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She would not thank Gideon even if she had sat her flat ass in a puddle of molten lava, especially not as Gideon would religiously mark each anniversary of the day Harrow destroyed her butt with magma.
“Maybe the building’s shy.” “That is just tough shit for the building.
Gideon descended like an avenging necrosaint as she rose—slicing down in a winging cut that would have destroyed the blade given a longsword and the right footing, just for the pleasure of seeing her partner duck, huff between her teeth with exertion.
Because necromancers lived bad lives, he added: “To clarify. Her intravenous blood. Her intravenous blood.”
his tightly-wound shoulders relaxed a fraction from black-hole stress fracture to pressure at the bottom of the ocean.
The walls were unadorned, except for an enormous old whiteboard rimmed in metal, printed with lines for a timetable that had not been used in a very, very, very long time. The lines had blurred; the board was stained. Here and there meaningless bits of letters survived: the loop of what might be O or C; the arch of an M; a line-suffixed curve that could be G or Q. But in one bottom corner lingered the ghost of a message, drawn thickly in black ink once, now faded but still quite clear: It is finished!
Gideon resented the answer me, but she begrudgingly cast her mind back through a montage of rotting furniture, assholes, and astringent tea.
I am your creature, gloom mistress. I serve you with fidelity as big as a mountain, penumbral lady.” Harrow’s eyes flickered open. “Stop.” “I am your sworn sword, night boss.” “Fine,” said Harrow heavily.
“bone empress”
twilit princess
“Down there resides the sum of all necromantic transgression,” she said, in the singsong way of a child repeating a poem. “The unperceivable howl of ten thousand million unfed ghosts who will hear each echoed footstep as defilement. They would not even be satisfied if they tore you apart. The space beyond that door is profoundly haunted in ways I cannot say, and by means you won’t understand; and you may die by violence, or you may simply lose your soul.”
“Surprise, my tenebrous overlord!” said Gideon. “Ghosts and you might die is my middle name.”
