Page 27 of Traveling with Gentlemen
Jonathon, Booker, and Amon were approaching the tomb, and my gaze slid to Auguste who stood still, eyes scanning the surroundings, nostrils flaring slightly.
"All right enough. Better when we're done here," Ezra said and I nodded in agreement.
"We did promise we'd have adventures," I mused.
Ezra hummed in thought and then stepped around me. "Auguste?"
Auguste's eyes were growing black, his body tense and watchful. He raised the lantern in his hand, ignoring Ezra's question, and paced away from us to one of the archways.
"Vampire," he said, the word barely breathed.
Ezra's hand slipped into mine and we followed after Auguste, my eyes on the statue tucked into the alcove. It wasn't until Auguste was only feet away, the normal orangey glow of the flame in the lantern cutting through the eerie yellow light, that the figure hidden there became clearer.
My free hand flew up to cover my gasp as I stared. The seated man was dressed in robes, his skin as white as Booker's marble, hollow cheeked and clearly starved. And just right of center on his skeletal chest, was a red and shocking open wound. The same wound I'd seen on Auguste as he was trapped beneath Rooksgrave with Birsha.
"Why isn't… Is he—"
I screamed, cutting off my own questions, the sound barely muffled behind my fingers as the man's eyes flashed open. His pupils were as black as Auguste's, his gaze wild on me, but he didn't move or flinch at all.
"Preserved," Amon said, and I jumped slightly, sagging with relief as I realized we'd drawn the others over to us. Amon pointed to carvings on the wall. "Spells to hold."
"You're not saying he's been here since—" Ezra started.
"Since Birsha escaped his own death, yes, I think so."
Auguste stepped forward and I resisted the urge to yank him back as he crouched in front of the frozen vampire. He drew in a deep breath, catching the captive's stare and then released a ragged chuckle.
"This is how Sofia knew where to look. This is her maker," Auguste said. "She sold you out to that fool's king, didn't she?"
The vampire moaned, and I couldn't help but look away as his chest moved, the torn and jagged hole flexing gruesomely.
"Can we…can we help him?" I asked.
Auguste was quiet for a long moment, before speaking. "There's no restoring centuries of starvation."
"Who else is in here?" Jonathon asked.
Amon growled softly and prowled away. I only hesitated a moment before following him, everyone but Auguste trailing after. The next alcove revealed another man, his yellow gold skin turned dull, body caving in and shrunken beneath the draped fabrics of his clothing. On his head two stumps rested above his temples.
"Demon. Horns removed," Booker said.
The demon did not wake for us.
The third figure was worse than the vampire, the languid and sinuous male body with a snake-like lower half, twisted to reveal a back torn open. There was no movement at all from him as Jonathon leaned in to inspect. Staring at the shredded flesh and scales, the wet and ruined gash, I heaved and inched away.
"Naga," Jonathon said. "Spinal cord removed. He's paralyzed completely now."
My eyes shut, arms wrapping around my stomach and head shaking slowly. I'd never known a hate like the one I held for Birsha, such a consuming and impossible anger. It made me sick. I slowed, realizing the final alcove, the final figure was ahead, and afraid of what I might find.
I had no lantern in my hand, no clear light to see the horrible details in front of me. Perhaps that was for the best. The fourth captive was a woman. She was dressed simply, a light sheath of fabric that drooped and flowed over her shriveled frame. Her hair had continued to grow and it rushed over her in dark curls, luscious where the rest of her was nearly decayed. I thought her face might've been beautiful before this tomb had left it to wither. Her eyes were gone, black hollows left in their place.
More than the others, and even in spite of her lost eyes, she seemed the most at peace of the lot, her hands upturned and stacked in her lap, her back straight. I studied her without realizing how close I traveled.
Not until one hand snapped forward, clutching around my wrist.
I didn't yell, perhaps because my heart was too busy leaping in my chest, my tongue tying in fright. I stumbled back, but her firm grip held me tethered.
Her lips parted and together this woman and I gasped.
