Belladonna (Belladonna #1)(74)

“What will you do with him?” she whispered through quivering lips as she reached the hall, peering back over her shoulder to watch Death. His shadows spread like a blanket across the floor, as though he might somehow staunch the flames.

“I’ve told you already, I don’t take spirits against their will.” The room plummeted into darkness. Death’s voice rang in her head. Now hurry, Signa. Find help!

And she did, stumbling down the stairs and screaming for whoever was there.



Elijah found her. He emerged from Blythe’s room, a panic in his eyes when she told him of the fire. He and Warwick hurried to it, marshaling the staff to extinguish the flames.

Signa couldn’t be certain whether he’d been sent or had rushed to her himself, but as one of the staff that had been enlisted to help, Sylas stood before her moments later. “What happened?” he asked as he took her by the shoulders and shepherded her away from the commotion, steering Signa back toward her suite.

At first, she couldn’t answer. While the majority of the library was still intact, Signa’s thoughts were lost to how Thaddeus had watched his favorite thing in the world burn away. So many books gone, just like that. Still, it was better to lose books than to lose their lives. What might have happened if she hadn’t gone up there and noticed the fire when she did? Would whoever was behind the fire have been content to let all of Thorn Grove burn? She couldn’t bear to think of it.

“I think,” she said between chattering teeth, “someone is trying to send us a warning.”

Sylas’s grip on her tightened. “You look on the verge of fainting,” he told her when they’d reached her door. “I’ll find someone to come tend to you, but I need to go and help with the fire. In the meantime, promise me you’ll try to rest.”

“I promise,” she answered meekly. It wasn’t as though she was well enough to do anything but rest. Sylas held her for a moment longer before prying himself away. Signa watched his feet disappear back in the direction of the fire before she opened the door to her suite and dragged herself inside. Each step across the threshold was arduous.

It was most fortunate that Elaine soon appeared with a pot of tea and a tray full of scones. She pulled a plush chair close to the hearth and helped Signa into it, though it took Elaine some time to light the fire. The tinderbox in the kitchen had gone missing, and she’d had to scour the servants’ quarters for another. Though fire was the last thing Signa wanted to see, it alone was able to soothe the pervading chill deep within her bones.

She sat in a chair by the hearth until sundown, trying not to think about how she’d let a spirit seize control of her body. It was a relief that Death had arrived when he did, though she hated that she’d had to rely on him to save her.

Elaine returned later to help her into a bath, and by the time she was clean, Signa was starting to feel like herself once more. The fog in her mind had cleared, and she had a new plan: She would learn to fend for herself, no matter how many nights it took of training with Death or how much she had to practice her powers. It would be worth it to learn everything, if only to avoid ever being possessed again.

And so later that evening, she sat in her bed with her hair wet and nightgown on, eyes shut. She had her window open, letting crisp air into her suite. It billowed the canopy above her bed, its chill sinking into the sheets as she bundled beneath the covers. A good chill, this time. Biting and stormy and real.

Her grandmother had always warned her not to leave the window open when her hair was wet, but it was a warning Signa preferred never to heed. She enjoyed the way the last tendrils of autumn felt against her skin, and she sought comfort within its cool grasp and the scent of dampened earth. It made her feel closer to the world around her. Like she was human.

It also, she realized, made her think of Death. She hadn’t felt his presence since the library, and hour by hour her curiosity was mounting. Death had given Signa a challenge to communicate with him mentally. Now, she would finally try.

I’m glad you were there earlier. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t arrived.

When the only response was silence, Signa scooted to the middle of the bed, folding her legs beneath her. What’s happened to Thaddeus? She hadn’t a clue if this was working; there was no guidebook for how to be a reaper. She shut her eyes and used the chill of the night to help her envision Death before her. Imagined that the cold was his touch against her skin. Did you learn anything more from him?

A spark within her told her he was there, listening.

He loved those books. It’s my fault they’ve been destroyed.

Finally, his response came, and she couldn’t help the thrill that ran through her. She’d actually done it. Take a breath, Little Bird. You are no more at fault for the fire than I am at fault for the fact that people die. You did everything right—your cousin is still alive because of your efforts. Remember that.

She worried her lip. While she recognized that there very well may have been some small modicum of truth in those words, it felt impossible to believe them.

Thaddeus is himself again, though I don’t think he’ll be long for this world. His voice was a cool burn against her skin. What you experienced, Signa, is rare. It takes a lot out of a spirit to possess someone, and most decide to pass on not long after. Spirits don’t have the ability to filter their emotions as we do, and they act on impulse. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you sooner.