Page 63 of Deadly Passion

“I’m going back upstairs,” Freddie says after dropping off our supplies. “We need eyes everywhere. We can both take turns keeping watch, but Ivy stays here.”

I salute as he heads away. A thud echoes through the crypt as he seals the entrance behind him. With it closed, the crypt is soundproof.

“Ivy,” I call. “Wait for me!”

She doesn’t reply, but I follow the sound of her footsteps. With each step, the tunnel ceiling gets progressively lower, and I have to stoop. How far does it go? Seb explained that an underground network was hidden under the cemetery, but if I knew it spanned this distance, I’d have stayed here when the Dukes threw me out.

Ivy stops abruptly and breathes, “Holy shit.”

I quicken my pace, taking big strides until I’m at her side. Thankfully, I’m able to stand at full height when the tunnel ends. It leads to another room that is much larger than the entryway. It comprises of twelve chairs, lined up in three rows, with an aisle down the middle, not dissimilar to a church. The rock walls have sections carved out where dusty melted candles sit. All the chairs face a large pentagram painting and an altar, where three stone steps are covered with strange artifacts: dried flowers, trinkets, and dolls.

“What’s wrong, princess?” I ask. The left side of my mouth twitches into a grin. “Are you superstitious?”

“No,” She replies. “But I didn’t realise we were entering a Satan worshipper’s crypt.”

She points at the large brown blood stain at the base of the altar.

“Hey, look on the bright side! At least there’s no exit,” I say. “Trout won’t know what’s hit him.”

“No, he won’t.”

“What are you going to do to him?” I ask, picking up items next to the altar for examination. Ivy wrinkles her nose at the one-eyed Victorian creepy doll in my hands. “What?” I smirk, raising the doll’s hand and making it wave. “Isn’t this inspiring?”

“I need to see what I have to work with first.”

I pull Torean’s kill bag off my shoulder. “Do you want to check?”

Doing a weapons inventory with a hot woman isn’t something I thought I’d ever do in an underground crypt, but here we are…

She snatches the bag from me and places it on the ground. She takes her time, removing each weapon and inspecting it like she’s considering exactly how she’ll use it. There’s a lot packed in there: an assortment of knives, a small hacksaw, speculums, and a few black pouches and boxes.

I kneel next to her and reach for a box.

She slaps my hand away. “No touching.”

“But—”

“You can look,” she says. “But don’t touch.”

“Does the same apply to you?”

“Obviously.” She picks up a Wartenberg Wheel and sighs. “Is this his kill kit, or does he moonlight as a dungeon master at the weekends?”

Living with my brother for a short time had given me an insight into his sex life that I'd rather forget.

“Probably both,” I admit.

“We won’t be needing this,” she says, stashing the wheel away. Next, she unrolls a pouch containing syringes. To Torean’s credit, at least he bothered to label them. She scans the drug names. “What do they do?”

I point at them in turn. “A paralytic, heroin, painkiller, and this one…” Okay, I guess he didn’t label everything. I turn the clear liquid up to the light and shake my head. “Fuck knows what this one does, but knowing Torean, it’s probably a mixture of all three, and he’ll call it a lethal cocktail.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” she says.

“So…” I watch as she returns to the knives, turning the blades over in her hands. There are different sizes and shapes, perfect for slicing and dicing. “Have you got everything you need?”

“It’ll do.”

“Where do you want to do it?” I ask.

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