stairs.

  Can only be killed by a blade made of Starbone Metal.

  “Get my mother here now,” Nyx whispered to the detector, which was finally flashing green.

  The sliding door didn’t close all the way, so she put her eye up to the crack and peered into the other room, waiting for the creature to enter her view. The lighting made it impossible to make out anything but a silhouette: tall, wide, hunched over.

  It trudged toward the large butcher’s table in the center of the room, dragging someone behind it by the ankles.

  There was a bang as the creature hauled the limp body up and onto the metal table—a lifeless, hollow sound. Then it sauntered over to the power box embedded in one of the walls. With a bang of its fist, the lights flickered and grew bright.

  Nyx finally saw what they were up against.

  The creature wore a full-body costume: ruffled neckline and cuffs, pom-poms down the front—white with multicolored polka dots—big white clown boots and white gloves, and a dirty, frizzy yellow wig. Its face was painted a shocking white, with small pink circles smudged on both cheeks and small lines drawn above and below both eyes. Its mouth, completely black and filled with razor-sharp teeth, stretched into a wide grin.

  Like the ones he cut.

  All this white—the suit, the boots, the gloves, its chin—was stained red.

  The person on the table—a young girl—stirred as the clown turned toward her. Duct tape covered her mouth and bound her wrists, knees, feet. She wore a white blouse with an emblem on the left breast and a blue pleated skirt. A school uniform.

  Nyx shoved the pistol into its holster and drew her scythe. The blade was made from pure Reaper Iron—the only kind of metal that could harm Inbetweeners.

  The girl was fully awake now, panicking, trying to scream through the tape over her mouth while tears ran down her face. Overhead, Nyx heard faint footsteps—her parents were in the storeroom above, being careful not to make too much noise. The emerald bracelet around her mother’s wrist would lead her down here.

  While the Inbetweener sorted through a tray of utensils next to the butcher’s table, Nyx silently opened the iron door and squeezed out, sliding it closed behind her. She moved carefully around the room, keeping to the shadows, making sure the creature’s back was to her at all times.

  It didn’t see her.

  But the girl did.

  She screamed louder, staring at Nyx with teary, urgent eyes.

  Nyx held a finger to her lips; the girl nodded and quieted. The clown faced her again, a long scalpel in his hand, bronze eyes full of sadism.

  Nyx slipped behind one of the cement columns. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her mother enter with long, twin daggers in hand. The blades were slim, wavy, made of Reaper Iron and with handles of polished rosewood. Her father was next, and he brandished an enormous sword. The blade was made of a rare type of Starbone Metal—thick and black, shaped like a ridged bovine horn. Nyx’s mother came around behind her while her father rounded the opposite side of the room, moving toward the table.

  From where she stood, Nyx could see the clown’s partial transparency—definitely unnatural. It glared down at the girl, showing its full, sharp-toothed, black-lipped smile.

  With a single curt nod to Nyx and her mother, Nyx’s father moved toward the center of the room. The girl kept her eyes trained on Nyx’s father as he rose up behind the Inbetweener.

  Her father lifted his blade as the clown swung around with a frightful hiss, then brought the sword down swiftly, attempting to bury its tip in the creature’s chest. But the clown swung wildly, knocking the sword off course. A hollow scream resounded as the blade slashed the Inbetweener’s hip. The clown lunged forward, snarling, knocking Nyx’s father to the ground.

  “Help the girl!” her father yelled through the commotion.

  Nyx ran to the table and ripped the tape from the girl’s face.

  She sobbed loudly, and Nyx began unwinding the tape around her wrists while her mother worked on the girl’s ankles. Nyx noticed then she was shaking but no longer crying. The sound had changed. The girl was shaking with laughter.

  Hysterical laughter.

  Nyx’s mother met her gaze, both of them confused.

  The girl continued to laugh, her entire face reddening. Nyx thought she might pass out. She gripped the sides of the metal table—it screeched as it bent in her hands.

  “Nyx,” her mother said, slowly backing away from the table.

  The girl opened her eyes. They were brilliant emerald.

  “Fools,” she gasped.

  BEWARE the trickster with emerald eyes.

  It was a trap.

  The girl stopped laughing, the corners of her mouth pulling down as if being yanked by invisible hooks. Nyx backed away as the girl swung her legs over the table. Her skin bubbled and boiled, turning from fair to lava—orange and yellow and red, radiating heat. Her red hair singed away, as did her nose and ears. She grinned at them, showing off her full set of long, white, razor-sharp teeth.

