Belladonna (Belladonna #1)(57)

Signa stared deep into those fathomless shadows, leaning forward in an attempt to find a face. To find the eyes he must have had. But she saw nothing. “Why are you helping me?” she asked, hugging her arms tight around herself. “Isn’t this your job, to reap the dead from this earth?”

I understand I’ve not been kind to you. Death hesitated, shadows shifting around his feet. Because of me, your life has been harder than I ever meant for it to be. I didn’t think of your future, Signa. I did not think of anything beyond how you were being treated in the moment by those who were meant to take care of you. And for that I am… sorry. The last word sounded strange upon his tongue, as though he didn’t care for the taste of it.

I cannot spare her forever, but if we can help her, then she may not have to die so soon. There’s nothing I can do to prove myself to you. But if my word counts for anything, then you must trust me.

“We?” She’d never thought that this man—that Death incarnate—could ever seem so unsure.

“I’ll be searching, too, and I’ll let you know if I find anything to help her.” Death spoke aloud now, in a watery voice that sent shivers up Signa’s spine. She’d forgotten how much she liked that sound.

“Thorn Grove has a library,” she said suddenly, pulling her thoughts from the space they too often liked to venture when he was nearby. “Perhaps I can find something there about an antidote.”

He nodded. “See what you can find there tonight. And in the meantime, I’ll do some sleuthing of my own.”

“Thank you,” Signa whispered, shivering as his shadows fell still and the air around them plummeted at least twenty degrees. “For your help, and for telling me.”

“You’re welcome.” Again, the words sounded strange, like he struggled to even form them. “Our lessons will continue once you find something to expel that poison.”

She nodded as Death disappeared into the shadows that stretched to claim him. Only when she was certain that he was gone did Signa peer around the door back at Blythe, watching the slow rise and fall of her chest. Then she clutched her own, her heartbeat like a caged beast. She checked her cheeks, too, placing a palm upon each of them only to discover that both were hot to the touch.

All this, over Death. Over someone she’d spent her life hating.

What in God’s name was wrong with her?





TWENTY-FOUR





THORN GROVE WAS WELL ASLEEP BY THE TIME SIGNA REALIZED SHE hadn’t the faintest idea where the library was.

She paced the floor of her sitting room, nightgown trailing behind her and curling at her ankles as she strode back and forth through the room. Consulting the library was the simplest way she could think of to find an antidote for Blythe, and while Signa preferred to conduct her search away from prying eyes, it wouldn’t do to be found roaming the halls after being caught by Elijah once already. She’d investigated the entirety of the second floor and most of the first by this point, which left only the third story.

Signa was formulating her plan—and an excuse, in the event she was caught—when she heard the glass doors leading to her balcony rattle. Though her chest went cold, she realized soon enough that a spirit would have no need to knock, and that Death lacked enough manners to even consider doing so. So when the sound came again several moments later and sounded like someone tapping against the glass, she figured it could be but one person.

She pulled her robe around herself as she opened one of the doors for Sylas. He appeared to have climbed up the branches of a willow to get there, leaves still in his dark hair. “Evening.” His grin gleamed bright in the moonlight. “You couldn’t sleep, either, huh?”

She had half a mind to shut the door and let him climb back down. “What on earth are you thinking? You can’t be here!”

Despite his size, he was graceful as a feline, not making so much as a noise as he slipped past her and into the room. “I saw from below that you had a candle lit, and your shadow kept pacing across the glass. I wanted to check that you were all right.”

This boy would be her ruin if they weren’t careful, though Signa had to admit that her blood rushed a little quicker with the thrill of a late-night visit. She didn’t even necessarily mind that she wore only a robe over her nightgown, more curious about what he might think of it and what reaction she might get than embarrassed. Sure enough, Sylas’s eyes lingered upon her body for a beat too long when he thought she wasn’t looking, and he quickly cleared his throat and turned his attention to the ceiling when she turned back. Signa tried not to grin, warm with satisfaction.

“I’m as well as one can be, knowing my cousin is still as ill as the day I met her.” She folded her arms across her chest and resumed her pacing. “If you’re going to be in here, keep your voice down and tell me whether you’ve found anything useful.”

“Hardly.” He took a seat on her floor, leaning back against the wall. “I looked through the kitchen and the servants’ quarters but couldn’t find anything incriminating.”

She feared as much, but hearing it aloud made it all the more aggravating. She ran her hands through her hair, tugging at the ends. “We must find something to help her. I hear there’s a library in Thorn Grove, and I’d like to check it to see if I might find an antidote. Something herbal, to ward off poison.”