Fire and Bone (Otherborn #1)(44)

She barks out a laugh. “Scotland? Are you serious? Nothing safe lives there.”

“I’m not looking for safe.”

We pull off the freeway and head down a side road. The cemetery is rolling hills on our left, an endless sea of green grass and white tombstones. Its morbid nature makes it oddly perfect for this moment. And I’m fairly sure it’s the closest passageway. We don’t have time to go to the one in Malibu.

I’ll never understand why humans bury their dead, thinking it helps a soul that’s already long gone from the empty husk. The reality is that dead flesh soils the spirit of the earth, the rot of decay seeping into the energy of root and grass and tree. It takes decades for the spirit to renew itself. But all that decay and death in one place also cracks a window in time and space. I appreciate how past cultures did things, especially the ones who laid their dead in caves. It makes the travel doors much more powerful and easier to utilize, like the catacombs in Paris: the bones of over six million souls below the city create a sizable doorway that’s become well traveled. This is no Paris gateway, but it should work with only three of us going through. I hope.

“I’m really not up for this,” Aelia says as we pull up the drive through the fields of the dead. “I don’t have the right shoes.”

I ignore her and keep driving deeper into the property. The Audi’s headlights are the only light now as we come around a turn, and I finally spot the road marker for the crypt up ahead. I’ve only been here once, about fifty years ago. At the time, the small stone structure was tucked back in the trees at the base of a hill. I can’t see it from here, but I recall it being only a few dozen yards from the road.

“Maybe you should just leave me here, and I’ll call my father to send a car,” Aelia says nervously.

“Hell, no.” I pull up along the curb and put the gearshift into park. “Get out.”

“Faelan, I’m not supposed to travel the passageways.”

“Now.” I slide out, head to the other side of the car, and open the door. I give Aelia a look as I gather the demi into my arms. “Seriously. I’m not playing around. Your father can not be made aware of this, and you know it.”

She looks back at me with steel in her eyes, but her blue misty energy seeps out of her chest, revealing her fear again. “Fine.” She gets out and follows me across the lawn, toward the crypt. “But why do we need to go to Scotland to get help? There’s gotta be a healer in Reseda or Granada Hills or something. They can help us put her in hibernation.”

“A healer isn’t what we need, and hibernation will be a wash for someone this far gone. We need a person who deals in spirits and souls.” I nod for her to walk in front of me. “So can we just get there? We’re running out of time.”

Her heel gets stuck in the grass, and she stumbles, then growls, pulling her shoes off and carrying them.

I pause in front of the crypt gate; the iron looks rusted clean through, the vines growing up the face the only thing holding it together. It’s obviously been unused for a while. I shift the demi in my arms and step over one of several blossoming wormwood and mugwort plants growing around the small building for protection.

I turn to Aelia. “Open the door.”

“Excuse you?” She’s on her bare tiptoes, like she’s trying not to touch the grass any more than necessary.

“It’s simple. You just use an unveiling spell.”

She gapes at me, her shoes held high in one hand.

I add, “You’re the witch.”

“Druid,” she snaps. “Ugh. I can’t believe I ever let you kiss me. You’re such a jerk.”

More like she jumped my lips with hers. But when Aelia wants something, she usually gets it. Until she wanted me.

She keeps mumbling in protest as she walks over and places her hand on the gate. She takes in a deep breath and begins to whisper the unveiling to unlock the door. A slight glow rims her shoulders as she completes the spell, and the iron latches crackle, then pop loose.

She pulls on the gate and it creaks open, a puff of rust billowing out. She coughs and waves a hand in front of her face. “Happy?”

I step past her into the dark space. Every surface is coated in several inches of dust. The grave plates on the wall are covered in a gray blanket that masks the names.

In the doorway, Aelia slips her heels back on before stepping all the way inside. They click on the cement as she looks around. She pauses, and her eyes fall on me again, on the body in my arms. A new wisp of blue mist emerges from her chest.

“Don’t worry,” I say, “traveling the passages is painless. Once you get used to it.”

She smirks. “I’ve traveled before. We had to travel through a passage twice last year during studies.”

“Grand,” I mutter. Traveling from LA to San Francisco with a supervisor for physics studies isn’t the same as passing over a full continent and an ocean. But she’ll figure that out as soon as we go through.

“We need blood,” I say. “Demi blood.” It takes a demi to crack the passageway, and I have no hands to reach for my dagger. I motion again to Aelia, turning so my hilt is showing.

She takes hold of it and starts to pull the blade free from the waist of my jeans. But then she changes her mind and takes Sage’s wrist instead, lifting it to show me. The hand flops in front of my face. The palm is coated in red, sticky now from the blood beginning to dry. “We have loads of demi blood already. Where do we put it?” She waves the hand at me.