Page 51

As I look on, the boy shudders once, and his breaths suddenly turn shallower, more labored. His grip tightens against mine.

When I look at the boy again, his small face has turned serene and his eyes vacant. The heat of his soul still warms my palm.

That is it, and that is all.

IT’S EVENING ON Shoreditch’s High Street, and the area is festive, people laughing and gathering at street corners or lined up outside pubs, letting loose after a long day.

You press through the area in high spirits as you head off to meet friends, but as you turn a corner, you spot a young man with a grim look on his face. He’s handsome, with his green eyes and golden-brown hair, and as you pass him by, you wonder to yourself what could have caused him to have such a dark expression. Then he’s out of your range, and you move on, leaving him to his churning thoughts.

He doesn’t know why he saved her life.

Well, he does know. But how many times in the past has he been able to push his emotions aside? How many times has he still managed to get the job done? Why can’t he do it with her?

He knows why. It’s the least he owes her.

But it isn’t just that. He frowns at himself as he walks along the High Street. He owes her, true, but he has been watching her from a distance for a long time. Maybe it is her sheer determination, her fierce insistence on doing things anyway, even if it’s hard, even if it’s not for herself. Even if it’s dangerous.

He had become a Harbinger to help his family. But she had given up everything to save her friend’s life.

You’d let love consume you?

Her words echo now in his mind. He tucks his head deeper into his scarf and speeds up.

Maybe he would. Maybe he is gradually being consumed now.

The rain has cleared up and night has settled firmly in place. This had been one of his sister’s favorite spots to hang out, and whenever she took the train from Paris to London for a weekend trip, she would sometimes let him tag along, and he would hang out with her older friends, trying to look mature. Even now, years after leaving his family behind, he still finds himself coming here. The scent of cold, damp walls and wet leaves fills the air. Long shadows stretch across the road, casting the growing crowds in dark blues and neon edges.

He knows he’s supposed to meet his patron god tonight, although he isn’t quite ready to face him yet. But his god has always had a knack for disguising himself among throngs of humanity. So he finds himself narrowing his eyes at clusters of friends on the sidewalk, at the businessman hurrying home with his briefcase, at the tourists posing before a wall of graffiti.

He finally wanders off the main thoroughfare and onto a smaller street with less foot traffic, one that branches into a series of narrow alleys.

Far at the end of the street is a glimmer of white fur, the tail of a fox that isn’t quite a fox. He stops and watches the Wraith go, its shape billowing like a mirage, its mouth wrapping all the way around its head. He looks on as it stares at groups of people, lingers near brightly lit shops. In spite of everything, he still feels a little sorry for these fragments of souls. All they want is to belong to the world again. To be mortal again.

Only now they have been given the power to take that mortality.

He cuts down the first narrow alley. Here, he is alone, his shadow blending in with the wall. He walks for a bit until he suddenly senses the presence of someone else behind him.

“Running away?” says his patron god.

The echo of the god’s voice has always had a strange hollowness about it. He shivers, dread creeping coldly up his back, but he still turns.

“I didn’t think you’d expect me until later tonight,” he says.

Now he sees the tall, skeletal frame materialize from the shadows of the alleyway, the details of his face completely hidden under the brim of his hat. His patron god is dressed in a rakish coat tonight, crimson as blood, and his shadow is long enough to swathe Étienne in darkness.

“Your defense of her during the test was a surprise today,” he says.

He knows he’s in danger, but he shrugs. Nonchalance has always been his shield. “Why let her die during her second test? We can have our fun in the third.”

“I suppose you’ve always had a penchant for toying with your food. But was it all play this time?” The god makes a disappointed click with his tongue. “I’m not convinced.”

“What’s the harm in letting her endure one more test?” he says. “She’s going to be yours, one way or another.”

“Perhaps you’re starting to have doubts. Or perhaps you no longer care for those you left behind. Perhaps you’ve decided to forget them, too.”

His parents. His sister. He thinks of them, as he always does, and clenches his fists together. “Nothing has changed,” he repeats calmly.

“And you are one to dole out promises, aren’t you?” The god smiles at him. “I know you too well.”