Page 27 of Mortal Things

“We would never be in that situation.”

“Hypothetically.”

“This is all a part of your game,” I snap. “We both know why you’re here, and it’s not to help me out.”

“You can hit me later, once we’re all done. But try to put on a good show for the security, yes?”

His nonchalant attitude over something that could mean life or death for Laine is too much for me to stand. I punch him hard in the shoulder, and he narrows his eyes at me. “I said later!” he whispers.

“Now’s later,” I hiss.

“I don’t think you have the luxury of time, ma fleur,” he replies. “But you do have the luxury of my company, so let’s try to make the best of this, for both our sakes.”

I take a deep breath and try to steady myself. This isn’t the time to be making a scene in front of all these people, and already, several have cast us curious side-eyes, wondering if we’re a young couple in the middle of a public argument.

“Fine, then.” I glare at him through my smile. “Let’s be cordial.”

“That smile looks like it’s being held hostage,” he replies as he drapes an arm around my shoulders and guides us farther down the hall. “But it’ll do.”

We make our way past clusters of tourists taking pictures before the majestic Christmas tree in the Medieval Sculpture Hall. The space suddenly opens up into a yawning glass chamber. Soft gray light filters down over us, casting a grid of shadows across Étienne, and I catch myself counting the rhythmic movement of that grid over his features as we go. I try not to dwell on the warm weight of his arm around my shoulders, nor how good it feels for him to be there. For all I know, this might be part of his illusion too.

Graceful statues made of marble and limestone are spaced evenly around us, illuminated examples of saints and divine figures. The fragments of souls in each of these objects, the pieces of human creators left behind in their creations, pull strongly at me now. I can feel a shimmer in the air of the hands that carved stone and wood, that guided ink and paint. The feeling sends a tingle up my spine.

My enjoyment must be evident in my expression, because when I look up at Étienne, he’s regarding me with a small, sidelong smile. I’m not sure why his attention makes me feel afraid, or what it is in that smile that makes my stomach flip, but immediately, I untangle myself from him and try to push down the calling of those fragments of souls.

“I’ve never been inside the Met before,” I admit.

Étienne stops to admire one of the statues. “That so?” he says. “I would have taken you here, then.”

“For what?” I say flatly.

“A date day, of course. That is, if we weren’t here for your test.”

My scowl deepens at him, even as I fight to keep the blush off my cheeks. “Are you still living in that hypothetical scenario in your head?” I retort. “May I remind you—we’re not together.”

“I remember,” he answers, amused at my insistence. “It’s just unfortunate that the gods pick such lovely places for confirmation tests.”

He guides us across the elegant space, and for a second, I really do imagine that we are here on a date instead of for a test. I shake my head, pushing the thought firmly away. Perhaps this conversation is part of his illusion, too, designed to lull me into a sense of distraction.

Careful, I tell myself. He’s trying to throw you off your game.

“And at what lovely place did you have your first test?” I ask, determined to keep our conversation fixed on our confirmations.

“A garden in the French countryside,” he replies. “Gorgeous spot, especially in the spring. I was assigned there to lie to an old woman in order to keep her from falling down a set of stone stairs.” He gives me a pointed nod. “Lies versus Death, as you can see.”

Somehow, I struggle to picture Étienne in my place, fighting to win a test set up by Raven and administered by Terran. “I’m sure you passed with flying colors,” I say.

“I’m afraid I did not,” he says casually. “The poor woman didn’t believe my illusions, and Terran was too strong a Regent. He ended up coaxing her down the ill-fated path, and that was it for her.”

He says it with such a sense of nonchalance, as if failing his first confirmation test mattered little to him, but there’s something about how he turns away that makes me think he dislikes this topic. I can’t tell if it’s because the woman had died, or because he’d failed.

“I’m sorry to hear it,” I decide to say, wondering if Terran had dreaded administering that kind of test.

Étienne just flashes me an easy smile. “The first test is usually the most difficult.”

“Why?”

“You don’t know what to expect.”