A Shadow in the Reaping by Brynne Weaver

Chapter 18

Istand in front of the mirror and squeak my palm across the condensation on its surface. Yes, I know I'll leave streak marks. That's the point. Call it retribution for Ashen packing my underwear but not my hairdryer.

Though his shower is awesome with its eight thousand fucking jets that pressure wash the scent of hybrid off my body, it's woefully unprepared to accommodate a lady vampire such as myself.

First, there's no conditioner. Only shampoo.

Next, there's only mansoap, which smells like the juice of all the world's lemons was combined with the oil from an entire forest of cedars and condensed into a single bar. How Ashen smells like tobacco and ink I'll never know.

Lastly, there's no aforementioned hairdryer, which frankly sucks balls.

Annoying as it is, I'm weirdly relieved that there's no evidence of female activity in the bathroom, or anywhere else in his living quarters for that matter. Aside from the sex sheets, of course. Which are clean, thank fuck, and I can verify that because I totally sniff-tested them when he was in the shower before me.

I rummage through my bag, which contains a thoughtful assortment of shit I hardly ever wear. Exhibit A: a floor-length fitted black gown that I bought for Halloween with Ediye when we put on our own two-person murder mystery night. We solved the case in about fifteen minutes so got loaded on tequila and watched the Alien movies instead. I'm not sure why Ashen thought I might need it, but here we are. There are a few sweaters I hardly wear, so I guess he must have thought I am cold therefore I feel cold. Which I don't. But thank fuck he packed my oversized orange hoodie that I haven't worn in two years, because he obviously just chucked it in my bag without realizing there was a dress beneath it on the hanger. And thus, he packed that too.

It's white. It's short. It's lacey and cute and sexy. It's got a flirty, flouncy skirt and a low v-neckline and an open back with delicate crisscross straps. It's perfect for a bright soul to attend a dinner in the Shadow Realm, especially when the lightest color I've seen anyone wear is charcoal grey.

Project Attraction and Annihilation is back on, baby.

Okay I know what you're thinking: but Lu, that's not really flying undercover, you know? And yeah, I totally get that. But you're forgetting a few things. First, I'm bored. Not here, not in the Shadow Realm. I mean just generally, in life. Things were pretty boring before Ashen came along. In fact, as strange and freaky as this place has been, in a weird way I'm having fun here in his realm. It's exciting. It's scary. I still feel like I want to tear the whole place down, but that's part of the attraction. Maybe it's also because I feel like Ashen is starting to see it the way that I do.

Also, you forget that I love getting away with things. And wearing a white dress to dinner in the Shadow Realm and getting drunk on fangria definitely feels like getting away with something. But don't worry, for a little extra insurance I cast a spell on myself in the shower. Ediye gave it to me years ago. It makes me actually mute for twenty-four hours, just in case I have the impulse to let my voice fly in a drunken solo of Bohemian Rhapsody. And you already know I can slay that song. But mostly the spell is a real pain in the ass, because every single time I've used it I've met a douchebag so worthy of killing. Not singing to my meal makes things a lot... messier...

But dude, I'm not stupid.

The other thing is that I stole the obsidian blade from Ashen's suit jacket. To your credit, you couldn't have known that. You also couldn't have known that Angelwing poison really sticks to stuff. For a long, long time. So, I take a bit of damp toilet paper and I carefully, and I mean oh so carefully, wipe the obsidian down and transfer the poison to my kaiken and katana. Then I wash my hands. Like, six times.

I pull my hair up in a sleek bun since my hair will never dry in time and I put on some makeup. Okay, maybe a lot of makeup. A smoky eye. A bit of winged liner. Maybe some fake lashes, whatever. Ashen packed it all, so blame him. Besides, it's a nice edgy contrast to my sweet little dress. Once my heels are on, I strap my kaiken to my upper thigh, the sheathed point of it visible just below the edge of my hem. It looks pretty hot if I do say so myself. I'm a bitch and a boss and I shine like gloss. All praise to Doja Cat for the hype song rolling through my mind. I step out of the bathroom, shoulders back and head high.

