Page 132 of Monstrous Travels as Wicked as Sin

And after all, Molly had plenty to do elsewhere in the house. Specifically, in the basement.

The work of the mass resurrection took unrelenting energy and labour, and it took magic.Bloodmagic. And one of the reasons it took months to complete was the need to wait for the supply of blood to be replenished. Daily. For there is only so much blood one man can make in a day. Even strapped into a chair with intravenous fluids being pumped into his veins. And Cleo’s husband, Prince of Jordan, was no exception to this rule.

Percy and Joe had abducted him, then brought him into the basement under cover of darkness, two days before Cleo was due to return to the house. They soundproofed the area and sealed it. Cleo was never told he was there. All she did know was that she suddenly had unfettered access to any money she requested from her lawyers, and not the slightest interruption to her freedom. No phone calls came from her husband. No instructions for her to do this or that. If she suspected anything was amiss, she never said a word. Nor did Percy. Nor Joe. Nor Molly. Letters were written and official documents were signedby the prince, and all the rest of the world thought only that he had taken a long holiday.

When he finally returned to the public eye, months later, all who knew him remarked how changed he was. They were surprised when he quickly granted the divorce Cleo had been seeking for years. Even more surprised when he gave her an enormous parting settlement. But nothing astounded them more than when he suddenly declared his undying love for a mysterious French gentleman, some thirty years his senior. The court hushed the scandal up as best they could, and when the prince disappeared to live his years out with said gentleman, it was thought best to let the fifth in line to the throne fade into obscurity.

A close observer might have noticed the string of murders—namely those of objectively unpleasant men—that seemed to follow the couple wherever they went. Happily, no one was observing them that closely.

The time of the prince’s disappearance was around the time a woman called Anaïs became Percy’s new personal assistant in Paris, which was around the time Leo was accepted into Cambridge University. He eventually earned a PhD in Art History. He was never lonely or out of place there, not least because Althea soon joined him. She studied International Relations and Criminology, specialising in human trafficking and modern slavery, and went on to do a lot of very real, very legal, very good work in the world.

She and Leo married shortly after graduation, had four children, and lived happily ever after, no one ever discovering their mutual penchant for necromancy and extreme violence.

All the while, Giordano had chosen to remain in Paris, in Percy’s empty apartment, with Tareq. He got a job as a barman, at the Ritz in Paris, not long after everyone left for Scotland. Hewas hired on the spot on account of his vast experience and fine forearms.

Tareq, knowing no one in Paris but Giordano, made a fast habit of coming into the bar at the end of Giordano’s shift each night to walk home with him, via some cafe or other, for a late dinner. This went on for months, and the two grew closer, measure by measure.

One of these nights, when Giordano was required to stay back at work to do a stock take, he brought Tareq down to the cellar for company. It was there, deep in the dark and secret recesses of the hotel, with Giordano high on a ladder calling numbers down to him, that Tareq finally realised he could never do without that voice again. And when Giordano climbed back down, Tareq let himself touch Giordano’s hand for the first time. Giordano asked if he could kiss him, and Tareq said yes.

Two nights later, Tareq experienced his first ever blowjob holding tightly to that very ladder. Not long after, the two committed to remain together, as boyfriends, permanently. They stayed in Paris, happy and in love, for the rest of their lives.

Waleed went back to his job as a security guard in Libya.

THE END

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

JUST KIDDING. PERCY AND JOE: THE FINAL CHAPTER

For Percy and Joe, eternity was not to be. Not in the way they’d imagined, at least. During one of the many late-night sessions Percy spent with Puss, the question neither he nor Joe had broached with the others finally came up. Percy opened the subject tentatively and quietly, for he wanted only to gather information so he could break whatever news there might be to Joe by himself.

As it transpired, and not unexpectedly, it takes a little more than drinking the blood of a powerful being to hold those same powers forever. Indeed, Percy and Joe could have supped at Molly’s cut throat repeatedly, and thus revitalised the temporary magic on a regular basis, but even given Percy’s inclination to forgive natures as dark as his own fairly readily, neither of them liked Molly so very much that they could commit to that sort of lifestyle long term.

Puss explained that Molly had earned her place among the eternal through a combination of expert witchcraft and a special ‘alliance’ with her familiar. Puss offered, at some later date, if Percy and Joe worked very hard at their craft, to allow them the same opportunity. But Percy summarily decided he’d rather be dead and in Hell than see Joe fucked by the corpse of Degas, ascene that could only be marginally worse than the look on Joe’s face if he actually suggested it.

These matters, Percy dutifully related to Joe late one grey afternoon, during a long walk around the misty lake.

Joe took it about as well as could be expected, which is to say, with a mixture of sadness and relief. He meandered some time, trying to voice a reply, while Percy skipped stones along the glass-like water, waiting for him.

But what to say?

He knew now that he would have to say goodbye to Percy one day, in this life, at least. Which he’d already known was probably coming, but it had been nice to pretend it wasn’t there.

On the other hand, that one rash decision to drink Molly’s blood hadn’t condemned Percy to eternity, after all. He no longer had to worry that when Percy drank his blood in the church, it had been out of some sort of duty, or regret, or being caught up in the moment. He no longer had the fear in the back of his mind that he’d somehow forced Percy into it.

And ultimately, he’d brought Percy back. He’d really done everything exactly right this time.

Percy cut into his deliberation, saying, “I’d like to find another way.”

At that, Joe’s face and heart lifted. “To be immortal?”

“I’m happy to devote my life to figuring this out. To you. I’m sure we can do some deals. Search for the Necronomicon or the Holy Grail.”

Joe accompanied his reply with a melancholy laugh. “I think my days of believing in the power of religious relics are done.”

The whole time they’d been in Scotland, Joe hadn’t once brought up the subject of returning to the priesthood. Or of leaving it. But he hadn’t visited the lonely church up on the hill. Nor had he, as far as Percy knew, been in contact with any Church members about his position. He’d simply dropped thelot, just as he’d dropped his collar on the floor of Saint-Pierre de Montmartre.

For the first time, Percy asked, “What are you going to do?”

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