Relic and Ruin

CHAPTER THREE

PHASMOPHOBIA – FEAR OF GHOSTS

I become insane . . .

"Erebus."

. . . with long intervals of . . .

"Are you even listening to what I'm saying?"

. . . horrible sanity.

Sigh. "You're not."

Erebus couldn't remember how many times over the last couple of hundred years he'd heard Damien Tate recite his plans to redesign and renovate their warehouse home. To be completely honest, Erebus wasn't actually interested in changing anything.

Approximately four stories high and the length of half a football field, it was a monster of exposed metal, gridded floors, and tall industrial windows. Over the years, all five of its inhabitants had gathered every utensil, appliance, and piece of furniture on their own. Nothing worked well together, and Erebus loved it.

Damien, not so much.

Erebus sat at their dining table, fiddling with spare bolts that one of the others had left lying around. Damien, cross-legged on the table, looked expectantly at his friend.

"I'm sorry." Erebus slid the bolts away. "I'm listening. Tell me again?"

Damien sighed dramatically. "Well, do I get to start over?"

Erebus winced. "Fine." It had been four days since his encounter with the Necromancer. Erebus had shown up at the warehouse with a swollen face—his vision foggy and his legs falling beneath him—as he stumbled through the doors with his bags. Damien had been the first one there, running down the stairs to the doorway to pick Erebus up off the ground.

Following Damien was Max, their caretaker and owner of the building, in his robe and fluffy slippers, with the silhouettes of the other two boys running close behind. Erebus passed out again, and continued to slip in and out of consciousness for the next three days.

Damien turned, pointing to the metal grid ceiling above and the second story beyond that. "And then, in the kitchen, I was thinking that we could—" He dropped his hands, unimpressed. "Erebus! Seriously?"

Erebus straightened. "What?"

"I can tell when you aren't listening. I'm asking you to just pay attention for, like, two minutes."

Erebus was about to speak when Max shouted from the upstairs kitchen. "Erebus! Have you gone to see the Legion Council yet?"

Erebus closed his eyes. "Not yet!" he yelled back.

"And when do you plan on doing that, exactly?" The older man stood at the top of the stair, staring disapprovingly over his wire-framed glasses.

Erebus grabbed the bolts and twirled them between his fingers. "I'll go this afternoon."

"Good. Taeto isn't very happy about what happened," Max repeated for what felt like the hundredth time. Even Damien rolled his eyes.

"I know, Max. I'm sorry, I had no idea she was going to be there."

"I don't think her being there is what's bothering him."

"He still should have checked that none of the academies had sent out Reapers of their own—that's Taeto's fault," Damien said, pointing at Max.

Taeto operated the Dewmort Legions, of which the boys were all members. They were a group of Necromancers and Reapers occasionally sent topside to dispose of rogue creations or their masters.