That much was true. And Knight was deeply uncomfortable with that fact that despite all the time he dedicated to Elliot, he was still being such an idiot about this. His gaze was drawn to the final exhibit. Encased in glass was a modern .22 bullet. Rusty and deformed by impact, it had been reportedly found in the dead body of a court official at the time of the murders. The curator’s note explained that it had been since found to be a contemporary imitation, but Knight’s shoulders sagged, and his entire body shook violently as he remembered what Beast told him of his brief stay in 1805. He’d rescued Laurent from a prison wagon and killed two men, shooting one of them with his entirely modern handgun.
Fuck.
It was real, and he could not dispute it. His smile widened in amazement.
“Do you think they’ll ever find Laurent’s noose? I’ve heard people used to keep stuff like that as amulets. Or bound books in the skin of those executed,” Elliot said as he stood close.
‘They’ would never find Laurent’s noose, because Laurent was safe and sound with Beast, but Knight could not tell this to Elliot no matter how his tongue itched with need.
“No idea. I’d rather find Fane’s porn. He probably jerked off to torture pictures.”
Elliot entwined his warm fingers with Knight’s. “We could always ask him…”
Knight’s fingers twitched, and he looked into Elliot’s eyes, struck by the truth behind that statement. “We...”
“Aren’t you curious? For all we know, he might not even be there anymore and it was some weird post-Halloween glitch.”
Knight shifted, feeling queasy about the idea. But then again maybe they could find out new things from the ghost who couldn’t even see them as long as the room remained locked. Maybe after several weeks with Knight, Elliot would find a meeting with Fane disillusioning? Maybe he’d finally come to his senses. “Maybe...”
Elliot leaned over and kissed him. “That’s so exciting. We could talk to him through the door to be sure he doesn’t like, reach out or anything.”
Knight didn’t say anything. He knew he’d lost.
*
As Elliot and Knight approached the gargoyle statue, it got colder and colder. This part of the building wasn’t heated very well, so especially in winter one could smell the damp in the air. Elliot seemed giddier by the second, though he did hold Knight’s hand, so Knight imagined him to be a bit frightened after all.
Knight smiled at him despite the unease in his stomach. If it only depended on him, he’d just ignore this silly idea and do something useful instead of trying to communicate with a menacing ghost, but now that he had agreed to it he couldn’t go back on his word. So he led Elliot down the creepy stairs, to the cellar that felt more freezing than the air outside. He was glad they hadn’t yet taken off their outer clothes. Elliot even wore his beanie.
They stopped in front of the door, and Elliot’s breath quickened, leaving clouds of vapor in the air. “Should we… knock?” He squeezed Knight’s hand tighter.
The cool voice coming from the other side had Knight backing away into the wall.
“That would be the polite thing to do,” Fane said. His voice had a metallic quality to it, as if he were speaking to them through a pipe.
Elliot shot Knight an uncertain look but didn’t back away from the door. “Good evening, Mr. Fane… I-we are sorry that our last meeting was so… chaotic.”
Knight forced his shoulders to relax and stared at the simple yet very firm-looking door. It was all right, he told himself, Fane could not cross the threshold, and the key was safely hidden in his sock drawer. He was the VP of the Kings of Hell, and he feared nothing, even if all this supernatural shit was getting on his nerves. He remained silent and watched Elliot get closer, until his palm spread over the old wood.
“Putting it mildly,” Fane huffed.
“But we understand things more clearly now, and we thought the three of us could talk. You must be… terribly bored, sir,” Elliot said.
“Ah. Your... friend is here as well? Yet he hadn’t introduced himself and listens in on our conversation like a rat.” Fane sounded so utterly ridiculous that Knight’s adrenaline levels dropped.
“He is… shy.” Elliot bit his lip as if he too was finding humor in this gruesome endeavor.
“Oh, yeah. I’m very, very private, Mr. Fane,” Knight said, jokingly poking Elliot’s side.
Fane exhaled, and cold air bled through the tiny gaps between the door and the wall. “Words. It’s all words. Even now, after that cruel boy put a blade to my throat, I am still mocked.”
Knight balled his fists and stepped closer to the door. “You’re bluffing.”
Elliot frowned and pinched Knight’s hand. “What he means, Mr. Fane, is that we haven’t come to cause offense.” Even the way Elliot spoke seemed to be set on leaning into that dead bastard’s favor. “You see, we’ve been to Brecon today, and they have a collection of items that have belonged to you. Among them, a metal collar with a chain. The chain is rusted, but the collar is as good as new. We’re trying to understand if they have a copy or an original. And… we wanted to know what you used it for.”