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"Clavums," he corrected. "One or all?"
"All."
She took the only chair in the room. It was a cheap but comfortable thing that she'd found at Goodwill. On the far wall was a thin futon. Three eidolon had claimed it. The rest just found a section of carpet. Their lifestyle was nothing like the books, where the undead were always rich and comfortable, with houses that resembled castles. They'd been forced into hiding, which meant hoarding wealth was out of the question. It would merely work like a neon sign, pointing right to them.
Before the group began to grow restless, Thane was back. One hand was closed around three spikes, which meant he'd stashed the other somewhere else. Likely on himself. In the other hand, he held his keys. Glancing at the bodies crowding the room, he walked right up to her and offered her the weapons. The keys, he lifted.
"I'm gonna go grab some groceries. Anything you want me to get?" His look was pointed.
Dahlia leaned around him and eyed the group, taking stock of what they had. "Fruit. The fresher the better. Fruit juice. If you've got a strong stomach, a few won't turn down some raw meat. Most food does nothing for us. We can eat it, but it doesn't offer vitality unless it's still alive, or close to it. For the most part, you're the only one that will want to eat meals."
"Yeah. I'll wing it then." He took a step to the door, and Roarke's voice stopped him.
"Beer."
Thane chuckled. "Can do, man. Talk about me behind my back."
Then he was gone. As his feet thumped down the stairs outside, she let out a tense breath. That had gone a lot better than she'd expected. Unfortunately, they were all looking at what she held. Half of them were probably too afraid to breathe.
"Stakes," she said, not wanting to ignore it. "The Church calls them clavum. Each appears to be etched almost completely with signs of their religion. Made of a silver alloy which is conductive, it seems they only hurt when they pierce our soul."
"Body," Cain clarified. "Which holds us together in reality. What about the symbols?"
"The crosses on it don't hurt me. I'm sure that won't be true for the rest. The first time I touched one..." She huffed a laugh. "Which was about ten minutes before you all arrived. I felt a tingling that's a lot like the description of what his tattoo feels like. He also brought a dictionary of Words. All of this is for us to study, if we're brave enough to try."
"Why?" asked a woman at the back that Dahlia only knew of as a ghost.
It was Cain who answered. "Because we need weapons if we want to fight back. The Inquisition has all of them. Sure, we have defenses. We can kill our bodies and disappear, but who wants to spend time in the abyss? We can heal from severe wounds, but that doesn't stop the pain. Over and over, the inquisitors attack and we run."
"And if we want to stop that cycle," Dahlia added, "then we need to start fighting back. That means we need weapons."
"Ever consider guns?" a guy drawled. His accent made her think he was their wendigo.
"Guns are loud," Cain pointed out. "They get noticed, and that means cops. Sure, if you want a body death, they work great, but with modern tracking, cameras, and everything else? The last thing any of us needs is to end up with our face on every TV station and website in the world."
"Good point," the wendigo agreed.
"Just one problem." Roarke pointed at the spike, making a circle with his finger. "Lots of crosses, and I don't do well with those."
"Yeah, and all symbols from well after my time," Dahlia admitted. "I have no idea what it will do to a newer soul."
Nikki spoke up. "I'll try."
Cain held up a hand, asking her to wait. "And if it kills you?"
She made a face as she weighed that. "Have the inquisitor call me back if I dissolve. If it's the final death, then we'll know, right?" She sounded tough, but looked nervous. "My name's Tituba. Just one word, no last name."
Dahlia gestured for her to come closer. "You sure you want to do this, Nikki?"
"No, but someone has to."
Nikki had been the very first to join their cause. Roarke had been next, but only because Nikki had pushed him. This woman was quickly doing her best to stand out, and Dahlia only knew a very little bit about her.
She didn't look to be over thirty. Like most of their kind, it was hard to be sure of age. The more vitality they consumed, the less it showed, but many had a timeless grace that hinted they were much more than they appeared. She called herself a witch because that was what she'd died for. Dahlia knew the woman had been killed in Salem, but couldn't recall when that was.
But when no one refused her, Nikki moved closer. Dahlia held out a single metal spike. Slowly, proving she was as scared as Dahlia had been, Nikki touched it. Air hissed in through her teeth and she jerked back, then paused. With her eyes locked on the silver, she reached out one more time.
"It's warm, but doesn't sear." A laugh slipped out. "Not exactly comfortable, but I can touch it."
