Page 188 of Nightshade

Confused, I stared down at her. “What is it?”

“Bear with me,” she said, before pushing up on her toes and wrapping her arms around my neck. “It’s called taking what I want.”

At her tug of my neck, I leaned into her, and she pressed her lips to mine.

57

Farryn

I didn’t know why my hands shook. Happened every time I did something for another person, as if my body couldn’t deal with the act of kindness, or something.

Following the worn path to Garic’s cabin, I turned the frame in my hands, trying to decide which edge looked better at the top. They were all a bit faulty, thanks to the frailty of the wood, but they would do. I’d even twined a front and a back together, leaving a thin gap at the top to slide his paper through.

Upon reaching the cabin, I knocked on the door and mentally counted down the seconds in my head. When I arrived at fifteen, I knocked again. Waited another fifteen seconds, then peeked in through the window at the dark and empty room within.

“Garic!” I called out to him, and smashed my face against the glass, noting a plate, a cup, and a fork sitting out on the table. Ready for his next meal. The room inside was clean and tidy, and what sparse furniture stood about appeared well used.

“Garic!” Glancing around the yard, I searched for the black fiddler cap he always wore. In my scanning, I noticed the dogs nosing around something at the edge of the woods, and I crossed the yard toward them, thinking Garic was likely somewhere in the mix.

“Garic!” Hands shaking even more than before, I crossed the yard toward the dogs, whose attention I’d apparently distracted. Cerberus lifted his nose and trotted over to me, seemingly restless and excited, the way he bounced around me. “What has got you so worked up?”

When I finally reached the edge of the forest, the other two dogs sat off to the side, as if to get out of my way. For what, I didn’t know.

Until I rounded the tree.

Scattered over thick, gnarled roots lay a pile of ash that had begun to blow across the ground with the kicking up of the wind. At the base of the tree, halfcocked on an upturned root, lay the fiddler hat. Beside it, a crude chunk of ill-formed metal, whose tip appeared as sharp as a blade, lay across a piece of paper, its surface covered in blood.

I leaned in to see it was the paper on which Garic had written his memories. The one which started out, I am Garic Wilson.

Only, a new line had been added since I’d read it the day before: I am nothing.

Baffled by the objects, I glanced around the surrounding woods. “Garic!” I shot to my feet and scanned around the tree trunks, which gave an eerie stillness to the woods. The dogs darted off, perhaps thinking I’d alerted them to an intruder. “Garic!”

“Poor bastard.”

At the sound of the voice, I swung around and gasped to find Remy standing over the objects shaking his head.

“Celestial steel. Doesn’t get more final than that.”

“What? What do you mean?”

“You’re looking for Garic, aren’t you?”

“Yes, have you seen him?”

Remy bent down and lifted a handful of ash into his palm, letting it sift through his fingers and carry on the air. “Yeah. I’d say so.”

A cold hollow filled my chest as I attempted to absorb what he was saying. “Are you telling me that’s … that’s Garic?”

“Body bursts into flames seconds after the metal penetrates the flesh.”

“He … killed himself.”

“Are you really not catching on, princess?”

“Don’t call me princess.” In a half-dazed stupor, I stared down at the paper, and while I should’ve been sad, should’ve been mourning the poor soul who’d taken his own life, the only thing I felt was anger. Wild, irrational anger.

“Why?” I whispered, studying the object he must’ve used to kill himself.