dreams not yet done with her. Mara snored lightly against the far wall, wrapped in her dark robes, barely a large smudge of shadow, more a stain than a slumbering hag.
Jinn started at the approach of something from the south, a dry, slithering sound echoing through the tunnel. Briar's multifaceted eyes broke through the faint light from the surface entrance first, turning on their stalks before withdrawing. Jinn could hear the avolakia changing in the dark and sat up from the wall.
'Do not cover yourself for my sake,' he said, and the noises stopped. 'I've lived with illusions long enough.'
'I suppose you have,' came the old man's voice, his face appearing in the light. 'But I much prefer to speak like this, it seems more… polite than forcing words into someone's head.'
The old man smiled and hobbled into the dry chamber, placing a small chapbook on the table and glancing at Quess and Mara before turning to Jinn.
'I have located the last of the bloodlines. They are safe now but not for long,' he said, patting the chapbook lightly. 'The Watch has almost tripled since this morning. The broadsheets were filled with tales of last night's murders, and the streets have become somewhat empty of most intelligent folk since. But the patrols can only do so much with what information they have, and if we attempt to tell them
…'
'They'd take you in,' Quessahn said, rubbing her eyes as she awoke. 'They'd question you, lock you up, and by the time they realized you were telling the truth-'
'It would be all over,' Mara supplied, the dark smudge of her body still against the wall though her crimson eyes glowed from beneath a tattered fold of her robe.
'Indeed,' Briar said. 'But whether we inform the Watch or not, their numbers will certainly stand in the way of anything we have planned. Speaking of… what do we have planned?'
Jinn stood and stretched, gathering his thoughts as everyone looked to him for an answer. For his own part, he knew what he needed to do; he'd mulled it over several times while trying to sleep in the uncomfortable lair of the avolakia. The grim surroundings and grave sentinels just beyond the pale shadows a few strides away had served only to cement his intention.
'What do you know of the House of Thorne?' he asked Briar.
The avolakia's face split into a curious grin. 'Roses on the window, roses on the wall,' Briar replied in the sing-song voice of a child and touched a gnarled finger to an old map upon the wall, the spot ominously smudged by his fingertip. 'It once belonged to the Thorne family, and no one else for a full season in the three centuries or so since. Over two dozen bodies were found in the basement, the Thornes' included. They say that even after several paintings and remodelings, you can still see the old blood everywhere, as though the house were haunted by it.'
'That's where he-I mean, they, will be,' Jinn said.
'You are sure?' Mara asked as she unfolded from her dark corner.
'I am. It's likely they'll be there tonight, or if not, then I'll get to the house first,' he answered.
'We will get there first,' Quessahn added defiantly.
Jinn made as if to reply, but at sight of the determination in her eyes, he let the words die on his tongue, glad she was as willing as he to face the unknown but still troubled by the idea that she did so for the wrong reasons.
'I'll take care of the children,' Mara stated, and Jinn nodded, sharing the worried look that flashed in Quess's eyes but having no time to question the hag's loyalty. Whatever Mara had in mind, the last of the skulls' bloodlines would be well out of their reach. He shut out the imagined details of what the hag was capable of and would curse himself for a fool later if need be. Better a handful of possible deaths than a ward full of bodies.
'We should at least wait for dark to-' Briarbones began then paused, his neck craning forward as he edged closer to the tunnel beyond the chamber. He sniffed the air and snarled, a screeching series of clicks and chirps escaping his open mouth. A dozen or so pairs of dead eyes turned to the avolakia, glittering in the dark before shuffling away. Briar turned, a feral look in his eye. 'Something is coming. I don't know how many, but it's more than we need to deal with if we have more important things to do.'
Jinn could hear them faintly, somewhere in the dark. Soft whimpers and moans echoed through the tunnels, accompanied by heavy, splashing steps.
'The ahimazzi,' he muttered. 'Quickly, we should get to the surface and lay low until nightfall. The soulless aren't bright, but they can overwhelm us with numbers.'
The groans grew louder as the avolakia's zombies met the oncoming mob, the dull sound of fists smacking loudly in the tunnels accompanied by the scrape of curved knives on dry flesh and unfeeling bone. Jinn took the ladder swiftly, shoving the surface cover aside and helping the others out, keeping a careful watch for passing patrols as they escaped. The deva cursed quietly, wishing he'd had time to question Briarbones about the stolen sword at his belt and its strange hunger for Sathariel's blood.
The sounds of battle below were muffled as Briar slid the surface door back into place.
'They'll not stop,' Jinn said. 'They have no choice.'
'Neither do we, apparently. That is if we, or anyone else for that matter, desire to draw breath tomorrow morning,' Briar replied, appearing uncomfortable in the alley, nervous and fidgeting in the dim light of late afternoon.
'We'll split into pairs,' Jinn said. He turned to Mara, the hag's face already hidden behind a smiling illusion, her arm gently but firmly within the elbow of Briarbones. 'Find the children and guard them well, if not for their sakes, then-'
'For my own,' Mara supplied mockingly and added with her knowing smile, 'I am well aware of the consequences, deva, but as a self-serving creature of some taste, I am also aware of the rewards. I look forward to the dark souls you promised me.'
'Very well. Good hunting,' he replied reluctantly, far more trustful of the hag in the heat of battle than hidden away with the lives of children in her care. In the end he had only her greed to rely on.
'And to you,' she replied and pulled Briar at her side, the pair whispering as they made their way out of the alley, to anyone else appearing as nothing more than a young woman escorting her elderly father.
Jinn turned to Quessahn, the previous night's confrontation hanging between them like a ghost, haunting the eladrin's eyes and inspiring the deva to keep moving. They exited the alley, racing against the sunset, Jinn's heart pounding in time with his boots, anxious for the battle to come.
Only a few candles were lit as darkness neared, scattered windows glowing dimly like faded stars as the destitute and soulless, the ahimazzi, were roused from their mindless wanderings. They shuffled shyly, hiding from the orange and purple twilight, averting their gazes from those few impoverished souls who rushed home and barred their doors.
A storm of whispers slithered through the streets, reaching the ears of bodies without reason, sparking their bestial minds to recall their duties. They followed, grasping at the whispers, their own voices, as if they would be reunited with what had been stolen. Souls upon souls wailed in their minds, spirits bound in the pit of Sathariel's gut, and the ahimazzi gathered to one another, all bound for the same destination.
A few of their number were called away, crawling into the steaming sewers, blades bared and growling like animals. Others were roughly pulled aside and questioned by men in dark uniforms, weak eyes burned in green- tinted lantern light, tongues answerless to shouted questions and harsh commands. They were released at length, shoved to the walls, unable to speak of their misery or purpose, their faraway souls unwilling to give up on the hope for reunion-for the warmth of living flesh.
They scattered slowly as uniformed men attempted to follow them, fragmenting their numbers and wandering aimlessly until they could slip unnoticed into darkened alleys and answer their master's call.
Dark feathers only they could see teased them from above, half a wing fluttering over a steepled roof, a black claw clutching a tall spire, as the angel led them on ever faster, ever more determined to obey. Dim memories flickered in their brains as they drew close to something familiar, intangible flashes of power radiating outward in wide circles. They gasped and moaned as they drew closer, hands grasping at iron bars tipped with sharp, decorative blooms. Matted vines of dry thorns pulled at their robes and dug into their skin, an untended garden of dull greens and browns crawling over everything within the open gates. The ahimazzi wept without sorrow, dirty hands reaching for the dark walls of the small manse beyond the fence.
