Page 55 of Mortal Things

Raven, gray eyes narrowed into slits, cold and furious, destroying them.

I should be dead. Maybe I am dead. Is this what it feels like to become a Wraith, trapped forever in this strange, timeless state, tortured with fragments of thoughts and memories?

The unfocused lines of an arched ceiling hover above me. Tentatively, I try to move—but the instant I do, my vision blurs from the pain, and a low moan escapes from my lips. I’m sore all over, and now I can feel the tenderness of my wounds, scrapes and scratches from the pavement that I don’t remember getting, aching bones and bruised muscles from the fight.

My surroundings look dark and hazy, poorly formed in my half-conscious state. Gradually, I realize that I’m lying in a canopied bed, facing a glass window looking out at a deep blue nightscape of the world beyond.

It takes me another moment to recognize the silhouette of hedges outside. Raven must have taken me back to his estate to recover.

Soft candlelight illuminates the edges of everything and leaves the rest in the dark. Given the appearance of the courtyard through the window, it must be upstairs, an area of the estate I’ve never ventured into before. Even in this poor light, I can tell the chamber is vast, with a tall, tapered ceiling, and intricate carvings against the black bricks that lace up into the darkness, where the light cannot reach. A fire flickers quietly in a corner hearth.

“She’s awake, sir.”

The voice comes from somewhere behind me, muffled and distant.

“Let her rest,” Raven answers.

I try in vain to turn my head so I can see him, but the movement sends a fresh jolt of pain through my body, and I stop. Behind me comes the sound of retreating footsteps.

No. Don’t.

I want to call out, to ask Raven to stay with me instead of abandoning me here. Fear spikes in me again. What if another Wraith finds me?

But no sooner than I wonder this, another wave of drowsiness washes over me. I must be closer to death than I think, because even without Raven in the chamber with me, I think I can feel his presence, as if hovering, compelled to stay nearby as my soul balances on the edge between my world and his.

Rest.

The word is not spoken aloud, but I hear it in my mind anyway, as if Raven has reached out from somewhere beyond and planted it in me.

Rest, my Harbinger.

My eyelids flutter, and the world goes dark again.

Time passes in strange snatches. Minutes and hours and days lose their meaning and become fluid, blurring the boundaries between wakefulness and slumber, all melding together within the ethereal sanctuary of this space. Moments stretch, caught between the ticking seconds of my world and the timeless expanse of this world. I see Laine pulling me along, laughing, a pair of wired earbuds linking us. I see Katie pressing her hands to either side of my face, planting a kiss on my lips and declaring my heart taken by another. I see Charlotte swinging her legs on a stool at Aurora’s bar, handing me a bouquet of flowers and leaves.

Étienne. I picture him with that secret smile, his head turned down to me, his eyes studying mine, his thumb brushing my lower lip.

Has any time passed in the mortal realm? Do I exist only inside a bead of immortality? My mind seems far away now. I try to speak, but nothing comes out. I try to see, but everything around me stays gray and dim. I try to stay awake, listening for my patron god.

But gradually, gradually, I fade back into darkness.

21

When I finally stir fully awake, it is evening again.

I am still lying in the canopied bed, staring at the arched ceiling above me. My legs shift idly under the blankets, and I realize I’m now clothed in a satin-like shift.

I turn my head slightly to look toward the door, which sits ajar. Through it, I can see the Eternal Tree in the atrium, its white countenance glowing in the dimness.

“Your soul has steadied.”

I look to see Raven sitting beside my bed in a velvet chair, one leg crossed casually over the other. He hadn’t been there even a moment before. Now he studies me with a thoughtful tilt to his head, his expression calm. But his gray eyes are warm and intense, boring into me as if afraid I might vanish right in front of him.

I struggle to a sitting position. I wince, bracing myself for a jolt of pain, but my wounds seem gone, and my body responds willingly to my wishes. Raven just watches as I settle against my pillow. His gaze flickers briefly to my hand as I instinctively rub my collarbone, then wanders up, following the curtain of my hair that is swept over my shoulder, tousled from sleep, before returning to my face.

“How long have I been here?” I finally say. My voice comes out raspy from lack of use.

“Several days,” he replies.