Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 148397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 742(@200wpm)___ 594(@250wpm)___ 495(@300wpm)
Peter gave me an understanding grimace. “It’s full of tools. Vials. Siphons. Goblets…that kinda thing. Victor doesn’t keep the Blade of Beauty down here, but he does keep other knives.”
“You planning on stabbing a Master now?” Rachel rolled her eyes as we both stumbled with Peter between us. We deposited him on the pew he’d requested.
My spine protested as we set him down and backed up.
“If it comes down to it. Yes.” Peter nodded and placed his ruined hands upright on his lap. “Now, hurry. Take whatever weapon you find. I want to be out of here in sixty seconds.”
“Gotcha.” The Chinese guy strode forward and reached for the chest.
I expected it to be locked.
It wasn’t.
Flipping it up, he stumbled back and raked a hand through glossy black hair. “Man, this just keeps getting worse.”
Peter stood and hobbled toward him. He didn’t get far before he fell face first against the altar and clung to it. The image of him touching that rust-stained stone threatened to make me sick.
“Ignore the canopic jars, Caishen,” Peter muttered.
“The what jars?” Rachel spun around from where she rummaged through open shelving where black-wax candles and huge gemstones glittered.
If those gems were real, the size of the sapphire alone would be enough to buy a house in expensive London suburbs.
Needing to do something, I headed toward the large intricately carved cupboard to the left. The design looked like entwined souls imploring the heavens to save them, all while shadowy things tried to pull them down.
“The Egyptians used to use them,” Peter groaned. “To hold organs in the mummification process.”
Caishen ripped his hands away. “Cào nǐ mā.”
Peter actually chuckled, as if anything was amusing at this point. “I had a friend from Canton. Doesn’t that mean ‘fuck my mother’?”
Caishen shot him a smirk. “Not your mother, obviously. His mother. Fucking Vile Vic’s.”
“Ah. Well yes, she’s partly to blame for birthing him.” Peter pressed his forehead against the altar. He breathed heavily; all signs of mirth gone. “I promise there’s nothing inside the jars anymore. Just grab the knives and—”
“Was there something in them before?” Rachel asked. “Are you telling me they cut out our organs as well as drink our blood, Pete?”
Peter didn’t reply.
Instead, his gaze shot to me as I yanked open the cupboard. “Ily, don’t—!”
Too late.
Oh God, what—
I tripped backward, rolled my ankle against a small stalagmite, and fell painfully on my ass.
Oh God.
Oh God.
Oh God!
Just like my heart stopped beating, my soul threatened to fly free and abandon me.
“Close it!” Peter snarled with energy I hadn’t heard in a while. “Close the fucking doors, Ilyana!”
Scrambling to my feet, I couldn’t tear my gaze off empty sockets where eyes used to be.
Skulls.
So many, many skulls.
All stacked neatly side by side, bleached white and dust-free, rows upon rows upon—
The doors slammed closed. Caishen stood with his back to it. “Time to run, don’t you agree?”
I tried to swallow.
To nod.
The cave spun.
My lungs burned.
Peter broke my rising panic attack—or added to it—by whispering, “Now you know why I was so adamant about finding that Diamond Kiss chit.” Hobbling toward me, he tucked me under his sick-sweaty wing. “At least none of the Masters have come forward with it. If any of them had found it, they would’ve said something by now.” Kissing my temple, he breathed, “It’s okay, jaanu. We’ll get them out. You convinced me to try. Don’t give up on us now.”
Spinning in his hold, I flung my arms around his slim waist, not caring I smeared his streaky bullseye all over my own. “How the hell have you survived this long, Paavak? It’s bad enough being a jewel and putting up with the nightmares in that castle. But this?” Pulling away, I studied his tortured black stare. “Watching this? Seeing what they do? Cleaning up what they’ve done?” I couldn’t hold back the tears. “Please, please tell me you don’t have to…they don’t make you—”
“Cut the heads off?” He winced. “No. I just have to gather the parts, toss away the bits he doesn’t want, and preserve the pieces he does. Acid does most of the work.”
And that was my limit.
Breaking out of his embrace, I vomited.
A pitiful little pile of dismay and disgrace as the reality of Peter’s life slapped me stupid.
Five years.
Five years, he’d not only endured but done things that would forever haunt him.
How wasn’t he catatonic?
How was he still sane?
Peter went to hold back my hair but cursed under his breath as his bleeding hands stuck to my strands. “We’ve got to go, Ily. I don’t mean to belittle your reaction, but…save the throwing up till tomorrow, okay?”
Caishen planted a hand on Peter’s shoulder. “I’ve always respected you, even if you pissed me off for being such a stickler for the rules. I’m sorry for every mean thought I ever had that you got preferential treatment for being our little leader.”