Flames of Cobalt and Crimson

The Walking Dead

Azriel

We had not - in fact - drawn straws to see who would carry Eris down from the House. Once the initial dismay wore off, Cassian insisted on carrying the heir of Autumn down himself, since I was still recovering my strength. Their faces had been priceless; both extremely uncomfortable and sporting forced politeness like invisible armor. Eris had kept his face stiffly averted from Cassian, who - for his part - was trying to hold Eris in a way that kept their bodies from touching. And failing. It was as awkward as you would imagine it to be. When we were outside the shields, Eris winnowed them down, and I folded darkness to appear in the street beside them.

As we entered the town house and steered Eris toward the sitting room, Amren appeared at my elbow and gripped my arm. I flinched, surprised my shadows hadn't warned me of her proximity. Her serious face stared up into mine, and I observed - not for the first time - that the swirling silver of her eyes had been forever stilled.

"Come with me, Shadowsinger." She kept her voice low, and her tone was serious. With a jerk of her chin toward Cassian she added, "Let them speak to the others. We need to talk."

I looked to my mate, and he returned my gaze with a curious expression. He shrugged, a slight lift of one shoulder that most others would likely ignore, but I took it as acceptance that he and Eris would be speaking to Rhys and Feyre without me. I kept my face neutral, but I sent him gratitude and reassurance as I turned to follow Amren up the stairs.

The diminutive female led me into Rhys's office and surprised me by perching on top of the large, polished wooden desk with a small hop. She pointed a slim, imperious finger at one of the chairs and said, "Sit."

Feeling a bit like an obedient hound, I settled myself into the chair she indicated and adopted my blankest face. She studied me, those piercing eyes seeming to see all the way inside to the places I prefer to ignore, and I wondered what she was looking for. Her serious expression softened slightly, and when she spoke, there were no sharp edges to her words.

"Have you ever heard of a book called The Walking Dead?"

I started to shake my head, but I stopped and considered. The question had surprised me, but Amren never seeks knowledge without a purpose. I've never had much time to spend in the library, but I go often enough, and that title tickled at the edge of my mind. It sounded ominous. A shiver slid up my spine and I couldn't pinpoint exactly why.

"I think I might have seen it before, but I'm not sure."

"Have you ever felt like you should pick it up? Or seen it in strange places?"

"I have no idea what might be considered a strange place, but no. The title sounds vaguely familiar, but I don't remember anything specific," I replied honestly. Though the eddies and swirls of her eyes had been smoothed into quicksilver pools, I could almost swear I saw them churning as her mind worked. The moment dragged on a bit too long, and I asked, "Why? What is this book?"

"It's hard to explain," she began. "The book has existed for as long as I have, probably much longer." I tamped down my shock, keeping my expression as blank as possible. Amren was over fifteen thousand years old. Before I could consider further implications, she continued. "The book exists in many worlds. It is in all worlds, and none. It exists where it is needed, when it is needed. The fact that you've seen it is significant."

I opened my mouth to protest, but she raised a small hand to forestall me as she went on. "Nobody ever recognizes the title of the book if they haven't seen it before; the effect is part of the magic of the artifact. The contents of The Walking Dead change from reader to reader, depending on the need that summoned it."