I twisted my head slightly. Somehow he was keeping pace with me. Silent. Ghostly.
I only ran faster, until each breath was agony and each step thunder.
“You do not want this.” Elijah’s voice snaked into my ears, but when I glanced back, neither he nor Clarence was there.
I returned my gaze forward.
And I slammed into a body. Clarence’s face leaned into mine. I bolted back around—but Elijah blocked me.
“Let me go!” I shrieked, lurching back at Clarence. “Let me go—”
“NO.” Elijah’s voice boomed out, shaking through the stillness of the air and scratching over my skin. “Look at what became of me!” He slammed his palm against his chest. “Look at what I have done.” He flung his arm at Clarence. “You will become this if you do not stop.”
“And,” I growled, “I. Do not. Care. I have come for Daniel’s soul, and I will take it.”
“But he will not be the same,” Clarence murmured. “Your Daniel is no more.”
“What do you mean? Your soul is here, and it is the same—”
“And our souls have not passed judgment,” Elijah interrupted. “We are still on the dock, but Daniel is out there now.” He jabbed a finger at the endless water. “When Clarence and I are eventually judged, our souls will be stripped bare. Soon . . .” He glanced at Clarence and swallowed.
“Soon,” Clarence agreed. “Soon we will have to face the scales ourselves. We have clung to this dock to keep you safe. We have used our resolve and our desire to stay here, where we could protect you from the Hell Hounds and guide you on the dock . . . but once we enter the spirit realm, our souls will be ripped apart and judged piece by piece.”
I stared at Clarence, not understanding. “But how could Daniel already be judged? Yet you are not?”
“We were not ready to die,” Elijah whispered. “Daniel was.”
“He died willingly,” Clarence said. “When a person enters death by their own choice, they cross the dock in moments. Fragments of a moment.”
“His . . . own choice.” My breaths came in, faster and faster. Daniel had jumped in front of a spear meant for Joseph.
Just as he had jumped from the airship.
My life’s nothin’ compared to yours. That was what he’d said a few days ago.
But he was wrong. His life was worth everything—how could he not have known that?
“Eleanor.” Elijah spoke my name with an inescapable heaviness. “What you will find will only be fragments of Daniel—good, bad, ugly, or clean. . . .” He lifted one shoulder. “There is no way to know what parts of his soul now drift toward the final afterlife, and if you try to fuse those remnants back into his body, you won’t have a complete human. You will have something back . . . but it will not be your Daniel.”
“I do not care,” I croaked, but my knees were beginning to shake. “I would rather have a piece of him than none.” I gasped . . . and gasped again. The air felt too cold. My lungs too small.
“But would Mr. Sheridan want to be summoned back?” Clarence pressed. “Would he wish to return to a shattered life?”
“No.” Elijah’s head shook, but the movement seemed hazy and slow. “Daniel gave his life willingly. If you bring him back, you will be dishonoring that choice.”
My legs stopped working. It was as if they’d forgotten how to exist. How to be.
Elijah’s and Clarence’s faces disappeared, and the dock drew close.
I hit the wooden slats—my knees, my hands, my chest . . . my face. Each piece of me was broken.
I had no reason to keep going. None.
I could not even utter the words, for speaking them—even forming a coherent thought in my brain—would give it power. Would make it real.
And this could not be real.
Not my Daniel.
Not him.
I would not get to say good-bye. I would never touch his face or hold his calloused hands. I would never look into his grassy-green eyes or hear him say “Empress.” I would never howl at him in rage or kiss his lips with need.
Because he is gone, and I cannot bring him back.
The words flickered through my brain, and with them came the truth. It engulfed me. Submerged me. I had no idea which way was up or how to draw in my next breath—not without Daniel to dive in and show me.
Back and forth, we had saved each other. He had rescued me, and I had rescued him . . . but not this time. I could not save him this time.
And he could not save me.
Because he was gone.
It confounded me. How could someone be alive one moment and then simply dead the next? When I had left, he’d been beautiful and vibrant. When I had returned . . . lifeless and cold.
And I knew with sick, disgusting certainty that this was my line. My limit: I could not take away what Daniel had chosen—not when I loved him. Not when his choice had been an honest, pure one.
“You have to go back now,” Clarence said, his voice a gentle whisper.
I stared at the wood. “No.”
“You have to,” Elijah agreed. “It’s time to say good-bye to us . . . and it is time to end this.”