Page 44 of The City Of Fractured Memory

“What do you want from us?” Stryx asks, her eyes narrowing. He looks between us frantically, sweat beading on his brow despite the chill in the morning air.

He shoots a wary look over his shoulder. “Keep your voice down. If the wrong people see me talking to you–” He tugs his hood lower. “I’ve seen that tattoo before. The one on the victim’s wrist.”

My pulse quickens. “You’re certain?”

He nods once, his expression pale beneath his hood. “It’s a sigil, I think it belongs to a cult.” He hesitates, voice trembling. “My friend got that same tattoo recently. He wouldn’t say from where, but he did say it was...liberation, of some kind. I questioned him about it, but he stopped speaking to me after that.”

“What makes you think it’s a cult?” I demand, the idea seeming unlikely, though it would go some way to explain why I’ve been refused answers so far.

His throat bobs as he swallows hard. “He never said outright, but he mentioned something about The Fracturing? I don’t know, but he used to be convinced one of the old Gods was waiting beyond the Veil or something, that one day someone would tear it open. Then he got that tattoo, ranting about ‘our time finally coming’. Next thing I know, he’s gone.”

Doubt claws at the edge of my mind, but behind me Stryx shifts uneasily.

“Some believe the Veil’s the only thing that keeps mortal magic limited,” she says quietly. “Without it, they could rival the Echofae, even surpass them.”

“Yes, but doesn’t that legend also state that it would require releasing the Faceless God and the untold horrors that come with him?” I scoff. “Myth or real, either way it seems like a pretty terrible idea to me.”

“Destroying the Veil would unravel everything,” she murmurs. “It’s madness. If it’s true, that is.”

Raph gives a strained laugh. “Aye. But that’s why I reckon it’s a cult, see. Power without limit. Freedom without restraint. I’ve heard talk, whispers that it could unite Velmora under one banner.” His voice lowers. “But most who believe just want supremacy. To rule over everyone else. Echofae, mortal, doesn’t matter.”

I frown, my thoughts spiralling. “And your friend?” I ask softly. “Where is he now? How can I find him?”

Raph looks away. “I told you, he’s gone. Vanished a few days back. Just before the first murder happened.”

The fog shifts around us, and I catch the faint sound of bells echoing from somewhere deep within Aethermere’s maze of alleys. Stryx shifts from one foot to the other anxiously.

“If this cult is real, the victims could be part of it,” I murmur. “Could these killings be some sort of ritual?”

My gaze lingers on the body out in the street, but my train of thought is abruptly cut off as a tall shadow falls over me and Xavier appears, looking murderous. “We need to leave, now.”

I turn back to Raph but find the alley empty behind us, the man nowhere in sight.

“What’s happened?” Stryx asks anxiously, stepping closer to me as she observes him with a deep frown.

His gaze drops to mine, fury and pain swimming in his eyes so vividly my breath catches.

“It’s Vesper.”

Twenty-One

For a heartbeat, everything stills. Even the hum of Aethermere seems to fade beneath the sudden weight of dread that falls over me.

“What’s happened, Xavier?” I press, my Shadow looming in close to me as the sense of doom becomes overwhelming.

“My neighbour,” he says, his voice panicked, almost strangled. “I received a message, he says my door’s open. Blood on the threshold.”

Then, without waiting for me to reply, Xavier starts running.

For a heartbeat I don’t think, I just follow, Stryx hot on my heels. We sprint across the sky bridge, the sound of our boots echoing like drumbeats against the wooden slats. My knees protest at the onslaught, but I power through it, my frantic heartbeat pulsing in my throat as my anxiety builds to an unbearable weight.

“Xavier, what if she–” I begin, but I can’t finish the sentence.

“She’s fine,” he snaps over his shoulder, though his voice cracks. “She has to be.”

We burst through the gates to Eidravelle, the Memosyne’s towering buttresses gleaming ghostly pale against the fog in the distance. When we finally reach Xavier’s street, I see the door immediately, half open, a smear of dark, drying blood dragged across the threshold.

Xavier doesn’t hesitate. He shoves the door the rest of the way open and storms inside, knife raised.