When I enter the main living area, Ashen is sitting on the edge of the bed, his ankle balanced on his knee, a book splayed across his leg. For a moment I just stop and look at him. Impeccable black suit, silk tie, polished shoes. His raised foot ticks like a clock. His hair falls over his brow, his eyes focused on the words in his lap. His fingers press a shifting pattern into the pulp of his lip. He's so engrossed in what he's reading that he doesn't notice me. It's like he has his own gravity in this room. A dark star, a celestial power, beautiful yet deadly. I feel like he pulls me in.

I write a note in my journal.

Time to pony up, Reaper. You owe me some pitchers.

I toss the notebook next to him on the bed. His head snaps to the side with the surprise of the impact. Then he looks at me.

For a second that feels too long, he doesn't move. It's as though he doesn't recognize me.

Something turns over in his brain and he sets his book to the side and stands.

"Lu... you..."

An eloquent start. I try not to smile as I raise my eyebrows in question. The Reaper swallows.

"You look... did I pack that?"

I grin as I walk to the bed and retrieve my journal. I make a point of turning around as I write so that he gets a full view of the low, open back.

You did pack it. What, you don't like it?

I show him my note with an innocent smile on my lips but a wicked gleam in my eyes.

"No, no-"

So you DON'T like it, then.

"No I meant yes, I do like it." Ashen's eyes stray to my bare shoulders, across my collarbones, down the chain from Ediye. His gaze follows the deep neckline of the dress that dips low between my breasts. A flush of gooseflesh tingles through my arms and the back of my neck as he looks down to my legs, to the edge of the dagger that's strapped on my thigh. When he meets my eyes he looks both ravenous and petrified.

Are you sure? I can't tell from your face. It seems like you might not like it. I show him my note and then turn a full circle. I look down to my shoes and back up to Ashen again. I can get changed, I write, but there's no fucking way that I'm doing that.

"No, no. You look..."

Don't say I look like a hybrid or I swear I'll slap you.

"You look so beautiful, Lu."

All the mischief dies in my eyes as I look at Ashen. I knew he was going to say something like that, once he spat it out eventually, but it's the way he said it. It's the way he said my name. His voice is rich and warm and almost sad, like he's looking at something he's already lost.

I feel the heat of nerves swell and churn through my belly. I take a deep breath and refocus on my journal.

Thank you, you look pretty good yourself.

Ashen looks down at his suit and back to me with the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Thank you."

Usually you look like such a slob. It's nice to see you dress up for a change. I pass him my note and when he meets my eyes I wink. A spark flares in his pupils in response and he looks away, but I can see his smile grow.

"Come on, vampire," he says, lifting a bag from the bed. He slings it over his shoulder and then offers me his arm. "Your fangria awaits."

I loop my hand through Ashen's arm and we leave the room, walking down the corridor to the stairs. When we arrive in the grand entrance hall there are a few other Reapers in the vestibule. We pass a couple immersed in quiet conversation and they nod to Ashen as we approach, but their eyes are sharpened on me. I feel the weight of their scrutiny and I wonder if it looks bad for Ashen to be seen with a soul on his arm. For some reason, it doesn't excite me to make him feel uncomfortable. I'm not sure why.

I keep my eyes on the couple as I start to pull my hand away, and Ashen looks down, his brow furrowed. He follows my gaze and traps my escaping hand to his side, grasping my fingers with his other hand and placing it back where I feel like it belongs.

"It's all right," he says, not looking again at the couple. "They're just not used to seeing a bright soul here. Not one that shines like you."

I give him a questioning look but he doesn't respond. He only lays his hand over mine and stares down anyone else we pass as though challenging a question or comment. None are made.

We walk down the road, the same pervasive fog hovering over every surface, obscuring the worst of the Realm from our view. We turn down a side road this time, and I get the sense there are dwellings or buildings on either side, but I can't see them through the mist. It's only pathways and iron fences and tall hedges. Everything beyond is consumed by the opaque fog.

