Page 27 of Property of Necro
“Tough, shit.”
“Necro’s not gonna like it.”
“I don’t care. He can take that up with me.”
Mama sighs. “You don’t want that, brother.”
“Well, I also don’t wanna lie to Sola. So, it’s come clean and piss off our prez for his own damn good, or don’t. I have already made the decision. Sola knows about the forty-plus other women who came before her. Just as she knows, she’s not allowed to leave.”
“Yep. I’d very much like to stay alive. Breathing is good stuff.” I inhale deeply and puff out my chest to show how much I enjoy oxygen. “If Coffin can refrain from ending my life, I’d be the most appreciative.”
Mama rumbles a kind laugh. “I like you.”
“I like you too, so please don’t let them kill me.”
“I’ll see what I can do, my lady.” Like a dashing knight, if the knight was wearing a chef’s coat and was the size of an elephant, Mama bows, sweeping hand and all.
Fanning my face like a damsel, I put on my best English accent, which sounds like a raspy chicken hopped up on weed, thanks to how wrecked my throat is. “Why, thank you, my good sir.”
Rot throws his head back and releases a mighty laugh.
Mama winks and wipes down the counters as he quietly chuckles to himself.
I grin. It’s soft, but this is the best I’ve felt in days.
“Let’s go see the boss man,” Rot sings, his amusement lingering as he claims the plate from the island and offers me the crook of his arm.
I hop off the stool and feed my hand through. “Let’s go.” I wave a polite goodbye to Mama, who smiles as we exit the kitchen to visit secret places I’ve yet to see inside the church. This place is full of character. I can’t wait.
Chapter
Eleven
Staring at the hardwood floor,hands clasped in front of me, my stomach churns. I don’t look up. Not again. Not anymore. I’ve learned my lesson.
We’re in Necro’s office. Beneath my feet, rivers of red fill the cracks in the ancient wood floor. It looks like blood, but I know it’s not. It’s glossy, and it doesn’t smell like pennies.
Necro’s seated behind his desk, violently signing with Rot. I don’t know what they’re saying because I’m not watching, but it’s been going on for a while. Long enough to realize the pictures plastered across Necro’s space, which look like one-of-a-kind wallpaper, are of mutilated corpses—thousands of them. None of them are the same. At first, I thought they were a clever art installation. Something grotesque to match the old, eerie charm of the church. But they’re not. They’re real. Arms missing. A real heart resting on a man’s nether regions as his chest is cracked open, ribs gone, blood pooling around him. Intricate slices carved in a fat leg that you’d expect to see inone of those fancy jack-o'-lanterns, not in flesh. Each image is glued to the next, creating a wall of visceral horror. When I moved to Necro’s floor-to-ceiling bookshelf to occupy myself as I tried not to freak out or throw up, I stopped browsing when I saw the human hand holding a vintage copy ofFrankenstein. Its fingers are yellow.
Ew. Gross.
“We’re going. Enjoy your breakfast, brother,” Rot growls, grabs my bicep, and wheels me backward out of the office into the hallway, where he slams the door shut and curses. “What a dick.”
“What happened?” I inquire, knowing I can’t ask questions about what I saw, even though I want to. What possesses someone to plaster actual torture and death over every spare inch of their office walls? Why would he keep a human hand as a souvenir? Why are the cracks in the floor red?
Oh.
And the taxidermy bird.
A raven with wings outstretched, hanging from a wooden beam with crystal-carved runes for eyes.
I shiver at the memory.
Waving for me to follow, Rot talks as we walk. “Coffin left. He wasn’t supposed to go on a run, but he did. Fuckin’ douchebag.”
“Because I’m here,” I guess, since he seems to like me the least out of the three of them. Then again, Coffin hasn’t hurt me, which I can’t say for the other two.
Rot turns down another corridor. “Yeah,” he mumbles, still clearly pissed off.
