Page 40 of The Duplicity of Thieves

“Oh my gosh, I almost forgot. Fiona dropped this off the other day. I didn’t open it until this morning. It had my name on it, but inside it had been addressed to you. I figure it’s from Staff. You two do weird shit like this.” Vivian digs through her purse until she pulls out a small ivory envelope.

I take it hungrily. Maybe my exile is over.

We spend the rest of our brunch discussing wedding plans until my ears bleed. The only thing I can think about is the letter in my pocket.

It’s been a week since I’ve gotten Stafford’s letter, and I still can't figure it out. Inside was a ticket with black with gold embellished script, something about an exhibit on artifacts from Tartarus.

I don’t know a lot about the place. The Remnant believe that if you go too close to the Pit it will suck down your soul and feed it to the monsters that once roamed the Underworld, but no one knows where it is except for Hades. Allegedly, he fed the Titans to it, but even I have my doubts. It’s just another story meant to scare people into submission.

I read the note on the back of the ticket to the museum again.

Since you’re an artist.

I’m not artsy even though we joke about it, but it feels kind of like a weird stab. I could swear Stafford was just trying to keep me busy and be funny. I’m not laughing. I flip the ticket around again and study it for the millionth time. This asshole is somehow making fun of me, and sending me on some weird tour of fake history. Artist? What an asshole. I want to go and punch him in the face.

I’m mad, but for all the wrong reasons. I kind of miss Stafford and everyone else. I miss work. I even miss the disgusting bathroom stalls. Without those things, I don’t have a purpose, and it’s hard not to have a pity party when you have nothing better to do. Worst of all, Aedon is dominating my thoughts.

Without a distraction, I think about the secret duffel bag in the back of my closet. Once we made it here and rented the apartment, Vivian and I only had the bags we had packed as we escaped. Well, Vivian packed hers, but Killian had packed mine.

There were some clothes of mine he had pulled from my floor and a few toiletries, but there had been a wad of his shirts he had shoved in there as well. Part of me wondered if he thought he might join us someday. The notion made me so sad that I had only gotten my things out, zipped it up, and buried it at the back of my closet like a time capsule.

I shove the intrusive thoughts away and focus back on the message, but it doesn’t take long for me to get pissed at the audacity. Drinking sounds like a better idea. I grab my last bottle and drink it as fast as I can. I try to read a book, but it doesn’t quiet my mind. Then I try to listen to music, and that doesn’t do anything either. In fact, it makes it worse.

I start to think about the night we lost everything. Playing through each moment. I can picture Killian: Dark vermilion hair and a lopsided grin with his fiery eyes and dusting of freckles. I can’t exist without you. I’m in love with you.

Guess he couldn’t exist with me either. I start to laugh again, but quickly remember how that ended up last time. The way the earth cracked beneath me. The way the river of blood flamed to life and set the house on fire. Vivian begging for me to stop while hot tears blinded me along with my heartbroken rage. It’s why I don’t laugh much anymore. I check for the darkness, but it’s nowhere to be found.

After I had collapsed, I wasn’t out for long. I grabbed Vivian, and we didn’t look back again. She somehow has stopped running, but I’m still moving forward trying to outrun it. I’ve never had another outbreak like that. Still, I’ve always been afraid it would happen again. That I would somehow lose control of something I wasn’t even certain of in the first place.

Vivian had asked if my hesitation with Aedon was about Killian. I don’t believe it is. They’re completely unrelated, aren’t they? It’s just the one impulse I haven’t allowed. I’ve never been into relationships. I wouldn’t know where to start. Regardless, Killian has been taking up space in my closet, and I need to get rid of him.

In my drunken state, I run to my room and start to tear apart my tiny nook, tossing the clothes until I feel the material of the old canvas duffel in my fingers. With a yank it gives way, and I tumble backwards with it. Now that it’s out, I handle it with care. I should send his things with a sweet goodbye, not a fit of rage.

I gingerly guide the zipper to open the bag. In the darkness of the room, I can make out the wad of shirts. I untangle one and sniff it, the smell of tobacco and summer filling my nostrils.

Tears sting my eyes and I yank the shirts out furiously. There’s a thud when they unravel, and I stop. There was something wrapped inside of them. There has to be. I turn the bag upside down and something falls out. I flip the light on and look.

A large book. The cover is made of some sort of hide and the binding is sewn with thick twine. It’s heavy, making me grunt when I pick it up. I try to open it, but it doesn’t budge so I inspect it.

There’s a mechanism on the front, but it’s missing something. The spine is emblazoned with leaves and branches. I flip it on the side, and it looks like the pages are made of papyrus, but it doesn’t open like a normal book. It’s as if someone glued all the pages together, and then glued them to the covers for good measure. Three large locks with strange symbols and no hole for a key are shackled on the side.

Whoever made this didn’t want anyone to get in without permission. I huff and flip it to the back. My stomach twists at the sight of the glowing gold symbols seared into the back cover. They match the ones on my body. A phantom burn radiates through every space the scars adorn my skin. I drop the book in shock, and it clatters on the floor. I swear it shivers for a second before settling.

I’m drunk and delusional. I’ve been alone with my mind for too long. I’m hallucinating. But there is another possibility. This could be reality. It’s possible Killian didn’t leave me in the dark. He had said he wanted to tell me everything. He was the one who packed my bag before sacrificing himself.

This could be the book everyone is looking for.

I pick it back up and try to yank it apart just to catch a glimpse of a page, but it’s sealed shut. I take it into the kitchen, and it thuds when I drop it on the table. Grabbing a knife, I try to pry one of the locks to no avail. With a frustrated scream I pound on the book with my fist, but it still doesn’t give. I take some deep breaths to calm myself and study the details. I’m not sure what to do with the discovery, but I feel massively overwhelmed.

I could tell Stafford. He did ask me about it, but he also said that these people were dangerous. What was he going to do with the book when he found it? For now, no one knows who is in possession of it. Kate’s Grimoire. I carefully tuck it back into the duffel and stow it away. I need time to sober up before I figure out what to do.

Tartarus, the Pit, or Hell. Any way you paint it, it’s still a bad place. At least that’s what they say. Kate had crazy opinions, but she never gave many details. She would just give me a sly grin and mutter something in Mondurian. This proves she was an elusive woman. I admire her more now than I ever thought I could, even if I hate her. This book has the same symbols as my skin and that can’t be a coincidence. Secrets, indeed.

I pick up the ticket Stafford sent me from where I tossed it onto the old raggy carpet. It’s possible he wasn’t being a jerk. Maybe he is trying to give me a mercy job because he knows I’m going fucking crazy. Maybe there’s something here that will offer answers he doesn’t even know I need. The only way I’ll know is if I go and see it myself.

Chapter nine

Aedonaeus

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