Chapter 8
The moment the gates of Aides peel open, the howls come. Loud and vicious. Starved.
Once again, Cary steps in front of me. Arm extended almost protectively. His shoulders square like he’s prepared for a fight.
“Stay behind me.”
I do. But instead of a towering, three-headed hound with homicidal eyes and unhinged jaws, the trio of smoke gray Danes scampers from the shadows. They sniff the air, sensing more than just Cary. Their blue eyes find me before I can make myself smaller.
I suck in a quiet breath, ready for the worst.
That also never comes.
One of the Danes sits in front of me, tongue lolling. A second flops onto his back, belly up. The last climbs me until his front legs are on my shoulders.
I laugh as he licks my face.
“Enough of that,” Cary growls half-heartedly, “you mongrel.”
“He’s adorable,” I say while leaning away from more sloppy tongue action.
“He is supposed to be guarding the gates.”
“Maybe he likes me?” I suggest, smirking.
Cary huffs, “Well, he would be the only one.”
With a loud snap of Cary’s long fingers, Cerby—all three dogs—scrambles to his side. They sit with stiff backs, heads up, awaiting orders.
“As you were.”
As quickly as they came, the Danes sprint back into the shadows.
Giddily, I say, “Can I take one home?”
Cary glares at me. Underneath the narrow blackness of his gaze, I can see amusement starting to crinkle the corners of his eyes.
Inside, the lobby smells of almond, like the unturned pages of old books. Music floats down from the ceiling. I recognize it immediately. Symphony No. 5 by Beethoven, one of my favorites. I never made it far enough in my piano lessons to learn it.
This time, Meli isn’t alone at the front desk.
“There you are!”
A young woman approaches. She’s tall and curvy. Her deep umber skin drinks in the lobby’s warm light. The gold threads in her flowy black dress shimmer. Her face is sparkly too, the glitter around her eyes and nose like constellations against the night sky.
“There you are,” Cary says, the corners of his mouth tilting up.
She stops in front of us. From a distance, she was pretty. Up close, she burns like the heart of a star.
Without another word, she smacks Cary’s chest. It’s a loud crack. I flinch.
“What was that for?” Cary gripes, glowering.
“You were gone too long,” she answers.
“Did you miss me?”
“I missed bothering you.” She reaches up and tousles his hair. Cary attempts to duck away from her touch. It’s too late. His curls are everywhere.
I can’t help snorting, which draws her hypnotic brown eyes to me.
“Hello there.”
“Hi,” I say after a swallow. “I’m—”
“August,” she says before I can. One side of her mouth lifts into a delighted smirk. “I know who you are.”
“You do?”
She nods. She has a heart-shaped face. Long, straight black hair streams down her back.
Cary sighs. “From Henri’s gossip, no doubt.”
She swats him again. “Be nice.”
“I am,” Cary counters just as I blurt, “He is.”
Our eyes meet. A flush creeps high into my cheeks. His stare is weighted, thick with a look I’ve never seen.
“Well. That’s interesting.”
My head snaps back to the woman.
“Actually, August”—she rests a hand delicately on one of Cary’s stiff shoulders—“I’ve heard of you because of our sweet ferrier. He talks of you. Quite a bit.”
I furrow my brow. There’s no way Cary would ever talk about me to anyone. At least, not in a good way.
To prove my point, Cary frowns and says, “I do not.”
A playful smile pulls at her lips. “Yes, you do. In your dr—”
“Enough, Poppy,” he snaps, but with far less bite than I’m used to.
She shrugs, unaffected. “I’m Poppy,” she says to me.
I wince at the shock and amazement flooding my voice as I say, “You’re a Deathless.”
Poppy grins, friendly, unguarded. “Of sleep and dreams.”
“And nightmares,” Cary grumbles.
Meli clears her throat loudly.
“Forgive his rudeness,” Poppy says. She manages to elbow Cary and shake my hand simultaneously. When I breathe in, that almondy scent is richer, filling my chest.
Finally, I recognize it. “Poppy like the flower.”
She winks. “A bit on the nose, innit?”
Cary’s face twists. “Why are you talking like that?”
“Sorry.” Poppy giggles. “I’ve spent too much time in the dreams of this wonderful mortal from Bradford. It’s like living inside one of those British baking shows.” Her expression softens. “Her time will come very soon.”
Cary doesn’t react. Is this the way he sees every person’s death? As just another thing that happens? Simple as the sun rising and setting?
What is life to someone who will never die?
“Let’s talk more about you, August.” Poppy considers me. Her eyes gleam, almost silvery. “How does a mortal like you end up down here?”
I shrug one shoulder, still unsure.
Cary answers for me: “We do not know.”
Poppy flexes an eyebrow. “Don’t you, Cary?”
She says it like he’s hiding something from her. But what? He’s the one who brought me here this time. And the first time was…an accident? A side effect of him passing through the fountain?
