Page 46 of Mortal Things

And for a moment, I can see the ghost of Laine sitting with us, her elbows propped up on the table, her dreaming eyes turned toward the darkening horizon.

“You love deeply, too,” he says.

I look away, thinking of all the souls I’ve ever taken. Do I? Am I just as heartless as Raven? “I’d always thought I was alone because there must be something wrong with me,” I say, my hand pressing instinctively to my chest. “I’ve tried to figure out that mystery all my life. But maybe there’s no explanation, you know?” I look at him. “Maybe it’s just how things have to be.”

“Rose,” he says, and I shiver at the way he says my name. He fixes his full gaze on me. “There is nothing wrong with you.”

I give him a weak smile and look away, knowing he has no idea. He can’t possibly. No one understands this thorn in my chest, the thought that won’t go away. People don’t leave you behind unless something’s wrong with you.

Finally, he straightens a little and sips his mulled wine. “I don’t know who wanted Soren dead,” he says. “And I don’t know why. But Raven’s right in that there’s something wrong flittering in the corners of our world. Be on your guard.”

I smile a little at him, even though his words remind me of the hulking Wraith in the alley, the black shadows melting and reforming against the pavement. “I’m a big girl,” I say. “I can take care of myself.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t.” He reaches over to carefully undo the clasp of the silk bracelet on my wrist. As it falls away, his hand brushes against my arm. An electric shiver courses through me at the touch, and I hold my breath, staying very still as he turns my wrist over in his hand, his fingers briefly caressing the tender skin over my veins, across the Harbinger marking tattooed there.

“Be careful, too,” I whisper.

He smiles at me, and this time, there is a hint of his usual teasing in it. “I will,” he replies. “If only so we can do this again.”

17

As if the city dreads my next challenge as much as I do, the rain is coming down in torrents the next day. There is no relief to be found anywhere. The wet coats the slick steps leading out of the Underground and hazes the air with fog, muffling the sound of everything—the scooters and cars and the rush of people—with the splash of icy water.

As I emerge out of the station at Leicester Square, I step down into a puddle so deep that the water breaches the lip of my boots. Water trickles into my socks. I shiver and mutter a curse under my breath, hating whatever game this is that Thorn has decided to play with Raven, and feeling sorry for myself that I’ve been shoved into the center of it.

It’s only midafternoon, but dark enough that all the cars on the road have their lights on as they drive under archways of holiday lights. As the rain turns heavier, I squint down at the ring on my right hand. It’s warm against my finger today, the eye open and alert, and I can feel its energy like a trickle of hot water through my body, a pleasant sensation on a chilly day like this.

“I hope you know more than I do about today,” I mutter to it. “And if you do, please be kind enough to share your knowledge with me.”

The eye stares steadily back up at me with an expression I can only describe as deadpan. If it had a body, I suspect it would be shrugging. Hell if I know, it’d probably say.

I sigh, then think of my test today. Last night, Raven himself had delivered the black envelope to my doorstep, had handed down the order to me as I read the card.

There will be a car accident.

I stare at the endless traffic, the haze of headlights beaming through the rain. Someone is going to die today, and I have been tasked with collecting their soul.

I don’t know exactly who the target will be, though. I only know that Étienne will be pitted against me once again, and this time, I have no choice but to get past his illusions. Laine’s life is on the line.

He is going to show you what you want to see, Raven had warned me.

As if I can still feel the sear of Étienne’s gaze on me, I shiver, my heart a jumble of confusion, then tuck my chin deeper into my scarf. I think of how he’d handed over his silk bracelet to me, the answers he’d given me without hesitation, his confession of how he’d become a Harbinger. Our conversation about love. Had I been the only one who’d felt a strange connection between us yesterday? Had there been something more in our unspoken moments, in those quiet gazes?

Or is it another one of his traps? Another series of lies?

Steady, Rose, Raven had said, and now I let myself draw comfort from his words. Remember that I chose you. Remember that you are worthy of this.

I pass the intersection of Charing Cross and Cranbourn, watching the pattern of cars as I go. It is a busy intersection, but on a waterlogged day like this, the stream of traffic is less, which allows cars to zip by faster than usual.

Two minutes until a potential accident might occur.

At last, I stop before Cecil Court, where my gaze goes briefly to the small bookstore tucked near the court’s entrance. In this deluge of rain, the space looks like the coziest nook in the world, its window adorned with several neat displays of books illuminated by strings of fairy lights.

But it is not the books that catch my attention now. It is the sight of Étienne leaning against the open door.

“Good morning, ma fleur,” he says with a nod.

He’s bundled up today, scarf and boots and proper coat, the opposite of how he’d been yesterday in Richmond. His hair is mussed from the rain, somehow more perfect this way, and I catch my breath, at a loss for words. I clear my throat, confused by the simultaneous feeling of desire and dread at seeing him.