Belladonna

AN HOUR AFTER SYLAS HAD DROPPED HER OFF IN THE TUNNELS, WITH directions to take the first right, the second left, and go straight until she arrived at the pantry, Signa was still wandering alone, her right hand pressed against the wall to guide her. Turn after turn, she was met with darkness and a maze that seemed to shift and ebb beneath her.

Music from Elijah’s party was a distant thrum against the tunnel walls. Signa chased it all the same, clinging to the noise in the darkness. But no matter how far she chased, there was no end in sight. Turn after turn, tunnel after tunnel, the pressure in her chest mounted. It was like the day she arrived at Thorn Grove, when she’d roamed halls that had seemed endless, taunted by portraits of all who had lived there before her time.

Someone or something was toying with her, but knowing that did nothing to ease her shallow breathing. Each of her footsteps grew more desperate, each breath tighter, until she stumbled into yet another dead end.

She smacked the wall in frustration. “Who’s there? I’ve no time for games.”

A voice came from the darkness, low and taunting. “On the contrary, Little Bird, I think you could use more games in your life.”

Signa had never been so relieved to hear that voice. She turned to face him, able to see Death even in the tunnels, for his shadows were darker than the night itself. He loomed larger than usual. “You,” he said without softness, “are late. I hoped you might try to walk through the walls rather than play by the rules of this tunnel, but you are more stubborn than I imagined.”

“And you’re an arrogant fool.” She had not forgotten his promise of midnight lessons, though never would she have guessed he’d stoop to petty games as punishment. “I don’t have any berries with me, you ridiculous heap of shadows.”

The darkness gathered around her. “A ridiculous heap of shadows, am I? Well, Miss Farrow, I’m afraid this heap of shadows is your only help at the moment, and you’d do well to remember that. Especially if you intend to save your cousin.”

Despite her fear and her nerves and the anger boiling within her, Signa tipped her head back and laughed. It was a bitter, unnatural sound. “And I’m supposed to trust you?”

The sigh he blew between his lips became the wind in her hair. “What will it take for you to accept that I am not your enemy?”

“You not killing everyone around me would be a good start.” She squared her shoulders. “And you could answer my questions, too, without the riddles.”

Though still faceless and nothing more than swaths of shadow and the bleed of night, the darkness shrank until Death was a shadow shape of a man that bent to her. “Ask me, then, and I will answer.”

She flattened her expression, careful not to show her surprise. Though he made no comment on the lives he’d taken, she knew better than to lose this opportunity. “If I have the powers you claim, why did they fail me when I got stuck in the fence?”

His shadows brushed close to her skin as he answered without hesitation, “Because you fear them. Because you fear me and my world, and that you may somehow be becoming part of it.”

She bit the inside of her cheek, betraying nothing. “I don’t belong to that world.”

“No? Then why is it that I’ve never met another soul that shares my power?” The shadows circled around her. “Since the creation of life itself, there has been Death to balance it. And in all that time, I have never once been able to communicate so clearly with another living soul.”

She dared not look away from the reaper, but instead tried to peer through the shadows protecting him. What might he look like with his shadows stripped away? Would he have a face? A body? Oh, what she wouldn’t give to catch Death blushing. To catch him feeling as small and bare as she did.

“How did you feel,” he asked suddenly, “when you used my powers last night? Did you like feeling its burn against your skin? Did you find comfort in the darkness and the shadows?”

She had, though it was a truth she’d tried not to admit even to herself. All her life, she’d hated Death. And yet she’d spent her years chasing after him like a moth to a flame. As difficult as her life had been because of him, she should have despised him. Why, then, was it that whenever she was with him, something within her seared hot and fervent?

Before Death, she should tremble. She should fear. And yet the more time she spent with him, the more that fear was beginning to slip away as curiosity festered in its absence.

She didn’t hate Death, not truly. And God, what a fool that made her.

Death’s shadows tilted, circling her. As they did, the air in the tunnels grew tighter and more fraught, and Signa let it turn her fingers to ice and her lungs to frost. There was a limit, though, to that coldness. Too much, and it burned.

Yet no matter how much she pretended otherwise, Signa craved that burn.

“Ah yes.” Death’s voice was a purr in the night. “That’s what I thought. I have the power to help you, but I won’t force myself on you. You must come of your own bidding. My touch is fatal, Little Bird. Just a brush of my skin, and you’ll be behind the veil again, able to access your powers until your body repairs itself.” He held out his hand. “No more pretenses—I want to show you our world. Say the word, and tonight I’ll teach you to access your power without the belladonna.”

The memory of their time in Lillian’s garden surged, and Signa recalled the slice of the cold metal gate through her body. The pressure on her unmoving lungs as they sat frozen in time. There was something else she remembered, too—the freedom. The power.

What would it mean, though, if she acted with Death’s wrath? If she allowed herself his power—what did that make her? There was a darkness waiting to embrace her, waiting to drown her. It was the side of herself she’d fought tooth and nail against, for should she give in to such desires and embrace the powers within her, just what might she become?

“Do you know which tunnel leads back to Thorn Grove?” she asked.

