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AGYROPHOBIA – FEAR OF CROSSING STREETS
Erebus Reid Oram Salem.
Eros.
That was it. All he was. The only tie he had to his life before Dewmort.
Erebus had gone to see Taeto. After they'd discussed what happened, Erebus had been sentenced to two weeks' probation. No traveling to the human world, no assignments—nothing.
He was only two days in and was already bored. He tossed the name around in his head over and over again, trying to remember those words coming from his mother or father. Of course, he didn't know who they were. But he was sure that he'd known them at one point.
What a great thing it was, to have a name but no memory of it ever being used. Erebus rolled his eyes and sat upright. He stared at the piles of borrowed library books, papers and files scattered across the floor. Ridley's laptop screen had gone black during Erebus's timeout. He wiggled the mouse, trying to find the page he'd been reading.
Mason and Damien had been given an assignment by Taeto—an Inbetweener had been spotted somewhere in Zambia, raising lions to terrorize villages in the area. Since they'd been gone, Erebus had been searching through the Dewmort records for any reference to other Salem family members. If he could find just one, he could go to them. He could learn something about his previous life.
But there were no other Salems.
Searching the internet, he found information about the witch trials and Arabian horse breeds, but that was it. He even tried asking the city's oldest members if they remembered seeing him on the road the day he arrived.
Nothing.
Ridley was downstairs again, smashing at the old walls at the back of the cathedral. Max, meanwhile, was lost somewhere else in their monolith of a warehouse.
Standing, Erebus gathered up everything and went to return Ridley's things. He paused, catching his reflection in the mirror in Ridley's room.
A scar on his right hand, another on his chin. A birthmark that looked like a leaf above his left hip just above the waistband of his sweatpants. A great tattoo of a snake eating its own tail stretching across his bare shoulder blades. He wanted to know where they came from. But Erebus wasn't hopeful. He'd been here for years now and hadn't remembered a single thing on his own.
He trudged downstairs, pulling on a shirt and his long, black coat. He knocked on the wall of the cathedral. Ridley turned, dropping his sledgehammer and removing his dust mask. He was still in his pajamas, the bird tattoos on his chest visible through the fabric of his shirt.
