Damaged Gods

I make a face at the shirt, but put it on without making a big deal.

Then Pell hands me the scale. It’s big. Big enough to actually wear like a plate of armor. And he’s attached a silver chain to it, so I just put on like a necklace and the scale hangs down my front. “It smells good,” I say, picking it up and putting it to my nose.

“That’s the bloodhorn oil.” Then he’s pulling me to my feet and leading me out the door.

“Whoa. We’re not gonna, like… discuss this first?”

“There’s not much to discuss. Just go in there, talk to Tarq, explain the situation, and get out as quick as you can. Make any promise he asks of you. Just get that book and come straight back. I’m anxious to get this part over with because we still need to make the spell.”

We’re already walking down the stairs and for some odd reason, the bottom is coming very quickly. Every other time I go up and down these stairs it feels like it takes forever. But the next thing I know, we’re nearly to the bottom.

Pell stops, looking out the massive windows at the tombs. Then he points. “Do you see that tomb right there? The one in the middle? With the dome?”

I see it. But I don’t say anything.

Pell just continues. “That’s the one.” We resume walking down the stairs and soon enough, we’re walking across the hall and he’s pulling the cathedral door open for me. “Just walk right up to it and go in.”

“Those are your final instructions?”

He smiles at me. “You’re gonna be fine. I swear. Tarq is a good guy.”

My face crinkles up into a dubious expression. “When was the last time you saw him?”

“It doesn’t matter. He’s Tarq. We’re tight.”

“Pell—”

“Two thousand years, but—”

I stop listening. I’m gonna die in there. And if I don’t, that’s OK too. Because then I’ll just get pitchforked by the townies.

I start walking. But when I look back, Pell isn’t following.

“I can’t come,” he explains. “Or you won’t be able to see the door.”

I sigh, giving in. Because what choice do I have? It’s not like I could come up with a better plan.

So I give him a little wave, turn to the cemetery, and start weaving my way through the tombs. I try not to look at all the monster statues, but it’s kinda hard not to notice that they are all chimeras. Almost all of them look like satyrs, their oversized dicks a dead giveaway. But some of them are four-legged, like a… centaur, and some of them have wings.

When I finally find the tomb with the gold dome, I pause and take in the statue of the monster called Tarq.

He’s sleek. Nothing about him is shaggy. He is jet black from head to toe and his horns are definitely those of the infamous Minotaur. They are thick and span out and upward over the top of his head. He’s holding a whip in one hand and some kind of plant or flower in the other. This might be a crocus bulb. It’s hard to tell, since it’s been carved out of black marble, so maybe it’s an onion. Could go either way.

Against my better judgment, I glance over at the dark shadow that is the door to his tomb and stop breathing for a moment, so I can listen for sound.

But there’s nothing there.

Slight variations of light tell me that’s not true, though.

There is definitely something inside that tomb.

I take one more look over my shoulder in the direction of the cathedral and spy Pell hanging off one of the gas lampposts. He salutes me.

And with that, I turn away and step through the door.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN - PELL

I don’t realize that I’ve been holding my breath, watching her, until she disappears—just disappears in front of my eyes—and then I let it out in a rush. Really, really hoping that this won’t somehow backfire on me.

It won’t. I say that again in my head. It won’t.

Pie will come back with the book, we will get knowledge, we will banish the sheriff, and she will bring news of Tarq. This thought alone is enough to make me hope. Because I want to talk to that bastard again so bad. I don’t mind Tomas. And lately, I sorta like the dude. But he’s got issues that will always stand in the way of a closer friendship. I can’t trust him. And it’s not just his dragon form, either. He’s opportunistic. Always has been. And hey, isn’t everyone? Aren’t we all?

To a degree, yeah. We think of ourselves first.

But trusting Tomas comes with… consequences. It’s like making a deal with the devil. You know you can’t trust him, but you want to. So bad. Because the devil has what you need.