Page 27 of Love, Nemesis
“You fulfilled almost all of the commitments. One left?” Cal’s eyes flickered back and forth from Lethe’s face to his arm. “Which version of the riders did you join? The good version or the cult version?” He leaned closer to the tattoo, uncomfortably close, as if he wanted to smell it. “The tattoo design framing the names is really interesting,” he whispered, following the design to where it stopped near Lethe’s sleeve and then reeling back as if he realized how close he just was. It didn’t deter him. “Does it go all the way over the shoulder—oh, it’s on your neck? All the way up there?” He leaned forward again, but Lethe gave him a deterring look.
Still staring at Lethe’s neck, all he said then was, “Wow.”
Cal pointed back to Lethe’s arm as if asking for permission, and Lethe obliged him by crossing his arm over his lap.
“Ivan Prince.” Cal hesitated as he read the last name that hadn’t been scarred through. He leaned back into his seat and said nothing for a while. “Is it true that a Dear Anne is a lifelong commitment?”
“Slave to the grave,” Lethe replied.
“And are you still a Rider of Saint East?”
Lethe finished his drink. “To the grave,” he whispered.
Cal said nothing for a while and then among the singing and clamor, he whispered, “You know, I recently went to a traveling circus out in the State,” he said. “I met a woman there. A kind you just can’t forget, even with all the stuff at the circus. It’s said that she knows everything.” He waited. “She had skin as dark as oil, with pale hair. Black eyes and a vest with these big, bright silver buttons. Too big, and the light kept hitting them.”
Lethe’s eyes narrowed. He set his mug down as he felt a withdrawal deep inside his chest. He looked at Cal, the boy with fire-lit eyes like the devil prepared to make a deal.
“She called herself Evira Beaumont, an En Sanctan survivor of the war, and rumor is, she’s an expert at knowing how to find people. She can find anyone.”
Lethe lowered his head, taking another drink before whispering, “Who sent you here?”
“I’ve been just going from town to town.” Cal hesitated, eyes lifting as if searching back into his thoughts.
“You leave in the morning,” Lethe said.
“But—”
“Morning,” Lethe demanded.
Cal dropped his head as if scorned. He didn’t speak again.
Lethe removed his flask, mixing the alcohol inside with a tablet from his belt. He poured the rest of his drink from his mug into the flask and shook it up.
He took a sip and then offered it to Cal, whose curiosity had drawn his attention back again. “You want to try it?”
Cal looked at the flask and then at Lethe as if sensing his mood. He took it into his hands and took a sip.
He hissed and spat, thrusting the flask back into Lethe’s hand.
Lethe took it, a smirk on his face. “I’m surprised you’ve lived this long.”
Cal gagged, leaning over the log. “Ugh—oh, that is terrible! What—ugh—is that?”
“It’s a concentrated version of what we Riders called Snake Bite. It’s a mutation suppressant. Blocks Madness in the system. Dulls the effects of mutations, but it will make your head spin.”
The ROSE had been quite skilled at crafting useful tonics to use to their advantage. Snake Bite had been a failed attempt to dull a Strike’s powers. When that hadn’t worked, the ROSE had concocted a tonic called Amnesia to cause their human worshippers to forget Strike existed at all. Both tonics had been crafted using the roots of mutated plants, and their utilization had come at significant cost.
The concentration of Snake Bite that Lethe took would kill him if not for his own inborn healing mutation to balance out the effects.
Cal kept coughing.
Lethe exhaled. Cal had made him extremely restless. It seemed like tonight was just going to be one of those nights.
He stood up, tucking the flask away. He moved back toward the table, grabbing a bottle before popping in another Snake Bite tablet. Cal was still coughing when he left, a bit too distracted to ask questions. No one else did either.
Shaking the bottle up, Lethe hopped on his horse, leaving Cal and the others behind. He rode into the dark, back to the burn site of the hideout they’d discovered. He could still feel mild heat drifting from the pit.
He pulled the cork back out of the bottle, tossing it into the fire as he took a swig.