Death replied coolly, “I do.”

“And can you lead me there?”

“I will not.” Signa noted his choice of words with annoyance. “You have abilities that are unheard of, Signa Farrow. You are no ordinary human, and it’s time you stopped acting like one. If you would embrace the power that I see in you—”

“It doesn’t matter what you see!” Her words rang too loud, piercing in her own ears. “What if I want to be an ordinary human? I’m tired of you following me wherever I go. I’m tired of people dying!”

Though she saw no nose, Death looked as though he were pinching the bridge of one. “If you’d let me show you what you could be—the power that you could wield—you might change your mind. Perhaps you think an ordinary life will suit you now, but what happens when that’s no longer enough? When there is a void in you that cannot be filled by tea and gossip?

“I have tried to leave you alone,” he continued. “I have tried not to care. To not get involved. But we are connected, you and I. Our fates—”

“Fate can sod off!” Her temples pulsed with a blossoming headache. “I can determine my own fate without your help.”

There was a smile in his voice. “If I ever see Fate again, I’ll let him know you feel that way.”

Signa stilled, though this shouldn’t have surprised her. If Death was real, then why shouldn’t Fate be?

Death noted her curiosity. “Tell me, do you truly wish me gone? Because I have tried to leave you. Yet every time I do, it seems you find a reason to pull me back. Say the word and I will try again if that’s what you want.”

When he drew a step away, Signa reached out instinctively to stop him. “Wait!” He stilled without hesitation, and the tension in Signa’s chest eased some, and she told him, “I would prefer not to have everyone around me die, yes. But… I don’t want to be stuck in here alone.”

Again, Death reached out his hand. “My offer still stands, but you need to make a decision. I’m a busy man, remember?”

“Yes, I’m sure I’m preventing you from a dozen deaths as we speak.”

He scoffed. “Souls are not patient creatures. Whether I go to them or not, they’ll find me soon enough.”

She rolled her eyes but knew there was no changing his mind. “Fine.” The word came through gritted teeth. “Make me a promise, and I will play your game.”

His empty, waiting hand clenched tight. “I don’t make promises I cannot keep.”

“Good. Then promise me you’ll leave everyone in Thorn Grove alone. I’m tired of making bonds, only for you to take them from me.”

The air grew even tighter, her lungs colder. When Death spoke again, all amusement—all his curiosity—had evaporated. “You had an uncle who ignored you. Who stole from your fortune and kept you locked away in a room so that he could bring the entire town to his bed. You had an aunt who abused you and another guardian who you never had to meet because he was someone who was not fit to ever be left alone with young girls, Signa. And as for the one who died in the bathtub? She had a scheme to marry you off to her friend’s son so that he could take over your fortune and help them obtain wealth.

“I kept hoping that the next would be better than the last,” he continued, “but greed turns people into monsters. Was it truly so terrible to have yourself freed from them?”

She’d never considered her life and all its upheaval in such a light. She’d been so young, and in too many strange situations to know what was normal and what wasn’t. He was right that her guardians had all been cruel to her. All but one. “I had a grandmother who did none of those things,” Signa argued. “What about her?”

The shadows around him jerked, irate. “All those who live must die, Little Bird. You know as well as I do that it was her time. I came for her while she still had her dignity.”

Signa ground her teeth, wanting so badly for her frustration to only grow, never ebb. “Because of you, I’ve had a life of isolation. It was one hardship after the other because everyone around me believed that I was cursed.”

Death snorted. “It’s not my fault you’ve been surrounded by pious vultures—”

“Vultures or not, I would have at least enjoyed some company every now and then! You said yourself that life and death must maintain balance, yet you seem to be doing a lousy job at following that rule. Am I mistaken, or did you not tell me how important it is that I recognize my powers and don’t go around accidentally killing people, so that we might maintain some fragile balance between life and death?”

His shadows stilled, and Signa found herself looking up at this strange man—at death incarnate, at the bleed of the night—with her heart in her throat. When he spoke, his voice was the sound of hooves upon cobblestone, low and choppy. “Perhaps it was more selfish of me than I realized, but I couldn’t stand by and watch how they treated you.”

He’d effectively stolen Signa’s bite. It wasn’t right, what he did. All those people, as awful as they’d been, hadn’t deserved to die. Yet Signa couldn’t help the way her stomach fluttered at his admission. “You… You took them to try and help me?” She didn’t want to believe such a thing could be true. No one had ever stood up for her. No one had ever tried to protect her. So why had he?

“Of course I did, you ridiculous girl.” He fisted his hands and drew a breath, as though attempting to summon his patience. “Does that satisfy you?”

It took her a moment to right herself, barely understanding what he meant. Because… no. She’d never realized she could be so unsatisfied. Hadn’t realized her lips could tingle or her stomach ache with a desire that she knew should not exist.

She should hate him. But to know there was someone watching her—someone protecting her and caring for her—it was all she’d ever wanted. And even though it hadn’t been in the way she’d expected, even hearing those words felt far better than it should have.

“I accept your offer.” She forced the words out before she could change her mind. “Show me how to access my powers without belladonna and get me out of here.”