We cross another road and reach a tall iron gate, the words Bit Akalum wrought into the archway that stretches above us. House of Food. Ahead there are dim but twinkling lights, the sound of music drifting toward us through the mist. With my free hand I point to the Bit Akalum signas we pass beneath it, with a sarcastic look on my face.

"Does what it says on the tin," Ashen says, and I can hear the smirk of agreement in his voice. "We might have to rename it to the House of Fangria after tonight."

I flash a smile up at him that says he read my mind. Which he totally just did.

We follow the path to a wide, black stone building with a covered porch. Lanterns hang from the ceiling, illuminating a few Reapers standing beneath the overhang with drinks in their hands. Music wafts toward us like a beacon in the mist, low and dark, minor chords, rich melodies in deep octaves. There are no vocals, only cello and piano, but I could make something. A song about this place. A song about ghosts in dark corners and fear in the fog. We ascend the steps but I don't notice the Reapers as we pass, I'm too caught in the current of the music around me.

"All right, vampire?" Ashen asks as we pass the Reapers on the patio and head through the open doors. He looks down at me with a crease between his brows.

I nod and give a faint smile, swirling my finger in a loop and tapping my ear. He frowns and I'm not sure why.

We enter a long room of circular tables with silver tablecloths and vases of dark flowers, candles throwing light and shadow across the Reapers and their drinks or plates of food. Enormous black French Empire crystal chandeliers cascade from the ceiling like frozen waterfalls. A bar stretches the length of the room on the left toward an empty dance floor and a small stage where a cellist and pianist play. Their eyes are closed as they immerse themselves in the meaning behind their dark and winding melody.

"There," Ashen says, nodding his head in the direction of a table near the back of the room. Ember is facing us, elegant in a jumpsuit the shade of the deepest cold sea. Her long hair is scraped into a high ponytail that twists and drapes over her shoulder like rope. Cole is seated next to her and is probably the most informal person here with his T-shirt beneath a suit jacket. I was right when I guessed that I'd be wearing the lightest color here. Everyone else is in shades of grey or black, blue or even deep blood red. My white dress is a lantern in the Shadow Realm.

"Lovely to see you again so soon, Lu," Cole says, standing as we arrive at the table. Ashen pulls my seat out for me, placing me next to the newcomer. I assume he must deem Ashen 'insufferable' but a safer option than his sister. I agree.

I give Cole a salute and I turn my gaze to Ember as I rest my katana against the arm of my chair. We smile warmly at one another as though we're the very best of friends.

"You look so lovely, Lu. You're the shining light of Bit Akalum tonight. All the Reapers here have certainly taken note of the brightest soul they've ever had to glimmer in their midst," Ember says, sweeping her hand in the direction of the room behind me. Her smile is as placid as still water. I wonder if I'm the only one that knows how deceptive that stillness can be.

"I'll be right back," Ashen says, dropping his hand on my shoulder. I give a single nod but I don't take my eyes from Ember. Either Ashen doesn't notice the predatory gleam in her eyes or he doesn't believe she's a threat in this place. Maybe he figures I can hold my own with the blades at my side, which is truer than he knows. I hear his footfalls depart in the direction of the bar.

"How are you enjoying your time here in our Shadow Realm? Still so-so?" Cole asks, swirling the ice in his glass of whiskey within its ornate crystal cage.

Ember's smile grows across the rim of her wine glass. "Lu can't answer you, Cole. She can't speak."

"Really? Why?" Cole asks, and the concern and curiosity I hear in his words seems genuine.

"Damaged vocal chords, apparently. Though how, I'm not sure. Perhaps a fight with someone? It wasn't Bobby Sarno, was it?"

I give Ember a slow shake of my head and a smile that says she's playing a dangerous game. Bobby-Fucking-Sarno. As if. I'd never let that motherfucker get his slimy hands around my throat. But she already knows to give me more credit than that.

