Grub watched Luthiel walk away until her figure disappeared down the road toward Morrigan's house. Then he turned and headed for the inn.
The evening air had cooled further since they parted and the village streets were nearly empty. His hands sat easily in his pockets, his enchanted notebook pressed against his side beneath his coat. The old notebook rested against his chest in the inner pocket.
He let out a small sigh. The day hadn't been as terrible as he expected. In fact, parts of it had been genuinely enjoyable. Learning about Luthiel's three aspects for one had been the type of past time Grub enjoyed. Grub also enjoyed playing the game and eating food. Even getting his face beaten in had been informative, in its own painful way.
But he was still no closer to a real solution.
Currently his best option was to give up the location of the hatch and bet everything on the backup plan working. Hand the Lacerts the information about the library. Tell them about the hidden passage, the hand-lock, and the Guardians. And hope that was enough.
If it wasn't, and they pressed the button, he'd have to fight. Pray the jam delays the signal. Beat down the messenger. Grab the trigger from their scaly finger and rewire it. Then quickly remove the bracelet. All in the span of a few seconds. He hated the idea, it was a horrible gamble with losing odds. But he was running out of options and time. Once he slept, he would only have three more days.
Grub sighed again as he reached the inn. He pushed through the front door, nodded to the keeper, and climbed the stairs to his room. As he walked down the hallway, something prickled at the back of his mind. A faint and formless feeling at the back of his mind. The kind of instinct that told you a shadow was watching before your eyes confirmed it.
For some reason, he brushed it off.
He opened the door, stepped inside, and dropped onto the bed with a heavy exhale. The room was dim, lit only by the faint glow of the lantern outside his window.
Grub pulled off his white coat and draped it over the bedpost. Immediately the burns on his arms became visible. Then he reached for the herbs and ointment he had been using to treat them. As he did, the familiar smell filled the room.
El had healed his face earlier, but she hadn't gotten to the arms. He had been too caught up in the conversation to ask, and she had probably been too focused on explaining to remember after healing his jaw.
He rolled up both sleeves and began rubbing the ointment along the red, raw skin of his forearms. The contact stung and he winced, hissing through his teeth as he worked it in carefully. He finished the left arm and started on the right. When he finally finished, the pain had dulled somewhat.
Better than nothing.
He placed the ointments aside and took a deep breath. Might as well update the notebook. With that in mind, he turned his desk, and immediately froze.
He had found himself face to face with Pazuzu.
The horned man stood in the corner of the room like he had been carved from the shadows. His thick, forward-angled horns caught the faint light from the window. His grey skin was darker than Orobas's, lined with scars that colored his skin like cracks on stone. Pazuzu's arms were folded across his broad chest. His black-sclera eyes stared at Grub with cold, measured interest.
He had been watching for while. Grub's blood went cold. His coat was off and his sleeves were rolled up. The burns on both arms were fully exposed. And his wrist—Grub's eyes snapped down to the Mgbaaka Maara. The obsidian surface was still muted, its runes dim, blending against his skin the way it always did when the camouflage was active.
Still hidden. He exhaled in relief. He looked back up at Pazuzu and scowled.
"What the hell are you doing in here? This is the second time today someone has invaded my room."
Pazuzu didn't move. His eyes traveled slowly down Grub's body and across the burns, and bandaged. They stopped and lingered on the bracelet for a moment that lasted too long.
"What a nice bracelet you have there," Pazuzu said.
Grub's stomach clenched. He casually lowered his arm and tucked it against his side in what he hoped looked like a natural movement. But inside his head, alarms were screaming.
How did I not notice him? When did he get in here? I've been so careful about watching my surroundings since arriving at this village. When did I stop paying attention?
His observation skills were one of the few things he trusted. He thought about his walk home. The comfortable silence after saying goodbye to Luthiel. The warmth of a good day dulling his edge. The prickle at the back of his mind that he had dismissed as nothing.
Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Pazuzu smirked. "What's wrong, Sky-Fallen? You seem a little troubled."
"I asked you a question," Grub said flatly. "Why the hell are you here?"
Pazuzu unfolded his arms and stood straighter. He clasped his hands behind his back.
"I am a Guardian," he said simply. "I watch and I guard this village with my life. And you, boy, have been quite the threat." His smirk widened. " Traitor."
Grub stiffened. "Traitor? How am I a traitor? You come into my room uninvited and call me a traitor?" His voice hardened. "Did Morrigan approve this? I doubt it. She said she was going to train me tomorrow."
Pazuzu laughed. It was a deep, rumbling sound that came from somewhere behind his ribs.
