Chapter 5
Two nights off in a row. Analise paced her room, wishing it was larger so she had more space to stomp.
In the convent, her room had also been tiny so the courtyard became her favourite place.
Everything was so alive, the bright-green leaves and the deep red of the roses as intoxicating as their smell.
There were carp in the pond; by the time Analise was six, she’d named them all and knew each one from the others.
Those fish were her first friends. They’d shared a strange camaraderie, both somewhere safe where they were fed and cared for, but longing for something more.
Well, she did, at least. She wasn’t sure if fish concerned themselves with freedom.
Life behind the convent walls was slow and monotonous.
Nothing ever changed, and Analise figured it never would.
She’d been the only child in a world of grey habits, white walls and incense choked air.
It was kind faces gilded by candlelight, gentle hands and soft silence, the peal of bells and the reverent hum of prayer.
Books and floral teas. Analise spent her childhood following the nuns around, caught in the wake of their skirts.
No one minded a child underfoot, and Analise had been free to roam the convent—but never outside the walls.
Which made her more eager to know what was out there.
She wanted to see what the world had to offer, but once she’d gotten there, she hadn’t known how to navigate it.
She’d always suspected Mother Superior knew she would run because the night Analise left, the front doors were unlocked and on the top step was an amulet on a thin strip of cord.
She’d snatched it up, and gone. She wasn’t prepared for the grime and the soot, the poverty, and the despair.
She had no awareness of how to survive the streets and no choice but to learn fast. At the first lodging house she’d lived in, a man had tried to pin her to a wall.
She’d kneed him so hard in the groin she thought she’d broken her bones as well as his balls.
The mistress of the house threw her out, and Analise stumbled upon Morgan’s morgue that same evening.
He made himself known not long after and, for five years, had stalked her steps as the dreams stalked her sleep.
If she stayed drunk enough, she didn’t remember the dreams, so her life had fallen into a horrible pattern.
Work, sleep, drink, and drown out anything alcohol couldn’t with whatever man she was able to take home.
Analise pulled back the curtain and peered out. The Familiar was there. He was such a fixture in her life that she wasn’t sure how she would feel if she opened the curtains one evening and found him gone.
A wisp of mist darted free of his shadow and vanished. Analise stepped away from the window in fright when it materialised further down the street. She crept back to the window, and as she watched, that mist took form.
A ghost.
She’d seen plenty of ghosts, but none of them had come looking for her.
The first one appeared in the garden at the convent when she was thirteen, a shimmering wisp of silver.
She’d wanted to help him but wasn’t sure how.
Her magic was new, a feeling in her fingertips more than anything else.
None of the nuns had magic and no one had to tell her what she was.
Analise knew it instinctively. A death witch, one of Lilith’s Daughters.
She’d carried that knowledge proudly, until she learnt that those blessed with Lilith’s gift were considered dangerous.
‘Men fear what they do not understand,’ Mother Superior had told her. ‘But you’re safe here, Analise.’
Analise asked no questions about Lilith, except one—who was she? A servant of God who guided the dead was her only answer and Analise the child had accepted that. Analise the woman had more questions, but no one to ask.
The Familiar was still peering at her window with his shadowy eyes.
Analise chewed her lip. She didn’t know what to do.
Would the ghost come here if she ignored it?
It couldn’t hurt her, but it could definitely cause mischief, and the last thing she wanted was to be turfed out of the lodging house because she was being haunted.
Making up her mind, she threw off her robe and hurried to find her clothes. Lacing her boots and grabbing her coat, Analise hurried from her flat and into the street below.
The Familiar was gone and there was no sign of the ghost. Analise debated going back upstairs.
Her head was foggy, her mind caught somewhere between the night before and the sense that something was about to happen.
Maybe she should go and visit Lira. Maybe the blond man would be there again.
Analise shook her head, trying to push him out of her mind.
Normally, there was nothing extraordinary about the men she slept with.
They were chosen because they were there and nothing more. What made this one different?
Her system worked because everyone remained anonymous, and she was afraid that if she deviated from what was normal for her, she’d upset some strange equilibrium and set something else in motion.
The bone-cold kiss of rain suddenly fell around her; Analise pulled her collar up in an attempt to stop water from fingering its way beneath her clothes.
She decided against the pub, heading for the morgue.
The ghost was on the other side of the street, keeping pace with her.
She glanced over at him, and smiled, not knowing why.
At the corner of the alley that led to the morgue, Analise paused. She blinked the water from her lashes and in the second it took her to brush the rain from her cheeks, the ghost appeared, close enough to touch. She gasped and took a step back.
There was something familiar about him.
‘Do I know you?’ she whispered.
The ghost glanced towards the morgue.
‘What can I do for you?’ Analise had never spoken to a ghost before and wasn’t sure whether there was a protocol to follow. The ghost floated towards the morgue. With a furtive glance at the street, Analise followed.
Morgan never worked nights, so the morgue was dark, the air filled with the strange expectant silence that death collected.
Analise unlocked the door, shedding her coat and draping it over the back of a chair.
The ghost was by the cold boxes, looking at her.
Analise opened the nearest one and slid out the tray.
The ghost hovered over her shoulder while she unwound the cloth, revealing the face of the dead man with the strange mark.
‘This is you, isn’t it?’ she asked. He nodded. ‘Do you need help moving on?’
