Page 109 of Death's Daughter
Her smile trembles, and tears flood her eyes again, but this time… this time, they’re real. And not because she’s sad. Her expression shifts, like the bones are moving beneath her skin, a carved statue coming to life with fury oozing from every pore.
“For half a century, I’ve barely managed to keep myself alive—lapsing into sleep for months or years at a time, whispering dark thoughts to the susceptible as they passed by to keep myself fed. Just trying to survive long enough for a chance to escape.” Her mouth thins to a tight line. “And I thought that was bad, untilyoushowed up. Did you ever consider why you might be drawn to this place, why you might feel at home here?”
“I thought…” My voice breaks off into a whisper, and I force myself to speak up. “I did research. I thought it was a dead zone. No magic.”
Nova, presumably, throws her head back into a laugh, too long, too harsh, for true amusement. “Are you that stupid? You don’t even recognize your own brand of magic? Your own family?”
This whole place has the vibe of a funeral home.That’s what Devon said when he first arrived. Because he thought I’d claimed Beecher.
No, but the magic was here, all along.
She stands, loathing contorting her heart-shaped porcelain face. “At first, I thought you were here to get me out. But no. Instead, for the last three years, I’ve been stuck in here, feeling these pathetic little brushes and tickles of magic.Mymagic,” she shouts. “But never enough to wake me fully, to give me enough strength to do anything. Not until two nights ago. You finally fed properly and left scraps behind. But that was enough.” She pauses to draw in breath, her chest heaving. “Andyoudon’t know whoIam?”
The husks with life drained out of them, the familiar feel of the magic in the cemetery—like stepping into bathwater at my exactbody temperature—her awareness of what Death looks like, even her pissy rage-tantrum at me not knowing who she is.
It all adds up—to a possibility I never, ever, would have considered before this moment.
I am Death’s daughter. Death’s only child. It’s what I’ve been told my whole life. But that doesn’t mean I’vealwaysbeen the only one.
Nova bares her teeth in a grin, slightly crooked canines adding to her feral expression.
“Well, greetings, little sister. Now get me the fuck out of here.”
27
I step back automatically. “Not possible.” Though the sinking feeling in my stomach tells me that it’s true, that it must be. It’s the only thing that makes sense.
“I’m afraid it is.” Nova folds her arms across her knitted sweater- vest. Red to match her pants and shoes. “Daddy got a little frustrated with my ambitions and stuck me in the naughty corner. You see, back in the day, I did some research of my own.” She gives me a mocking smile. “Did you know Danvers is still the largest site of magical residue in this country? All those ‘witches.’ I just needed to figure out how to access it. Between classes, of course. But then I do one little ritual to generate additional power, and Daddy flips out.”
“Please stop calling him that,” I say over the nausea turning in my stomach. I don’t know if it’s generational or indicative of some other twisted aspect of their relationship.
At her mention of ritual and power, I suddenly wonder if the girls who died, whose names are carved into this memorial stone,were part of her process. If that’s why my father bound her here, surrounded by these possessions.
“Did you kill those other girls?” I blurt.
Nova pauses, her forehead crinkling in confusion. “Of course I did. How else do you perform a ritual to resurrect residual magic? I needed their energy. And their fear—that part was important, too,” she adds matter-of-factly, as if reciting frequently overlooked ingredients for her “special” brownie recipe or something.
Okay, so, no serial killer. Justmy sister.
“I thought he would come back for me after he had time to calm down. He didn’t like that I was aiming for his job.” She rolls her eyes. “He’s gotten lazy. Sentimental. Only one plague in the last hundred years? It’s pathetic. He’s not even trying to compete with War.”
“What?” I croak.
“But instead, I guess he decided to start all over. With you.” She edges closer, right up to the metal corners of the typewriter—the frontmost boundary. I have no idea what ritual this is that’s holding her in place; something to do with death objects, maybe. But I don’t know.
There’s so much I don’t know. I feel like I’m falling, frozen in that endless moment of panic and anticipated pain that comes right before you smash into the ground.
But Nova, I bet Nova has answers.
She’s someone like me, someone exactly like me, who knows what it means to be Death’s daughter.
Yes, but she’s also a murderer, more than a little batshit, and seemingly pissed that I even exist.
“I wonder what he thought when you chose to come to school here,” Nova muses, staring at a point over my head. “Maybe he thought another daughter was turning against him.” She nods thoughtfully, her tongue caught between her teeth. “Yeah. I would have enjoyed seeing that.”
Her attention snaps back to me. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter. You’re here. Let me out. I’ll handle your little territory problem for you.”
Territory problem?I don’t know what my face is doing, but I can imagine when she huffs impatiently at me.