"She doesn't need to approve anything, you dirty rat. When I see a traitor, I kill them." He tilted his head, his horns catching the light. "The other Guardians are more hesitant. They wait for orders. I respect the chief, I do indeed. But she is too complacent. I believes she needs the will to act." His eyes darkened. "But it's fine. Because I am here. I have killed every traitor in this village. Whether the chief requests it or not."
Pazuzu didn't look angry. In fact, he sounded completely sincere. Like he was just discussing weather. Or making dinnerv plans. Or just talking to a neighbor while taking out garbage. One of those things just happened to be killing people.
Grub's eyes began scanning the room. The window behind him. The door to his left. The distance between himself and Pazuzu. The objects on his desk. Anything that could be useful as a weapon.
Pazuzu took a step closer.
"You know, once, a dainty little lacert wandered into the village. Claimed she was simply lost and looking for a place to stay. When questioned, she held firm that she wasn't from the base and just happened to be a Lacert passing through." He paused. "It's funny, she even held that story through my ability. The others hesitated. They wanted evidence or a trial. But I knew she was lying."
His voice dropped.
"So I killed her."
The casual delivery was more horrifying than the story. Pazuzu wasn't bragging or threatening. He was simply stating facts. That meant he genuinely believed he had done the right thing.
Grub shifted his weight subtly, positioning himself closer to the window. His eyes stayed locked on Pazuzu's body. Every muscle fiber. Every twitch. He didn't know how strong this man was. He didn't know what Anima could do in a real fight. And he was completely out of Death.
If Pazuzu moved, Grub had to be ready to move faster.
"I've suspected you for a while," Pazuzu continued, stepping closer again. "But today I learned some things. Some very interesting things."
Grub's jaw tightened.
"The chief asked me to keep an eye on her little pet while she talked to me. But while we spoke, I used my Forte on her." He smiled. "Got her to tell me that you'd been to the library and found some interesting evidence when I checked for myself. A vent out of place, some interesting books checked out. All so intriguingly suspicious." His eyes drifted down to Grub's wrist again. "And on top of that, she let me know the true nature of that device on your wrist."
"Then I checked your room. Saw a Jangushut and some notes.
Pazuzu spread his arms. "And suddenly everything started making sense."
Grub felt the floor drop out from under him.
Morrigan knew. She knew this whole time. And she told him? She told this psychopath everything?
"You're wrong," Grub said, keeping his voice level. "It's just a normal bracelet."
Pazuzu's smirk widened into something predatory. In a single motion he lunged forward and seized Grub's wrist. His grip was crushing—the pressure so intense that Grub felt his bones grind together beneath the skin.
Grub yelped. Pain shot up his arm as Pazuzu held him in place with terrifying ease.
"Now tell me," Pazuzu said, his face inches from Grub's, "if this is not a modified Mgbaaka Maara, then it should be perfectly fine if I broke it. Yes?"
His other hand reached for the bracelet. Grub kicked with all his might.
His foot connected with The Guardian's midsection. The horned man barely flinched, but the impact was enough to create a gap. Grub wrenched his arm free and stumbled backward, cradling his wrist.
He couldn't let Pazuzu destroy it. Breaking the bracelet would activate the kill switch directly. And it would be skin to skin. No Anima involved. So that meant there would be no delay.
Pazuzu smirked. "Just as I thought, you dirty traitor.
"Scared to die?"
Grub scowled, breathing hard. His mind raced through options and found none that ended well.
"Why are you telling me all this?" Grub demanded. "Why tell me how you know? Why reveal that you used some strange power on Morrigan?"
Pazuzu shrugged as though the question bored him.
"It's my Maladroit. The flaw of my Forte. I simply never feel threatened. I physically can't." He tapped one of his horns casually. "So I feel no need to hide my hand from you. You could know everything about me and it would change nothing. I cannot feel fear. I cannot feel caution. The concept does not exist inside me."
Grub's mind latched onto the words. "Forte? I've heard of it but I don't understand—"
"Oh dear, how sad," Pazuzu interrupted, his smile widening. "Well, no matter. You won't be alive long enough to learn."
He stepped forward. Grub didn't think. He unlatched the window behind him and threw himself backward through it.
Pazuzu's fist struck the wall where Grub's head had been a heartbeat earlier. The impact cracked the wooden frame and sent splinters scattering across the room.
That blow would have killed him.
Grub hit the ground outside on his back, the impact driving the air from his lungs. He rolled, scrambled to his feet, and ran.
Damn it. Damn it all! This is not what I panned!
Behind him, Pazuzu climbed through the broken window with the casual ease of a man stepping over a puddle. He dropped to the ground, straightened his vestments, and followed at a slow, measured pace.
An uncaring smile was plastered across his face.
He wasn't running because he didn't need to.