The ghost shook his head, pointing at his human body, and Analise thought of how strange it must be, to be looking down at the body that used to hold his soul. She jumped when his hand rested on hers. She didn’t have time to worry about why a ghost could touch her because he mouthed, look.
‘Oh,’ she breathed, crouching to look at the mark branded onto the flesh. ‘I don’t know what this means.’
The ghost gave her a pleading look.
‘You want me to find out?’
A nod.
‘When I touched your body,’ Analise began. ‘I saw inside your head. I saw it. Was—’
The ghost’s lips thinned and he was gone.
What she’d seen in his head she’d seen before, in a book, one she wasn’t supposed to be looking at. It was the only time she could recall being scolded by a nun. Her eyes slid to the other cold box. Would she see the same thing if she let her magic inside the dead woman?
Analise rubbed her temples. Morgan would say it wasn’t her business.
But a ghost led her here. He wanted her to see the mark, and now, he wanted her to know what it was.
She found a pencil and a piece of paper on Morgan’s desk, then carefully copied the mark.
She slid it into her pocket, rewrapped the body and pushed the metal tray back into the chilled air, wondering what she was supposed to do now.
The ghost was waiting at the end of the alley.
‘I’m sorry,’ Analise said. ‘I shouldn’t have looked. That was rude of me.’
He nodded and, side by side, they headed down the street. She wasn’t sure where they were going, letting the ghost draw her into the rowdy gaslit guts of Blackcoln Road.
Analise could sense the Familiar, his presence like an oil slick on water. She’d never felt threatened by him before, but now, the hair stood up on the back of her neck and she didn’t dare turn and look for him.
She walked quicker, the ghost flitting along beside her, and soon, Analise was standing outside The Black Lion. The ghost vanished again and the Familiar was on the other side of the street.
His eyes glowed like two black coals, like the eyes of the creature she’d seen in the dead man’s final moments. The Familiar often smiled at her, but tonight, he wasn’t smiling. Swallowing, Analise shoved open the doors to the pub to find a room full of people and her ghost, waiting at the bar.
She stood for a moment, letting her racing heart calm, trying to work out why she’d been led here, of all places, but as she spied Lira behind the bar, it made a strange sort of sense.
Lira knew everyone and everything that happened in the Credges.
If anyone would know, or be able to find out about a mysterious mark on a dead man’s shoulder, it would be Lira.
She wouldn’t ask uncomfortable questions either.
Analise ran her hand over her face, trying to smooth away how unsettled she was.
The Familiar hadn’t followed her inside, but she could sense his anger from the other side of the door.
At the bar, Analise smiled at the ghost, sliding onto a stool as Lira placed a glass of whiskey in front of her.
‘You look like you need it,’ her friend commented. ‘Actually, you look terrible. Bad night at work?’
Analise shook her head, picking up the glass.
The ghost was watching her. Maybe he’d enjoyed a whiskey when he was alive.
She drained her drink, nodding for another, then reached into her pocket and pulled out the piece of paper.
She hesitated, glancing around. Any of these men could be off-duty Gendarme, or Unseen.
What would they see? A woman passing a note over the bar?
Analise nudged the paper in Lira’s direction. ‘Have you ever seen that before?’
Lira examined the drawing with a frown. ‘No. Where did you see this?’
‘On the body of a dead man.’ Lira looked at her, and Analise shrugged. ‘It intrigued me. I’ve never seen it and I thought maybe you might have.’
Lira shook her head. ‘I can ask around. Can I keep this?’
Analise nodded. A cold hand touched hers and when she looked, the ghost was gone. She downed the second whiskey, letting the alcohol burn its way into her stomach.
‘Right,’ Lira commented, eyebrows raised. ‘That’s quick, even for you. Anything else I should know?’ She lowered her voice. ‘It’s been a few days since Jack punched someone and I think he’s getting edgy, so if there is some arsehole bothering you, please tell me.’
Analise managed a smile, deciding anything was better than this conversation because how would she begin to describe the Familiar? ‘That man from the other night …’
‘The ridiculously good-looking blond with the green eyes and unnaturally sculpted jaw? Hardly noticed him,’ Lira said, lips twitching.
‘Do you know him?’ Analise asked, not sure why. She never thought about them again, and had no desire to know anything about them. They could be married, or not, and she didn’t care.
‘Never seen him before. Did you get his name, at least?’
‘I don’t care what their names are,’ Analise mumbled. ‘Does that make me a whore?’
‘Do they pay you?’ Lira took the empty glass away, not returning it.
Analise shook her head.
‘Then no.’ Lira leant her elbows on the bar. ‘Tell me it was worth it.’
Analise laughed, surprised. ‘What? You’ve never asked me that.’
‘Because you’ve never taken home someone who looked like him. Tell me he knew what he was doing, at least.’
‘He did.’
Lira sighed. ‘I’ll live vicariously through your conquests while waiting for my Mr Right, or Mr Right Now. He’d do as well.’ She squeezed Analise’s hand. ‘There is nothing wrong with enjoying a man. God, men get to do whatever the hell they want, so why can’t we?’
Analise’s insides squirmed. If Lira knew why she drank and why she slept with strangers, would it change things between them?
Lira was her one and only friend and she didn’t want to risk jeopardising that.
Sometimes she thought it might be nice to have more friends, to make connections.
Then she remembered what she was, and knew it was safer for everyone if she kept herself to herself.