Dire (Reaper's Redemption Book 2) by Thea Atkinson

Author:Thea Atkinson [Atkinson, Thea]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Published: 2017-03-31T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 11:

"I'm glad I didn't get that thing," Sarah said.

We were in the living room. Gramp was sitting in his armchair looking sullen and anxious with his fingers clenching the armrests and a cup of cocoa Sarah had made him sitting on the little table beside him. Sarah was sitting cross-legged on the floor and Callum and I were both sitting on the sofa. I couldn't help glaring at her, even though I knew all she was doing was trying to break the tension in the room.

I nudged her with my toe.

"Well I am," she said. "If I had got that thing instead of the one with the paper in it, there's no telling what might've happened. It could be walking around and talking for all we know." She snorted and crossed her arms over her chest.

Callum's leg spasmed next to mine. Of all of us, he seemed to find the events of the day the most disturbing. I imagined a lifetime of necromancy and druidism might desensitize a person to things like that, but Callum still thought he was human. This had to be tough for him.

We had left the basement without saying a word to each other. Simply collected up the containers and lids as well as the parchment paper and brought it up stairs without so much as looking at each other either.

Typical of Sarah, she had gone straight to the kitchen and pulled out a plate of lemon meringue pie. When she offered a piece to me to me, I declined with a shake of my head. I didn't know how she could eat after that. I still couldn't bring myself to look into that second container and imagine that tiny body again. Just envisioning someone stuffing it in there made my gallbladder twitch. I felt as though I was trying to catch hold of the last thread of a vivid dream but it unravelling even as I grabbed for the end.

The two vessels in question squatted next to each other on the carpet like toads waiting for someone to manhandle them. The parchment was in front of Sarah, lying at her feet next to the empty plate of pie. She was browsing it with an industriousness that told me she didn't want to look at the bundle of terrycloth at all. None of us did.

The baby was wrapped in a towel and placed several feet away from everything else. I noted that Gramp had laid it with some care so that its feet were facing east.

"I guess it is some sort of resurrection thing," I said, trying not to sound discouraged. It certainly seemed plausible now with an actual humanoid thing all but mummified in an earthen vessel, buried in our back yard as though it was the plains of Giza or something.

I had handled the paper long enough as I'd carried it up the stairs to know it had the feel of waxiness. Someone had obviously painted beeswax over it to keep it safe from moisture.

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