Red Blood (Series of Blood Book 2) by Emma Hamm (rm book recommendations .txt) 📗

The skeleton did not move and continued to stare at the note as though he thought it was a bad idea.

“I can’t help it that the only people who know about this Malachi are the Five. If she works for them then we don’t need to go directly to them.”

The skeleton’s head turned towards him.

“No, don’t argue with me like that, Mungus; it’s rude. The girl won’t hurt anyone. She’ll tell him everything and then she’ll be left sitting at the cafe without anyone being harmed in the process.”

He turned back towards his desk and stared at the enchanted toad. The skeleton must have known it was dismissed. The Graverobber had more important things to do than argue with a dead man. He picked up two needle-like tools to see whether or not he could prod the largest strain of magic.

A rattling noise made his hand quiver just before he touched the electric line.

“Mungus!” he shouted. “Why do you persist upon being the bane of my existence?”

He stood from his desk to stomp towards the skeleton. “What, pray tell, could be so important that you are standing in the corner of my study as the remains of a coward?”

The skeleton’s hand pointed towards the note on the wall behind Wolfgang.

“You don’t have eyes left, I understand. But that note is not important!” He spun around, ripped it off of the wall and read it aloud. “Meeting at Fifth and Main at high noon. Girl will tell all information about Malachi in return for meeting the Graverobber.”

The last sentence slowed until he finally whispered the name at the end. Only then did he understand the skeleton’s fear. His eyes looked up to stare directly into the holes where Mungus’s eyes used to be.

“Ah. Right.”

He turned with the note in hand and started to pace. “The girl can’t meet me. That’s not acceptable. Look at me!”

The skeleton followed the Graverobber’s hand as it moved up and down, even though Mungus should not be able to see. It was true that the Graverobber was little more than a man on death’s door.

“Never mind the scars. There are many more intimidating creatures. Trolls. Basilisks. Shapeshifters. Even Ogres! The girl has likely seen all of them if she spends time in the Black Market,” he murmured.

The Graverobber would never admit it out loud, but what he worried about most was her reaction to him. The scars could be overlooked. Even the tattoos could be overlooked by the right woman.

But magic enacted a deadly price. Every spell, every incantation, every tiny bit of unnatural force he used made his body less of what it once was. The hollows of his cheeks left shadows that made his expression always intensely severe. His forehead jutted nearly as far forward as his chin, which made his face appear to have a silhouette not unlike a crescent moon.

His ribs jutted painfully against his skin, which was paper thin and milky pale. He hadn’t seen the sun in years. Or perhaps it was decades now. He had so lost track of time. His hands looked like a woman’s. Delicate and long, the nails were constantly chewed and ragged.

Not to mention that his home was a literal graveyard. He was fortunate enough to call the long networks underneath the city his home. The networks were all connected as this was where they buried the dead. Coffins lined the walls, and skulls were his decorations. He even had a chandelier made out of legs and arms.

He couldn’t entertain a woman. Not like this, not here. She would walk into this dungeon and be frightened. This was precisely the reason why he had left the world above so long ago. These tunnels were more fitting for a creature as disgusting as he.

“I understand, Mungus.”

And he did. There was more at stake here than he could have ever imagined. The girl wanted to meet him. Him! The monster that so many feared.

Therein lay the question. Why was she so insistent that she meet him?

He didn’t like questions without answers. It bothered him to no end considering that he didn’t have to wait for an answer. He burst into movement that his emaciated body should not have been capable of. Muttering the entire time, he shoved aside books as he scooped up ingredients for a recipe.

“Mungus, I’m going to need your help with this one.” His hip bumped against a particularly large stack of books with a jar on top of it.

A glass shattered against the ground. Black sludge covered the floor, and small curls of smoke that smelled faintly of licorice drifted into the air.

“Ah.” The Graverobber looked towards his dead man with a sheepish expression. “Don’t step in that.”

He’d get the acidic goo later. For now, he needed his arms filled with everything it was going to take to get the information he required. He had a weapon she surely wouldn’t know about. No one knew what he was. No one knew what he was capable of.

He had the advantage.

Arms overflowing, he shouldered past Mungus and down the hall. “To the big room, Mungus! Don’t dally!”

He could hear the sharp clacking sound that meant the skeleton was hurrying. It was a risk to make the creature attempt to move quickly. The bones weren’t attached with any ligaments anymore, and they were held together entirely by magic. As a rule, magic wasn’t particularly good at holding together things that were being affected heavily by gravity.

Or maybe it was because he had made Mungus when he was very young and not very practiced. Either way, the last time Mungus had hurried had resulted in bones everywhere. It had taken the Graverobber weeks to put him back together. Even now he was still missing a few pieces of his fingers.

Bursting into the larger spell room, he shoved aside a body that was laid out to be embalmed. They would put it back later. Or they would forget. Either way, the man was dead; it was unlikely