“Apologies, Timothy,” I said, readjusting myself against the shield of Vivien before turning back around.
“No problem, sire,” he said.
“Okay,” Vivien teed her hands for a time out. “I thought as Grim’s aide, you were one step above a butler, Timmy. But we haven’t talked about this whole mystic mamba jamba you’ve got going.”
She referred to the glowing hieroglyphs that emanated from him into the tablet, taking record of the judgment.
He rolled his eyes. “As I’ve told you many times before. Grim is not Batman and I am not Alfred.”
“So why do you always call him sire?”
Vivien could test anyone’s patience with her childlike harangue of questions.
“It’s a sign of respect,” he shot back. Anyone who saw them arguing like this might suppose them to be enemies instead of friends. But I’d learned, the more biting their banter, the greater the care between them.
She tapped a finger against her lips. “So, you are even more of an uptight control freak than Grim. Because as a god, you want to clean up all the messes, and coordinate details.”
Timothy’s chest puffed out. “That is exactly it. I enjoy keeping everything tidy and organized. It makes the transcription of events much easier to document. I am the scribe. One of my most important duties is to record all history, as well as Grim’s judgments.”
“Right.” She snapped her fingers. “I’ve read about this. Like how his original god-name is Anubis, yours is Tot.”
“Thoth,” I corrected gently.
Her brows furrowed in annoyance as she threw up her hands. “Well, excuse me. I’ve been reading books on Egyptian mythology, but I’m wondering why I should even try. Sometimes the information is wrong. All those historians, mythologists, or whatever you call them, they all think Amit, the giant croc-god, the soul devourer, is a girl, but he’s actually a boy.”
“At one point, Amit was female,” Timothy said.
Vivien’s expression flattened. “Seriously?”
I answered this time. “Around, I believe it was the ninth, or was it the tenth century?” I asked Timothy. “Amit decided to try out being a male.”
Timothy’s eyes glowed turquoise for a moment as he retrieved the information as official scribe and history keeper. “The tenth, sire.”
Her frustration returned. “Boning up on all this Egyptian history to keep up with you old fogies isn’t easy. Especially since I’m mainly interested in a different kind of boning these days—”
“And on that note, I believe we are done here,” Timothy said, his words clipped, ready to flee.
“Hold up, I think you are going to want to see this too,” Vivien said, stopping him. The stiff demeanor I’d first noticed when she arrived returned. Something was definitely amiss.
She ran back to the corner where she’d been sitting. She came back with a sheathed sword.
“Is that what I think it is?” I asked.
“Let’s hope it is,” she said, her tone grave.
Timothy held out his hands. “May I?” Excitement made his voice tense, though from fear or anticipation, I couldn’t be sure.
She placed the covered weapon in his hands. Timothy carefully pulled out the weapon. The ornate bronze hilt curved down on either side of the sword while ancient etchings decorated the length of the blade.
“Looks like something King Arthur would swing around,” Vivien said, her voice quiet.
“Another race who feared us, and wanted a means to keep the gods in check, forged the Blade of Bane in medieval times.”
Vivien stilled. “What do you mean, another race? There are gods, humans, and vampires. Or I’m the only vampire now, I guess…”
I took the sword from Timothy as he gave his history lesson.
Timothy shook his head. “There is far more to this world than you could imagine. Layers upon layers of beings other than the three you mentioned.”
