"I'm…not dreaming, am I?" Lucian said softly, eyes to the ground. "Not at all," she replied, and he could hear her trying not to smile so wide. "You're exactly where you wished to be, mortician. A quiet life, among the dead."
So the bar actually did make my wish come true. It just had to kill me to do it. Lucian wanted to roll his eyes, but it wasn't the time.
Her hand extended, and he was face to face with a bony arm. Shiny ivory-polished bone, wearing black lace gloves.
He took it and wondered idly if he should kiss it, but thankfully she took pity on him.
"Rise. We have much to discuss." At this, the skeletons surrounding them returned to their appointed duties. Some of them gathered the glowing lilies, others swept the grave dirt from the faded red rug, but only one of them handed Lucian a silver flask.
It was cold even before his hands wrapped around it. "You sounded so parched." The corpse explained as she straightened her apron. "Thank you," Lucian said as he took a deep swig.
He was half-expecting stale water, but what hit his tongue was icy and refreshing. "Careful, don't choke! The Queen wouldn't appreciate her mortician in peril from water." She laughed, her pale shoulders shaking under her maid's uniform.
"I hadn't thought to ask if you were thirsty." The Queen said suddenly, her left eye looking a bit sad. "Your majesty! I'm sorry if I overstepped," the maid said with a deep curtsy. "I still have some life inside of me, so I still suffer from thirst. I thought he might need some after his journey."
She was rewarded by a half-smile. "No, Rosa. Thank you for reminding me our mortician is human." Lucian didn't think her voice could sound any heavier than that moment. "I've already had my weekly drink, so it completely slipped my mind."
Lucian returned Rosa's flask. "All right, your highness. I'm ready to follow."
Queen Marguerite's smile then, Lucian thought, had been warmer than the candlelight.
"Come then. You too, Rosa. In case he gets thirsty again."
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Lucian wondered if he could ever get used to these circumstances. They walked through a long, grand hallway paved with marble and smooth obsidian. The Queen walked first, and never waited, never turned to see if he still followed her.
Next to her was the skeleton butler, holding onto a lantern now instead of a candlestick. Behind them both were Lucian and Rosa, the silver flask bouncing slightly in her apron pocket as she moved.
Hanging from the walls were ornately framed paintings of people. Men, women, and beings that were neither. A few even had animal ears and tails. All of them wore a thick black coat with a silver coffin-shaped pin on their vests…and a heavy book was always by their side.
The design changed with every mortician's portrait. Some covers were ornate and inlaid with gold or silver. Others were so plain they looked like common leatherbound books. As he took in all of the ancient history surrounding them, the Queen continued to explain his duties.
"As Atraeum's newest mortician, your main duty is to let the undead rest. Not all of them," Queen Marguerite said sternly. "Just the ones that are particularly restless. Some of them enjoy working, even in the afterlife."
She continued listing his duties with Lucian half-listening, more engrossed at the portraits. For a second, he stopped walking and stared at a painting that looked dangerously familiar. He had longer hair swept into a ponytail and had an aura of authority that rivaled Queen Marguerite's. The most important thing though, was the book he held in one hand and the cane in the other.
The book was completely burnt on one side, and yet the man held it with confidence. As for the cane…
Lucian's gaze lowered toward the walking cane, and he felt a strange chill. While the painting was done in grayscale, the runes carved into it seemed identical. The fear that crept into his heart the longer he gazed at it confirmed this, or so he thought.
Rosa tugged at his arm gently to keep him moving. "She might sense you're no longer following her."
While she led Lucian away from the painting, she looked above them, over their shoulders. The shadows dancing across the wall from the candlelight had grown slightly larger.
The maid clucked her cold tongue and kept walking. She completely ignored how one of the shadows snarled after her before continuing its black stare at Lucian's back.
Lucian said nothing, but the grip of his cane definitely felt warmer. It was like the object remembered someone else as he held it.
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Isn't that a silly thought, Luci? A walking cane holding memory? Lucian thought, scolding himself lightly. Was that where he drew the line? Not at the undead, the glowing flowers, or the creepy collection of mortician portraits?
"That one was special," Rosa murmured beside him. She handed him the cold flask and he dabbed some water onto his burning cheeks. "The Queen doesn't like talking about him. But some of us do...privately, of course."
Lucian looked at her. "Who was he?"
The maid just adjusted her glasses and smiled politely, the kind that didn't reach her pale eyes. "Mayhap the Grimoire itself will let you know. It depends."
"On what?"
"If it likes you."
Ah. That definitely didn't sound promising. He wondered when he would receive the large book, this Grimoire. After a few more steps, the hallway narrowed slightly and the candles burned much brighter, like the shadows didn't want to get too close.
Fear left Lucian's heart as he felt the change of air pressure: it was now thick and silent. The Queen had stopped speaking. They turned the final corner and arrived at a beautifully carved dark brown wooden door.
He wouldn't have been surprised if it was painted using ink. Lucian thought about the sleek black bar at Lion.
Ah. If only I could have said goodbye...
Oblivious to his thoughts, Marguerite gently patted the door with her left hand. A warm green light pulsed in return, like it was a living thing. "This is yours now," she said as she turned toward him. Her veil, pinned tightly to the right side of her head, shimmered with the abrupt movement.
"Until the Grimoire tells you to leave."
Before Lucian could ask where the book was, the door opened by itself and he was welcomed...by the sound of rustling pages.