Page 27 of Heart, Haunt, Havoc
Dried blood flaked on her coarse brows. She narrowed her eyes, baring her teeth in a sarcastic grin, held at bay by Bishop’s locked elbow.
“A trinity of betrayals, then,” Lincoln said. Smoke leaked from his mouth, and heat billowed outward, rising from the floor beneath him. His hellish muzzle crinkled into a snarl.
Before Colin could lunge forward, Bishop pressed their palm to Lincoln’s chest. “Don’t,” they tested, retracting their outstretched arm and planting their free hand on his throat. “Lincoln, please.” They spoke intimately, hushed words designed for midnight stirrings. “Don’t.”
Colin side-stepped Lincoln and Bishop. He bumped Tehlor as he reached backward and twisted the doorknob.
“Go,” he whispered, staring intently at shared touches: Bishop brushing their knuckles across Lincoln’s narrow jawline, Lincoln catching Bishop’s chin with his thumb. Colin glanced over his shoulder. “We can handle this.”
“They have my number. Text me; I’ll bring a bigger jar next time,” Tehlor teased. She backed out of the house, cradling the rat, Gunnhild, in her palm and carrying souls in her farmer’s market basket. Her eyes were still pinned to Lincoln. “Good luck. I hope your god listens.”
“Me too.” Colin gave a curt nod, eased the door shut, and twisted the heavy lock. He didn’t know whether to haul Bishop back by their sleeve or stand at the ready, snared in iron-fisted jealousy. Truthfully, the latter was his only option.
Sulfur still hung in the air and smoke curled toward the ceiling, leaking from Lincoln’s nostrils, and sliding between his elongated teeth. He tipped his face toward Bishop, leaned into their tentative touches, hands climbing his chest, fingertips dusting the curved space behind his lupine ears, and met Colin’s stony gaze over Bishop’s shoulder.
Strange, how actions once sewn with love could stop a monster in its tracks.
Lincoln trailed his hand underneath Bishop’s sweater, touching the sensual dip on their lower back.
“A quartet of betrayals,” Bishop said. Regret filled their eyes, soaked their voice. They gripped Lincoln’s face; hands buried in the fur stretched over his wolf-shaped skull. Gold dripped from one side of their straight nose and slid over their shaky lips. “De las tinieblas vienes, de las tinieblas te vas.”
Recognition sparked. Lincoln tried to rip himself away, but Bishop’s magic had already coiled around his kneecaps. Gold vines gripped his legs and dragged him backward. He made a terrible noise, a guttural enraged growl, and snapped his teeth at Bishop’s face. Bishop didn’t flinch. They averted their eyes, though. Stared helplessly at the ground, repeating the spell until Lincoln was gone, leaving a sorrowful yelp rippling toward the vaulted ceiling.
Again, the house refused to breathe.
Colin stared at Bishop’s flexed shoulders. Startled when they wiped their nose, wetting their knuckles with gilded blood. He cleared his throat.
“You bleed when you cast?” he asked.
They sniffled, mouth still reddened and glinting like a jewel. “Deals and prices, right?”
He nodded slowly. “Yes, I suppose that’s the case with everything. Are you okay?”
“Tired,” they said through a sigh. They hung their head back and closed their eyes, touching the tip of each finger to their thumb. Muted light graced the length of their throat. “We probably can’t rob the cemetery during the day.”
“Wecould, but we certainly shouldn’t.”
Bishop cracked their eyes open. “I bought us a few hours. Maybe we should get some sleep.”
“Here?”
“Where else? You’re the one that insisted Tehlor—who turned out to be a legitimate psychopath, by the way—would be an energy-efficient way to handle this shit. We’ll need to be rested and alert for the Lazarus trial, practice, ritual—”
“Effect.”
“Whatever. If your necro-technique doesn’t kick our ass, my ex will,” they said, exasperated. “So, let’s sleep while we can, all right? Get the fire goin’; I’ll grab blankets.”
Despite the worry festering in his depths, Colin did as he was told. He piled logs in the fireplace and lit them with a candlelighter, cinched the gauzy curtains in front of the window and chided his runaway heart.
I should be preparing. He stretched across the quilt Bishop had thrown down between the brick hearth and the coffee table.I should be convening with the Holy Spirit.
Bishop took off their glasses and laid beside him, nuzzling their face into a throw pillow. Their lashes cast shadows along their cheeks. Firelight licked their face, deepening the dark circles beneath their eyes. Colin imagined snaking his arm around their waist, but he refrained.
“Why didn’t you come to my room last night?” Bishop asked. Hushed. Accidental, almost.
Colin thumbed crusted blood off their chin. A knot formed in his throat—twisted low in his belly.
“Because you terrify me,” he said, and it was the truth.
