Page 110 of Mortis

My eyes snapped open, and Arlo immediately leaned forward. “What kind?”

I frowned. “Blue?”

“A motorway,” he mumbled. “What did it say?”

“I don’t know.”

His lips flattened. “Kael, you’re a shit witness.”

I growled. “I had just slaughtered an entire cult and escaped more than a hundred years of captivity. I apologise if I neglected to memorise the road signs.”

Arlo winced and held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, fair. Withdrawn.” He tapped his chin. “What do you remember?”

“The letter B. And something about the west.”

Arlo went still. I watched his eyes narrow, then he slowly raised one finger. “A place beginning with B.” A second finger joined the first. “Skyscrapers.” Then a third. “Somewhere in the west.”

His eyes widened, and he cried, “Birmingham!”

I straightened up, and Arlo looked unbearably pleased with himself for approximately three seconds. But then his expression fell, and my brief spark of hope guttered.

“Birmingham is fucking massive.” Arlo began pacing. “Think. Think, Lo.”

“Are you speaking to yourself?”

Arlo shrugged.

“Sherlock probably did.” I opened my mouth to tell him I still didn’t know who that was, but Arlo raised a hand. “Kael, please. I’m in the zone.”

He paced another few steps before spinning towards me. “They kept you underground in a crypt, right?”

I bobbed my head, trying to be useful.

“Right, so we’re probably looking at churches. Maybe cathedrals.”

“The sacrificial ceremonies were performed beneath the light of the moon.”

Arlo slowly turned towards me. “Say that again.” I did, and his eyes lit up. “If they were outside, they’d need privacy, but also some open ground and access to a crypt.”

I stared at him as the pieces began fitting together, and Arlo slapped both hands against the table in the staff kitchen.

“A cemetery!” he yelled proudly, his mouth stretching into a smile. “Fuck me, I’m good.”

Under any other circumstances, I might have pointed out that I’d provided most of the information. Instead, I watched him frantically type.

“Apparently Birmingham has a lot of dead people, because there are twelve cemeteries.” His fingers continued flying. “Old cemetery, Birmingham, crypt, creepy as fuck . . .”

“Is that what you’re searching?” I asked, and he shook his head.

“Don’t question the methodology.” Arlo shoved the phone towards me, showcasing several photographs on the screen. “Right, Watson. Recognise anything?”

Cocking my head, I asked, “Who is Watson?”

“You, duh.”

I frowned at him. Had discovering my true form affected Arlo’s memory? I hoped not. Teddy wouldn’t be pleased if I’d inadvertently broken his best friend before we could rescue him.

“My name is Kael.”