Page 120 of Dead Vengeance

“I’m a necromancer, not a godromancer!” he throws at me. “What the hell is that thing even doing here in my house?”

“I don’t know!” I shout.

“And how did it get here?”

“I don’t know!” I shout again.

“And what does it want?”

“I don’t know! It’s… It’s…” I step away, traversing the pentagram as though that will help me sort through this mess. “It’s a god, right? A god who controls access to the underworld. Which is what… That-that-that’s what you do, right?”

Archer drops back onto his desk, his fingers digging into the wood. “Well, maybe. A bit. But certainly not to that extent.”

“No,” I agree. “No, because he has more powers, right?”

“Right,” says Archer, concentrating hard on the floor. “And a more powerful bridge between this world and the next than I could ever create.”

“Because he-he is a god. And he opens that stuff. And he decides where people go when they die, when he looks into them with…”

“His mirror,” Archer finishes for me.

Our eyes lock.

“He wants his mirror.” The words are out of me as if they’re fact, can only be fact, can be the only logical conclusion of any of this.

He lets out a small breath of bewilderment, stepping away to join me in a short pace of the room. “This is insane. This can’t be right. Even if that were the case, surely that mirror…” He strides back to his desk, takes up the paper again, scrutinising the object. “No. There’s no way that belonged to an actual god. A real, actual god? No, it has to have been a copy. A-a ceremonial object that belonged to some priest. It can’t have been…”

He drifts off there, so I voice what I think he already knows. “Then why could Dr Dee use it? Why would it work for him? Why would it really, truly hold these powers, Archer, if it’s not his?”

He meets my gaze, and I can see he’s growing scared now. It’s sinking in for both of us that what’s up there is more powerful than either of us could have imagined.

He still denies it out loud, still says, “That makes no sense. What would it want here? With me? There is no link between me and that mirror. No one degree of separation. I’ve never seen it, I’ve never touched it, and I don’t know a single person in this world who has so much as laid eyes on it.”

He laughs a little, an anxious, nervous sort of laugh. “Why would an Aztec god make his way over here, all the way to Big Spanking cum Bottomly-on-the-Wold for a mirror that has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with me?”

“I don’t know.” I shrug, wandering over to the bookshelf. “Maybe. Maybe he’s…” I stop and think a moment, then, drawing a blank, I turn back and walk again. “Oh, come on, there has to be something drawing him here. And for the life of me, all I can think of…” My feet scuff against the rug. I look down and find myself standing in the centre of that giant, now-sexy pentagram. “It’s your pathways. It has to be.”

“No. No, Liam, I cannot conjure gods.” His tone catches me off guard, sharp and defensive. And when I register his expression, his hard eyes staring at the wall, his taut lips, fingers pressing hard into the edge of the desk, I realise where his mind’s gone.

“I’m not suggesting this is your fault.”

“You literally just suggested that it is,” he flares. “You just said it’s that right there. My giant pentagram. In the middle of my floor, my own personal landing pad for all things dead and evil.”

“Archer, no.” I step over to him, my hands wrapping around his arms, but he turns his face away.

“Not a god. Not a god of chaos. Of destruction. A god who could control fate. A god who could…” His brow pulls tight as his mind scrambles over all the possibilities. “People worshipped this thing, held elaborate ceremonies where they sacrificed people to appease it because they understood its power. This thing can bring cities to their knees. And what? It’s been playing with us? Creating these scenes? Doing these awful things to you… For what? For the fun of it? And what does it do now? Now that we’ve met and—”

He breaks off there, his eyes lowering. I catch his cheek with my palm and bring him back, even if he keeps his eyes down. Taking his hand to my chest, I tell him, “Nothing touches this. No god or ghost or ghoul of any kind is going to get their hands on this. Look at me, Archer.”

His eyelashes flutter as his gaze meets mine, and he’s the most beautiful man I have ever seen. “I know this isn’t your fault. I don’t think for a second that it is. This is all wrapped up in that mirror, in whoever’s taken it. And you, and maybe me—we’re just caught in the crossfire. But I’m not going anywhere. Whether it was Tezcatlipoca that brought us together, or your big, weird, sexy pentagram, or my complete inability to hold down a job, or whatever the hell it was, we’re here now, and we’re going to work together to solve this. We’re going to work through this problem like…” I blush over the words, but I force them out anyway. “Like boyfriends. And we’re going to… to have breakfasts. Those nice breakfasts you make. And maybe that picnic in spring. And one of these days, Archer, I’d really love to wake up in bed next to you. Some nice morning when…” The thought takes me by the throat, so I break off.

Archer’s thumb traces over my cheek, so tenderly, and I lean into it. He looks at me like no one ever has, not in my entire life. So much adoration. God, I want him so much. I want to keep him. I am going to keep him.

“That’s what you daydream about?” His breath tickles soft over my skin as he leans in, places a gentle kiss to the left of my mouth. “Would it be my bed or yours?”

I laugh, even as his kiss moves to the right side of my mouth. “Definitely yours. Just minus the ghosts.”

He laughs too, before pressing a long, slow, sweet kiss right in the centre of my lips. “I’ll salt-ward the shit out of that place if it means I’ll get you all to myself for a whole night.”