Page 55 of Find My Way Down to You

“Sorry.” Poppy giggles. “I’ve spent too much time in the dreams of this wonderful mortal from Bradford. It’s like living inside one of those British baking shows.” Her expression softens. “Her time will come very soon.”

Cary doesn’t react. Is this the way he sees every person’s death? As just another thing that happens? Simple as the sun rising and setting?

What is life to someone who will never die?

“Let’s talk more aboutyou, August.” Poppy considers me. Her eyes gleam, almost silvery. “How does a mortal like you end up down here?”

I shrug one shoulder, still unsure.

Cary answers for me: “We do not know.”

Poppy flexes an eyebrow. “Don’t you, Cary?”

She says it like he’s hiding something from her. But what? He’s the one who brought me here this time. And the first time was…an accident? A side effect of him passing through the fountain?

My gaze runs over him. I try my best to read between the lines of his perfectly blank expression and fail. Cary gives me nothing.

“He’s different,” Poppy comments. She leans in Cary’s direction with a conspiratorial grin.

“Different,” he agrees, low and enigmatic. “Not in a good way.”

My hands ball into fists, knuckles cracking. But it’s Poppy who hits Cary for me. Square in the chest again.

I like her.

“We do not have time for you,” Cary hisses, marching toward the elevator. “He cannot be here long, Poppy. You know the rules.”

She exhales. “Rules, rules, rules. You’re such a by-the-book wanker.”

Cary pauses to shout, “And stop visiting that Bradford mortal!”

The elevator dings. Hastily, I run to join him. Over my shoulder, I give Poppy a final wave. “Nice meeting you.”

“See you again soon, August.” Her words come out cryptically. I wonder if she’s visited me in my dreams before? Probably not.

I don’t sleep long enough for dreams or nightmares. Only enough to drown in the constant waves of my grief.

The elevator doors part in time to hear the echoes of a wobbly cry:

“Your Highness, I don’t belong there.Please listen!”

We step back into the room with the throne. In the middle of the white carpet, two guards hold a struggling woman back by her arms. She’s a soul. Her body is washed out in gray. She looks older, the deep wrinkles around her eyes unable to hide wild desperation.

Her loose shirt is splattered in dark stains. In one moment, they look charcoal. Then…maroon?

She wails, “He was gonna kill her. Mydaughter!”

On the throne, Milos slouches, looking bored rather than princely. Like a petulant child forced to be here. His eyes are anywhere but the screaming woman. The cypress crown sits crookedly on his head.

With a lethargic sigh, he says, “Soyoukilledhim.”

“I had no choice!”

The crack in her voice sends a hard shudder down my spine.

Aminta notices. She stands at the back of the room with us. In her hand is an electronic tablet. The screen glows bright blue. On it is a long list.

Names.