  “You Laheys are a real embarrassment to your kind. You know that, don’t you?” The girl took long strides toward them, pretending to inspect nails she no longer had. “You will no longer slaughter your own kind; you will no longer stand in our way.”

  Her voice seemed to echo within itself. “We will wash over the earth like a plague until there is nothing left of the Reapers you think yourselves to be. You have betrayed your kind. We are going to rise with the great Young God as our leader.”

  Before Nyx could absorb her words, the creature closed the space between them. There was a loud crack, and her mother was thrown across the room, smashing into the cement wall there.

  The creature spun and faced Nyx, but Nyx moved just as fast, slashing down with her scythe and carving a deep groove in the girl’s chest from which thick liquid, black and bubbling, poured.

  Steam rose from the wound.

  Reaper Iron working its magic.

  The girl growled at her, eyes fierce. She lunged, slapping the scythe from Nyx’s hands and sending it skittering across the floor.

  Nyx had two seconds to grab the knives strapped to her legs and brace herself before the girl came crashing down on top of her.

  Burns, cuts, bruised heads, bites, knees to the stomach, and elbows to the face. In the chaos of it all, the girl froze. When Nyx was able to focus her eyes again, she noticed one of her daggers buried up to the hilt in the side of the girl’s neck. Nyx tore it out again and black, gooey blood burst from the puncture. Nyx kicked her away but the girl’s blood was already running—and burning—down Nyx’s arm.

  The girl lay on the ground, squirming, hands to her neck. Nyx could see the wound healing. She needed to completely take her out and focus on the Inbetweener—what they had actually come for. She needed to take away the source of her—of anyone’s—power: the brain.

  As Nyx scanned the room for her mother, the girl began to rise.

  Nyx’s mother was still limp and unconscious on the floor—she wasn’t going to be much help. Then Nyx saw it: the staff of her scythe, on the floor some thirty feet away. But the girl was already sprinting toward it.

  Scrambling to her knees, Nyx darted for it too. The girl made a sound somewhere between a wail and a laugh, her claws scraping the rubber soles of Nyx’s boots as she skidded, catching the scythe in her hands. Nyx turned and slashed at the air.

  A lifeless head, spurting black blood, landed at her knees. She looked up just in time to see the girl’s headless body slump ov
er in front of her. Blood pooled around Nyx, burning into her jeans.

  Nyx blinked and the girl’s remains burst into ash.

  Getting to her feet again, Nyx’s attention quickly turned to the snarling to her left. Her father was standing over the Inbetweener as it lay on the ground.

  “Who sent you here?” Her father spat, panting heavily, blood dripping from his brow.

  The creature tried to wriggle free on broken legs and arms, hissing and growling like a feral animal.

  Her father brought down his blade and buried it deep in the Inbetweener’s chest with a crack. All that remained after he pulled the sword from its body was a pile of wet, decaying leaves and party streamers.

  They stood for a moment, finally able to catch their breath.

  As the pile of streamers dissipated, Nyx’s mother stirred in the background. They turned to see her slowly hoisting herself up.

  Most of her black hair had escaped its tie and fell around her in a voluptuous cloud. A nasty bruise was forming on the side of her head, and her eye had begun to blacken.

  “Geez, honey,” she said to Nyx’s father as he rushed over to her.

  She held her head and scanned the room, confused. “Did you take a wrong turn or something while I was asleep? How far off are we?”

  Nyx’s father looked at her. She shrugged.

  “From where, Mae?”

  Mae looked at him incredulously. “Vegas, Christophe. Vegas.

  Did you—are we lost? Nyx, are we lost right now?”

  She had obviously taken a bigger hit than they thought. Nyx tried not to laugh.

  “Okay, honey,” Chris said, taking her arm. “Let’s just get you in the car and take you home, hey?” As they walked to the stairs, he leaned over to Nyx and whispered, “I’ll take your mother to the car. Make sure we didn’t leave anything behind.”

  Nyx nodded and resheathed her scythe. As soon as her parents were out of earshot, she bolted for the heavy door to the freezer and slid it open.

  Erebus was gone, as was his weaponry.

  “Shit,” she breathed, walking to the center of the room, searching for any clue as to how he could have just disappeared.

  She checked every shelf, knocked the walls with her fist.