“So he was here, she was here, you were here. But he didn’t say goodbye to you?”
“I just told you. I got lost. I was late.”
“Did he leave you a note?”
“No.” Tomas hesitates. His delusion falters for a moment. I can see it on his face. But he rallies—he always rallies—and then he smiles. And poof. That delusion is firmly back in place.
Grant hated Tomas. He hated me more, so there’s that. But Grant gives no fucks about Tomas.
I consider how far I want to push this line of questioning. It’s been a while since Tomas and I talked this much. We don’t usually cross paths here on the grounds of Saint Mark’s. He stays here in the main cathedral and I prefer my own space out in the cemetery. And I would not call my feelings towards Tomas caring or anything close to that. But I don’t want him focused on some goodbye he never got from Grant.
Tomas has gone quiet though, so there is no need to prolong this conversation.
I turn my back to him and walk out.
I leave the cathedral and begin walking in the direction of Tarq’s tomb with the idea that I might continue our one-way conversation. But when I get to the top of the hill, I catch a glimpse of the little cottage house down below, near the back wall. Gas lamps glowing on both floors.
Grant didn’t like that place. So it has not been occupied for all these decades. But she is down there now. Her scent trail leads right to the door.
I sit down on a nearby tomb base, wondering just how much life will change now that there is a girl here.
It has been a long time since I had the opportunity to be around a woman. And while she is not my type—I have my own preferences and she is not it—she is… here.
I won’t be able to compel her to like me, but I can compel her to do lots of other things.
I shake my head, pushing thoughts of that out of my mind so I can concentrate on what’s really important.
The curse.
I struggle with it now. Have been struggling with it for about a hundred and fifty years, actually. That’s when things really started to change in the outside world. I haven’t left the sanctuary for nearly three years, but Grant would bring things back. Phones, for one. The kind that fit in your pocket. They didn’t work here, of course. Not for calling people. But about a decade ago, these phones were no longer just phones. And Grant did a lot of other things with them.
The slave before Grant was into science and he actually hooked up a bunch of wires about eighty years ago. He strung them everywhere and then he hooked up a phone. The old-fashioned kind. He even got a connection once. Just once though. It was like the curse didn’t understand what he was doing and it took a moment to figure out this phone line—like electricity—was unacceptable. He did manage to get the gas lights working though. So there’s that.
But the outside world is not something I understand.
Everything about it feels like magic and magic is always a trap.
Then, now, and always.
I go back to Tarq’s tomb and stop at the front. There is a door, but there is no door. Not for me. I have been banished from the tombs since the beginning. Every single tomb door has been glamoured with ancient spells. I know they’re there and I have the key to open them, which is me. But I can’t see them. And the caretaker slave can see them, but not open them.
If you’re going to be cursed it’s actually quite nice to have a partner. That’s what my slave caretaker is supposed to be. They get the sight, I get the key. It should be a simple thing. But when we’re together, the slave caretaker cannot see the tomb doors.
When the great alchemist Ostanes made this place to keep her secrets safe, the gods panicked. The entire curse was created through a flurry of magical moves and countermoves by Saturn and Juno. But in a way that made everything more complicated, not less. So not much about Saint Mark’s makes sense. Especially the magic that governs it.
And this is how it goes.
One step forward, two steps back.
There is another way to open the doors. But I have never told anyone about that. If I were the one who could enter the tombs I’d be partying with Tarq right now. But it’s not me who can get in, it’s the caretaker.
I have never told the caretakers about that other way because I don’t trust them
The slave caretaker and I are bound to each other. We’re supposed to be powerful. But it has never worked. We were made enemies, but forced to be together. And the caretaker has certain duties. They are supposed to make me happy.