“I have a bad feeling about where this is going,” I say. My stomach turns. My palms feel slick with sweat. All of the little pieces are starting to slide together.
“Keep going,” Juliet says as she slides her hand down her face with a groan.
I hand the journal back to Ares, who takes it with a sigh, flipping the page.
"The call of the Blood Father grows heavier by the day. I hear him whispering to me at night. I feel his urgency during the day. He haunts me every time I sleep. It feels as if the dreams are bleeding into my nights, too.
Even in waking hours, I feel the weight of the Blood Father’s will pressing into the back of my skull, a constant thrum that makes me forget my own thoughts. I see glimpses of blood in reflections, ancient battlegrounds in my tea, and voices that do not belong to this century whispering truths I do not want to know.
He is reaching for me, begging for me to hurry.
But it has been two more months, and still, I cannot find confirmation of the necromancer. I don’t know who else to ask. I feel as if I have talked to everyone by this point; the whole of New York seems to think me a lunatic by this point, the man who seeks the one who can raise the dead.
I must be careful. The necromancer may never appear, and I am the only person alive who knows the Blood Father no longer is buried in RoterHimmel. I must guard that secret above all else. I imagine if King Cyrus ever got wind of what I have done, he would grant me a fate a thousand times worse than death. The man is maniacal. My punishment would be endless.
So, I must protect the bones.
But every day that passes, they steal my peace. They suck away my sanity.”
I swallow once and shake my head. “That’s creepy as fuck.”
“They were making him crazy,” Juliet says quietly. “How… how is that even possible? They were just bones. How could they… haunt him?”
“Don’t underestimate a curse,” Roman says darkly. “With what the man tried to do, it would be more surprising if a curse hadn’t attached itself to him.”
My eyes flick to Ares, who stares at Roman with trepidation. I can’t imagine how all of this must feel. Yes, he’s known about vampires since he was an older teenager. But his world of vampires was more mafia-esque than curses and ancient bones. This is an entirely different version of reality than he’s ever lived in.
“Ares, keep reading,” Roman encourages.
Ares clears his throat and turns the page once more.
“I can no longer keep the bones near. I hear his voice in every waking moment, and the urgency he presses upon me has nearly incapacitated me. I will never find the necromancer with this chaos in my brain, in my soul. I cannot keep them with me anylonger. Not until I find the one who can awaken them.
I’ve found a construction site. The building is skeletal, but the foundation is strong. I’ll hide them within it. The city will grow, and it will never have any idea what rests beneath. But I will remember. I will always remember where they are."
“Oh my gosh,” I breathe. “That has to be it. The timeframe, I bet James dug into it, and that’s why he came to work for you, Ares. The Blood Father was hidden in one of your buildings.”
“Finish it,” Roman growls, pressing past what I just said. The urgency in the room doubles, and my heart starts pounding as we begin to understand.
I lean over Ares shoulder as he turns to the next passage. The handwriting is erratic, ink splattered and smeared. It’s as if he wrote it in haste… or desperation.
“November 21, 1926
I am out of coin. The city bleeds me dry. Food, lodging, bribes for information—all of it devours what little I carried across the sea. I thought America would be easier. But this place has its own breed of cruelty.
I have searched endlessly. The necromancer must be here. He must. But as the days rot and stretch into weeks, I begin to question: what if there is no necromancer? What if all the stories I heard werelies? What if I crossed the ocean, dug up the dead, buried sacred bones in foreign soil... for nothing?
If Cyrus ever finds out what I’ve done—what I stole—he will not stop at death. He will unravel me. Piece by piece. I’ve seen what becomes of traitors. There is no mercy there. No end to his rage.
But I cannot turn back now. I only need one more month. One more month to find what I need and complete what I began.
Just one more month. Please."
“I think that’s the last entry,” I say as I nod to the next page. Ares hands me the journal, and I take a breath.
“January 29, 1927
I cannot beg any longer. I’ve pawned everything I brought across the sea. The bones are still safe—still retrievable. The building is nearly finished. I carved the markers myself, laid stone over them so they will remain untouched. Only I know where they lie.
