Page 12 of Eternal Devotion

He wasn’t tall. No more than five eight or five nine. Despite being concealed by a long wool coat, it was clear he had a honed physique.

The bathroom boasted a porcelain enameled claw-foot tub with exposed brass plumbing, a vintage pedestal sink with polished brass faucets, an ivory pull-chain toilet, a cracked marble-topped washstand, and many dark wood accents. The walls were papered forest-green above wainscotting panels. Over the sink hung an ornate, brass-framed mirror, the glass filmy with years of grime.

As Mordecai crossed in front of the sink to reach the small covered window, my brain registered something obscure, but apart from an odd sense of wrongness, I couldn’t pinpoint what triggered the hair-prickling sensation.

I stared at the grimy mirror, my reflection hazy and distorted from the thick layer of filth covering its surface. For no apparent reason, a heavy sense of dread filled my belly. I shivered and wrapped my coat tighter as my heart tripped double-time.

An autonomic reaction associated with fear. But what was I afraid of? For half a second, I wondered if there might be truth behind all those ghost stories. Was there something in the room with us? Did I sense them? It?

Mordecai moved from the window and approached the door. I stepped aside to let him pass, transfixed on the mirror as the circuits inside my brain sparked with an answer, but before they fully ignited, revealing the cause of my sudden anxiety, an exclamation from Mordecai drew my attention.

“Simply fascinating. I haven’t seen one of these in years.”

I hustled down the hall and found him in a cluttered room at the end. The only light came from a window. He stood in the dark, staring at something I couldn’t see.

I shone my light and discovered a practical treasure trove of artifacts that were sadly going to ruin from their hasty storage. In the corner, I illuminated the object responsible for Mordecai’s exclamation. An ornate pedestal topped with an antique armor stand. The armor stand displayed a torso clothed in steel-plated armor: overlapping metal scales over a padded leather backing.

Mordecai ran his fingers over a metal edge, tucked them underneath the plate, and fondled the leather padding. “A 16th-century replica.” Shoulders falling, he sighed and lowered his arm. “The National Museum of Romanian History in Bucharest has fine examples of the real thing.”

I didn’t know how Mordecai could tell it was a fake or what century it was from, but I supposed it was in far better condition than true medieval chest armor would be. Besides, an authentic 16th-century antique wouldn’t be in a rotting mansion outside Owen Sound. Like he said, it would be in a national history museum somewhere across the ocean.

“Ever hear of Immortal Rising?” I asked.

Mordecai didn’t answer right away. He moved on to a stack of paintings propped against the wall.

“It’s an MMORPG.”

“I’m not familiar with the term.”

“Oh, well, it’s been around for a couple of years. It’s a complex game that has taken over my life in an unhealthy way that concerns my mother. The hunt is addictive. It’s become an obsession.”

I chuckled.

Mordecai glanced over his shoulder with a quizzical expression.

I continued. “I was supposed to go on a run in a similarly dilapidated castle tonight. We had a high chance of success too. Came into some new information about a certain boss’s weaknesses. Planned to put a few theories to the test. Anyhow”—I indicated the chest piece—“this reminds me of trash mob loot. Level ten stuff. It looks incredible, but it’s not worth anything. Clunky and awkward. It would slow you down in a real fight. No great protection against the undead, either, you know?”

A pinch appeared in Mordecai’s brow, and I got the sense he wasn’t following the conversation. Worse, I’d revealed my nerdy side and was geeking out with facts no one cared about but my guild. Thirty-three and obsessed with video games. How nerdy could I be in one day?

This was why I didn’t have a boyfriend. If my goal was to impress Mordecai so he noticed me in that way, I was failing.

Shame burned my cheeks. I kept my flashlight aimed at the floor, hoping the shadowy room covered my embarrassment.

“Yeah, anyhow. Ignore me. I’m rambling.”

“Do you know who these people are?” Mordecai motioned to the framed portraits.

“No. Likely members of the Branson family. All this stuff would have belonged to them.”

“Their bloodline is gone, I assume?”

“So far as I understand.”

Mordecai walked among the clutter, picking at the random treasures. A rusted birdcage. A broken game table, its chunky wooden pieces scattered about. Two freestanding ashtrays. Cracked vases, tarnished silver ornaments, even a taxidermized raven. This discovery seemed to trouble Mordecai, if his pursed lips and frown said anything.

“Do you think the dead want to be remembered?” he asked, thumbing the feathers on the stuffed bird.

“What do you mean?”