The words unbound him. When Death’s shadows wrapped around Signa, she didn’t flinch. Though a small part of her warned that this was wrong, that she should be afraid, she leaned into his caress. She could feel his shadows now. Could feel them along her skin, brushing against her neck and lips. Igniting parts of her that she’d never known could be awoken.

His fingers clasped around hers, and it was a true hand, soft against hers and pale as the moon. He pulled her in close. Signa drew a breath—he truly was more than the darkness and shadows he lurked in, then. He had shape.

“All those I touch,” Death whispered, “die.” His other hand pressed against her cheek suddenly, and he breathed out a wondrous sigh so heavy that Signa’s entire body warmed. “Except for you, Signa Farrow. When I touch you, I feel you. On you, my influence is temporary.”

Signa yearned to lean into that touch. He sounded nothing like himself, dark voice now breathy and wondrous. Slowly, he let his hand drop from her cheek, though the fingers of his other hand remained curled tight around hers. “Should we break our connection, you’ll be corporeal once more,” he warned her. Signa nodded and fastened her fingers around his, never wanting to experience being stuck within something again. Death made a low sound in the back of his throat as she pushed closer.

The longer they touched, the more she could feel her temperature plummeting. The weight of her body grew light as gravity slipped away. Ice cleaved through her, and her thoughts darkened as that power slipped in, assuring her she could do anything. That she was invincible.

She tipped her head back, relishing the feeling. This world was hers to take.

“How do you feel?” Death asked with a knowing lilt.

“Like the world I’ve known is suddenly insufficient.” She didn’t realize it until she’d spoken the truth aloud. Something about Death—something about when she was like this—made her brave. Made her confident in a way she otherwise dared not be.

“For you, this world is insufficient.” Death led her through the tunnels. There were no walls to block them nor any doors to change their path. The world was open for their bidding.

“For you,” Death continued, “the world could be infinite.” They passed from one tunnel to the next, the world bowing to their whims. “Whether you welcome this power or not is your choice, but this feeling—this world—could belong to you. You need only to take it.”

She shut her eyes. There was a pressure in the back of her skull that she soon realized came from the lonely souls calling to her, wishing to pass on. Then came another pressure upon her that she recognized as an approaching death—someone ready to be reaped from this earth calling to her.

When Signa opened her eyes again, they were wet. “Is it sad?” she asked. “What you do?”

The muscles in his hands flexed in surprise. “There are times I wish things could be different.” It wasn’t a direct answer, but Signa figured it was the best she’d get. “There are times I wish I could warn people of their choices. Lives I must take at too young an age or when they’re surrounded by people who are not ready for them to leave. I am hated and feared more than anything or anyone in this world. So at times, yes, it can be sad. But it’s who I am.

“There’s good in it, too,” he went on. “I am the first person people see when they draw their last breath. I am the messenger who can deliver them to those they’ve missed. I am the one who assures them not to worry, or who delivers a swift death to those who are not welcome into the afterlife. I am many things, but what I am not is ashamed.”

“You must be lonely, though,” she said, her chest aching a little at the thought. At the familiarity.

“Yes,” he admitted. “For many years I was alone, forced to spend my days watching the lives of humans, never able to interact.”

“But you can interact with me.”

“Ah,” he said, “so you see why I enjoy teasing you so. I am not so lonely anymore, Little Bird. Not so lonely at all.”

She wanted more information—to know what this connection between them meant, and why she was able to see him. But when she turned to ask, he was surrounded by translucent blue orbs that danced around him, lighting their way.

“Despite what you may think, my world isn’t so dark at all.” Death inspected the orbs—souls, Signa realized. Impatient souls; the ones he promised might find him. They lit his cowl, and Signa caught the smallest glimpse of a face beneath his hood of shadows. Just a trace of hair silver as the stars, and a flicker of a smile as he reached his hand out to the souls that flocked to him. Some flocked to Signa, too, spinning around her dress and through her tresses, though they swarmed back to Death when he cleared his throat.

“They’re in need of ferrying,” Death told her. “It’s as I’ve said all along, I am a busy man.” He pulled her through the tunnels with haste until they were in Thorn Grove. With every wall they passed through, Signa stopped worrying some, relaxing into this power she could very well get used to. They were up the stairs and to her room in no time at all.

Too soon, in fact.

I must be on my way, but I’ll be back tomorrow night, for there is more to teach you. He took his time drawing his hand away.

Gravity settled upon her. Her lungs seared, empty fingers burning, as life sank back into her bones. She clutched her throat, the feeling worse than she remembered. “Stay out of my head,” Signa grumbled, though there was little bite behind the command.

Not until you learn how to talk to me. Death laughed, though it was short-lived as the souls gathered closer, doubling, tripling, more demanding than ever. He swatted at them with a hiss.

“Good night, Death.” Signa watched him escape through the window, the souls pushing him out faster than she would have liked.

Good night, Little Bird.

She leaned against her window and stared at his retreating figure until he disappeared with the night. Only then, curled up in her bed and ruminating over the night’s events, did she realize that she couldn’t remember ever feeling less alone.