Belladonna (Belladonna #1)(29)

“Death,” Signa called, though she never took her eyes away from Lillian. “Do you know how Lillian died? Did you see the illness?”

He took shape, leaning against a tree, and responded with a tone that betrayed nothing. “I’m afraid I don’t know anything more than she does.”

Some help he was. She groaned, trying to soothe her racing heart as Lillian kept tearing at the ivy, then jerked to a sudden halt at the sight of a pebble near her grave. Lillian grabbed for it, and with trembling hands carved a single word into the dirt, the script so messy it was barely legible: kill.

So reassuring was the word that it took every ounce of determination Signa had to keep herself grounded even when her mind urged her to run. “Did you… kill someone?” she asked, to which Lillian scowled. The spirit pointed to the sores on her lips, then to herself, and Signa gasped when the realization struck.

If Lillian was saying what Signa thought she was… the situation was going to change too much and be far more complicated than Signa wanted anything to do with. Part of her ached to turn and escape now, before they went any further. Before she learned a secret she didn’t care to learn.

But Signa couldn’t draw away. Couldn’t get her feet to move even if she wanted them to. So rather than flee, she forced herself to ask, “Lillian, are you trying to tell me that you were killed?”

Tossing the pebble, Lillian spun to Signa with a fervent nod. At once, Signa began to piece it together. The sudden death, the failed doctor visits, the angry spirit, and now…

“Blythe. It’s happening again, isn’t it? Whatever—whoever—killed you is back for your daughter. Is that right?”

Lillian blinked away, then reappeared beside a small bush of berries on the opposite side of the garden.

Signa sprinted toward her and opened her fist, where she still held a small handful of the berries, now half mushed into her palms. She stretched them out toward Lillian, whose eyes went black as Signa asked, “Poison? You think you were poisoned?”

Lillian’s spirit rocked with a violent twitch. Quelling her trembling, Signa dared to add, “Was it by someone at Thorn Grove?”

Another violent shudder. The sores on Lillian’s lips festered, turning from purple to a vicious black before they tore open with blood that ran from her lips, down her chin, and soiled the top of her gown. Her body spasmed, head bobbing in a furious and terrifying nod. “Who?” Signa demanded as Lillian’s eyes brightened, glowing. “Was it one of the cooks? A maid? The tutor? Was it someone you trusted?”

“Enough!” Death was there beside Signa, his shadows consuming her, drawing her back. “Do not press the dead, Signa. She doesn’t know.”

His warning came too late. The spirit’s neck bent and snapped as she jerked it from one direction to the next, shaking, nodding, twisting. Blood poured from Lillian’s mouth, and the moonlight caught the pulp of her shredded tongue as she threw her head back and screamed a sound so shrill and grating it brought Signa to her knees. The wind whipped the water from the pond and tossed the croaking frogs into the trees, marring the clean branches with their blood.

Death was before her, his shadows like armor blocking her from the carnage.

“What’s happening?” Signa gritted out, hands clamped tight over her ringing ears as she tried to see around him.

“You pushed too far.” The darkness expanded around them, creating a barrier. “Wayward spirits aren’t meant to recall their final moments. You never know how they might react.”

Signa leaned around the shadows to watch as Lillian reached down the back of her own throat and grabbed the awful heap that was her tongue. She clawed her grimy, soil-stained nails into it, ripping off pieces of flesh. She tossed the bloodied heaps to the ground and then went for another, as if trying to remove her own tongue in its entirety.

But then the wind stilled, and Lillian’s neck twisted back to its rightful place. Her eyes snapped to Signa, to the shredded bits of her tongue that were already fading. To the bloodstained trees where several frogs lay impaled.

She looked to Death then, and tears flooded into her eyes, black and bloody.

And then Lillian was gone, and the static in the air followed.

Death retracted his shadows from around her as Signa clawed toward the nearest tree and threw up. There was an iciness in her body she couldn’t quell, and her hands shook even as she pressed them against the trunk to steady herself. Outside the garden, Mitra whinnied at the sound of another pair of hooves in the distance.

“It’s time to go” was all Death said as he took hold of her shoulder, pulling Signa to her feet and back through the garden.

“Do you know who did it?” The words tumbled from her, a little slurred.

“If I did, I would tell you. I’m not all-knowing, Signa. When I touch a person, I see glimpses of the life they’ve lived. But I know only what they know, and while Lillian suspects foul play, she doesn’t know who’s behind it.” Gundry pawed outside the gate. He ceased his sniffing at once and looked up, tongue lolling out when he saw Signa stumble through the gate. He looked at Death, too, and his tail began to wag.

“He can see you?” After all she’d seen that day, she wasn’t sure why it was so surprising. She’d seen spirits interacting with animals before, but Death had always felt like a step beyond that. Like someone who shouldn’t even be real.