Page 108 of Mortis

“That’s what I said,” he argued.

I shook my head in exasperation. “He is one of the Seven Princes of Hell. The embodiment of Greed.”

Arlo stared at me for several seconds in silence, then threw his hands in the air. “Of course. Yeah. Why wouldn’t one of the Seven Princes of Hell be involved? Completely reasonable fucking day we’re having.”

Arlo took a breath and visibly forced himself to focus.

“The cult. What do they want?”

“Me.”

His expression changed. “And Teddy?”

My throat tightened.

“Leverage.”

Arlo went completely still. The implications of that word seemed to hit him all at once.

“They held me captive for more than a century, but I escaped sixty years ago,” I continued. “I believed I had killed them all, but I was wrong. Now they’re trying to draw me back.”

Arlo’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know they took him?”

I pulled the refrigeration unit’s door open wider and revealed the bloody mark. “That is their symbol.”

Arlo took a step closer. “Is that . . .”

“Teddy’s blood,” I hissed, cursing the individual who had dared to cut my mortal.

Arlo went completely still.

“Oh my god,” he wheezed, gaze snapping to mine. “The bloke outside, the coffins moving. Mr Simpson. That was the cult, wasn’t it?” I gave him a clipped nod, and his face hardened. “And that creepy fucker in the town square.”

A growl rumbled through my chest. “Sebastian.”

“He’s one of them?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“And you fucking knew?” Arlo bit out.

The accusation struck harder than I expected, and my chest tightened with guilt. “I only knew after we found Mr Simpson.”

“But you knew they were after you, and neither of you thought to tell me?”

Arlo’s eyes began to water, and a single tear slipped down his cheek.

“Teddy wanted to protect you,” I admitted.

“For fuck’s sake.” He brushed away the tear and shoved both hands into his hair. “Why does that idiot think protecting me means not telling me when there’s a demon cult after his boyfriend?”

He whipped his head left and right, as though scanning the room for clues. Then he froze, eyes glued to the counter where he so often perched while slacking off.

“His glasses.” Arlo hurried towards the autoclave. When he turned back, Teddy’s round spectacles lay across his palm. “He wouldn’t leave without these.”

We both stared down at them, and Arlo’s fingers curled carefully around the frames. When he looked up at me, his blue eyes seemed to glow with unbridled fury.

“You can explain the demon shit, the corpse eating, and why my best friend apparently has the survival instincts of a fucking lemming later.” He slipped Teddy’s glasses carefully into his coat pocket. “Right now, we’re going to get him back.”