The red glow in Bennett’s pupils flashed. “And so the captor becomes the captive. We’ve come a long way since you had me tied up in the back of your car, haven’t we, errand boy?”
“You can stop calling me that,” I said. “I know you’re not really Bennett. You’re just pulling his strings, making his dead body dance for you. It’s sick.”
The thing with Bennett’s face stopped smiling.
“So why the charade?” I asked. “Why come to me at the safe house in Bennett’s body?”
When the revenant answered, it was still Bennett’s vocal cords at work, still his voice, but the speech patterns were all wrong. Whoever was controlling his corpse had stopped pretending to be Bennett and was now speaking freely. “I chose this body precisely because it was known to you. It was a face you would respond to.”
A chill fell over me. “How did you know that?”
“I know much about you.”
“How?”
“It helped that Bennett’s body was freshly dead,” the revenant continued, ignoring my question. “His brain hasn’t deteriorated yet. It made impersonating him that much easier, drawing upon the memories and information locked in his head. This body was the perfect shill. But every good con needs a mark. So tell me, what does that make you?”
“I don’t understand, what does any of this have to do with me?”
With a grin, Bennett’s corpse walked away, joining the throng of revenants.
I struggled to free myself from my two half-faced guards, but their grip was like iron, and just as cold.
The crowd of revenants parted like the Red Sea, leaving an aisle down the center of the room. There, standing at the far end, was the red-robed figure I’d seen outside the safe house. His hood shaded the golden skull mask over his face. He was flanked by the two shadowborn, their swords back in their sheaths. They walked with him as he crossed toward us. I studied the mask over his face, but I couldn’t see any of the person behind it. There were no eyes in the empty black sockets of the skull mask, no mouth visible behind its leering grin.
Isaac lifted his head, struggling against the weight of the heavy chain around his neck. “Melanthius.”
“You know of me?” Melanthius said. His voice seeped out from behind the mask like poison gas. “Good. Then you know I am not to be trifled with. A point of interest: The amulet around your neck is called the Hangman’s Damper. Can you guess why?”
Isaac scowled. “I have a feeling you’re going to tell me. You seem the type who enjoys the sound of his own voice.”
The revenants guarding Isaac dug their sharp finger bones into his shoulders and arms. He winced in pain and gritted his teeth.
“Watch your tongue, mage, or I will see it cut from your mouth.” Behind Melanthius, the shadowborn’s featureless steel masks turned toward Isaac. “The Hangman’s Damper was a favorite tool of the magician hunters of the Spanish Inquisition. It earned its name for two reasons. First, it keeps the wearer’s magic safely in check. So long as it is around your neck, mage, you can neither cast nor summon.”
Isaac glared at him, his face reddening and twitching with exertion as he tried to cast a spell, presumably one that would flatten Melanthius to a smear on the carpet. Then he let out his breath and slumped forward, panting. “Get this thing off me and let’s see how tough you really are.”
“I prefer it this way,” Melanthius replied. “The second reason for the name is that the Hangman’s Damper had a side effect the Inquisitors found most useful. The spell tightens around the wearer’s neck with each lie he tells. One lie and you feel as if all the air has left the room. Two lies and you feel you’re being strangled. Three lies and you’re dead. I would caution you not to put that to the test. But I know you’re no fool. You know what we have come for as certainly as we know that you have it. It’s somewhere in the building. Remember what I’ve told you about the amulet, and answer our questions truthfully.”
“Our questions?” Isaac said. “I take it you’re not alone?”
Bennett stepped out of the crowd to stand with Melanthius.
“Ah.” Isaac’s eyes narrowed. “Reve Azrael, I presume.”
Shit. The entity Isaac had mentioned earlier, the necromancer Melanthius served, was controlling Bennett’s body. And she knew me somehow.
“Enough talking, mage. Where is Stryge’s head?” Reve Azrael demanded through Bennett’s mouth.
“Why don’t you show yourself, instead of hiding behind the dead like a coward?” Isaac taunted. “Or do you not have a body of your own? Is that it? Are you a floater, just some random consciousness without a form to call home? It must be so lonely, not being able to touch anyone except with the cold, numb hand of a corpse.”
“Stryge’s head,” she repeated.
“Never heard of it,” Isaac said. He choked suddenly and gasped for air. Red-faced, he slumped forward in the grip of his revenant guards. I could hear his desperate breathing as he fought for air.
Reve Azrael smiled down at him as he choked. “You know how the Hangman’s Damper works, mage. Even you would not be so foolish as to risk the consequences of another lie, would you? Now, tell me where it is.”
Between his coughs and gags, Isaac managed to squeeze out the words, “I’d sooner die.”
“To what end? If you did, I would simply take your body for myself and find the answer within your tiny, pitiful brain,” Reve Azrael said. “I will not be denied, not even by death. Not when a weapon of this magnitude is so close at hand. Not when it assures me limitless power, and limitless control.”
“What weapon, what are you talking about?” Bethany demanded.
“Why, the most powerful weapon there is, of course. An Ancient,” Reve Azrael said. The discolored lips on Bennett’s dead face twisted into a smug smile. “With Stryge’s power, I can unmake this wretched city. I can bring it all down.”
Isaac sucked air into his lungs. “You’re insane … Stryge won’t do your bidding … He’s an Ancient, practically a force of nature.”
Reve Azrael grabbed his hair and pulled his head back until she was staring into his face. “I did not come here for advice. I came for the head. Where is it? Tell me and your pain will end.”
Isaac locked eyes with her, the defiance in his gaze burning like fire. “I don’t have it.”
He choked again, wheezing and gasping as his face turned red as a brick.
“It must be getting very hard to breathe,” Reve Azrael said. “Two lies is usually all anyone can muster before they die. Save yourself, mage, and tell me what I need to know.”
Isaac gasped like a beached fish.
“Stop it!” Gabrielle cried. “You’re killing him!”
“You mean I should show him mercy?” Reve Azrael asked. “I already have. I could have killed him, killed all of you, the moment we arrived, but I did not. I have no more mercy in me than that. But you can end this, woman. Any of you can. Just tell me where he has hidden Stryge’s head.” Her request was met with stony silence. She bent her ruined corpse face toward Isaac. “You’ve earned their loyalty. How endearing. I wonder, how will your loyal companions feel watching you die, knowing how unnecessary it is? Be smart, mage, and speak, because each moment that passes only makes me more determined. I can hear the heartbeat of this city in my head like a constant drum, the din of breath and metal, the cracking of its skin underfoot. It never stops, never gives me a moment’s peace, but soon it will. Soon there will be silence.”