"No, I didn't think so. I heard someone very sneaky snapped his neck on the roof of his own club. How bold and audacious. I wonder why someone would do that?" Ember says, her voice saccharine. Her eyes are glittering gems of hidden malice. I look at Cole and he returns my gaze with an assessing stare and a tilt of his head. He shifts his eyes to his menu as footsteps approach. A pitcher of deep crimson wine with ice cubes and slices of lemon and orange appears in front of my place setting. I smell the blood and citrus, the tannins of wine.

"What is that pretty concoction, brother?" Ember asks, tilting her wine glass toward my pitcher in a question.

"A quarter of a debt fulfilled," Ashen replies, pouring a glass of fangria for me before helping himself to wine from Ember's bottle. A server arrives and takes the orders of my dining companions. He's human. I can smell his blood rushing to the quicker cadence of his heart. He knows I'm different too and gives me a wary look when I pull my bloody drink closer and shake my head to decline any food. I have questions that I can't ask about how a human would wind up in this place. Does he want to be here? What does he know about immortals? Also... he smells tasty. Is he a douchebag?

As the server leaves with a nervous look in my direction, Ember casts a smirk toward her brother. "A quarter of a debt fulfilled? You're not considering repaying Lu for saving your life with a bit of... what is that... sangria?"

"Fangria. For vampire consumption only," Ashen says, leaning back in his chair with his wine glass. "And no, of course not."

Cole's eyebrows climb beneath his mop of blond hair as his gaze bounces from Ashen to me. "You saved his life? How? And... why?"

"She can't answer you, remember?" Ember says as she cuts him a side-eye glare.

"I was struck in a confrontation with Semyon's former pack," Ashen explains. His voice is deep and rich with memory. "The blade was laced with Angelwing poison."

"I thought Angelwing was a myth," Cole says. His eyes sweep across my face as though he's looking at someone new.

Ember's lips curl in a smile, like this is the very best of games and we're the only two playing. "No, it's no myth. It just hasn't been used in a very, very long time. Not many are left who have seen it. Even fewer remain who know the antidote."

"Which is?"

"Sacrifice," Ashen interjects. He takes a sip of his wine and sets the glass on the silver tablecloth, pushing the base against the fabric. He taps his finger along the stem, a quiet metronome for the music. Tick, tick, tick.

"No, brother. Not just sacrifice," Ember says. "The Realm of Light demands more than something so simple as sacrifice to remedy a poison wrought of their empire."

Cole spins his ice in his drink, the clink, clink adding to the ping of Ashen's finger on the glass. "What do you mean?"

"She spellcast also," Ashen says. He sounds bored of this conversation, though I know he's not. I'm becoming really fucking irritated that it's going too quickly to write my own reply, which Ember seems to enjoy.

"The spell was not the antidote."

"How'd she cast a spell if she can't speak?" Cole asks, his eyes narrowing.

Sign language, you dicks, I sign, even though that is of course a lie. Ember laughs. So someone here does know sign language after all.

"Vampires are adaptable creatures, Cole," she says. Right, Leucosia? Ember signs. She holds my gaze as her hands form the words, her smile spreading. A spark of mischief catches fire in her eyes and she turns their gleam toward Cole. "No, the spell helped to hasten the effect of the antidote, but it wasn't just for my brother's benefit."

Ember and I look at one another, unmoving. I know what she's about to say. It's something I've known since the moment I realized I had been successful in saving Ashen. It's how I knew my blood would not be enough. It's why I spoke the spell.

"Not just sacrifice. Not just blood or spells. It's risk. Being willing to risk something you cannot get back," she says.

Ashen's eyes cut to me and back to Ember. "Risk what?"

"Little brother. Haven't you asked yourself why Lu shines like a star in our Shadow Realm?"

The ticking of Ashen's finger stops.

All the room seems to go quiet without the cadence of passing time. Ember's smile spreads like venom in a wound.

"She risked her soul for you. And now it belongs to the Realm of Light."