My gaze runs over him. I try my best to read between the lines of his perfectly blank expression and fail. Cary gives me nothing.
“He’s different,” Poppy comments. She leans in Cary’s direction with a conspiratorial grin.
“Different,” he agrees, low and enigmatic. “Not in a good way.”
My hands ball into fists, knuckles cracking. But it’s Poppy who hits Cary for me. Square in the chest again.
I like her.
“We do not have time for you,” Cary hisses, marching toward the elevator. “He cannot be here long, Poppy. You know the rules.”
She exhales. “Rules, rules, rules. You’re such a by-the-book wanker.”
Cary pauses to shout, “And stop visiting that Bradford mortal!”
The elevator dings. Hastily, I run to join him. Over my shoulder, I give Poppy a final wave. “Nice meeting you.”
“See you again soon, August.” Her words come out cryptically. I wonder if she’s visited me in my dreams before? Probably not.
I don’t sleep long enough for dreams or nightmares. Only enough to drown in the constant waves of my grief.
The elevator doors part in time to hear the echoes of a wobbly cry:
“Your Highness, I don’t belong there. Please listen!”
We step back into the room with the throne. In the middle of the white carpet, two guards hold a struggling woman back by her arms. She’s a soul. Her body is washed out in gray. She looks older, the deep wrinkles around her eyes unable to hide wild desperation.
Her loose shirt is splattered in dark stains. In one moment, they look charcoal. Then…maroon?
She wails, “He was gonna kill her. My daughter!”
On the throne, Milos slouches, looking bored rather than princely. Like a petulant child forced to be here. His eyes are anywhere but the screaming woman. The cypress crown sits crookedly on his head.
With a lethargic sigh, he says, “So you killed him.”
“I had no choice!”
The crack in her voice sends a hard shudder down my spine.
Aminta notices. She stands at the back of the room with us. In her hand is an electronic tablet. The screen glows bright blue. On it is a long list.
Names.
Her red lip curls at me. “He should not be here.”
Cary shrugs carelessly. “Tell that to Prince Milos.”
“The mortal is not on the schedule.”
There’s a noise at the back of Cary’s throat. A laugh held back. “Should we schedule meetings with mortals now, Minta?”
She wrinkles her nose.
I glare at both of them. They’re acting as if I’m not right here. Fire hisses in my bones, the sparks of After August’s wrath rising to the surface. I shove him down when I hear the soul say, “Your Highness, I beg you. Don’t send me there!”
The rawness of her plea makes my stomach drop. I half turn to Cary and whisper, “You said there are other places souls go.”
He nods once, eyes straight ahead.
It’s impossible to stop the stammer when it reaches my teeth: “Wh-where?”
A muscle in Cary’s jaw jumps. Matching my low voice, he says, “You do not want to know.”
But I do. I need to know. Where else is there besides the Meadows and Elysium? Where else can I search for London? And what other land is so terrifying that this soul is quivering, silvery tears slipping down her weathered cheeks?
“Your H—”
“Enough.” Milos leans forward. His elbows rest on his thighs. Steepling his fingers, he gives the woman a long look. “Murder will not be rewarded. Or forgiven.”
“P-please—”
With a listless wrist flick, the soul’s words are cut off. She’s frozen.
“I have decided,” Milos says. “The Abyss.”
In front of me, Aminta nods. Her finger swipes down the tablet’s screen. I watch names scroll by. They move too quickly. A blur of letters strung together. But my eyes focus when the list finally stops.
My heart shoves its way into my throat.
She highlights a name: Leila Avci.
But near the bottom of the screen, I see it.
London.
I mean…I think I see his name? Just like I thought I saw him outside the gelato shop. Or on the bus the other week. Is this the grief again? All my anguish manifesting his name on the screen?
It doesn’t matter. Aminta clicks off the list before I can confirm anything.
She taps on Leila’s name, then a column with destinations pops up: the Meadows, Elysium, the Abyss.
Aminta locks the screen, but I can’t shake the feeling. What if it was his name?
“It is done,” she says.
Exhaling, Milos wiggles the fingers of one hand.
A shadow falls over the sugar-white carpet. It moves like a python toward Leila’s frozen form. The guards back away. My pulse pounds against my temples as the black stretches up her ankles. It consumes her slowly into the inky pool of its mouth.
The last thing I see is fear etched into Leila’s face. She’s gone. So is the trail of blackness, dissolved like smoke into the carpet.
I breathe in sharply.
That small noise alerts Milos to my presence. His face brightens. Leaping from the throne, he claps his hands.
“You came back!”
His sudden mood change is jarring. Like he hadn’t just looked apathetic while condemning a woman to—eternal horror? As if she wasn’t right there. Where he stands now. Her begging still eddies in my head.
Milos eyes me, waiting.
I force myself to grin. “I did!”