She smiled, recalling Death’s words to her all those months ago. You are bolder than the sun, Signa Farrow. And it’s time that you burn. Fueled by them, she tilted her head toward Fate. “I need your help.”
Somewhere across the ballroom came a gasp as a wandering spirit tried to take the hand of an older woman. The woman promptly lost her breath to surprise, shivered once, and then fainted on the spot. Hovering over her fallen frame, the spirit screamed.
“It’s happening again!” she cried, fumbling from the dance floor as she yelled those words over and over again.
The night wasn’t going remotely as Signa had hoped. She focused on the heat from Fate’s touch, searing her skin even through the fabric of her gown. “You seem to require my help a lot, lately. Tell me, have you remembered me yet?”
With the question came an unprompted memory of laughter that had once made her feel so alive. The pulse of a heart that had once beat for her alone, just as hers had for him. Signa missed a step, nearly tripping over her boots as the song he’d asked her to remember once again flooded her thoughts.
“No. She forced the lie out, throwing those thoughts as far as she could get them. “I remember nothing.”
Fate sighed, so close that his breath brushed her cheek. “I know I’m asking you to consider possibilities that you don’t wish to believe in, but did you expect a year ago that you’d be where you are now? Did you expect to be a reaper, or the lover of Death himself?”
He already knew the answer from the look of it, but still he waited for Signa to admit, “Of course I didn’t.”
Necks twisted to watch as she and Fate danced. She felt the buzz of every curious stare upon her skin as he leaned in and whispered, “If you came to live with me, I think it might help you remember who you really are.”
For a moment, Signa lost her breath. Perhaps because of the spirit that passed too closely behind her, or perhaps from the suggestion itself. “You know I can’t do that.”
“Can’t?” he echoed. “Or you won’t? When you look at me, do you truly feel nothing?”
It was a question made to break a person, and Signa felt its weight settle over her. The answer was so plain upon her face that she felt Fate’s resentment before she saw it curl his lips. Step-by-step their dance hastened until the musicians were red in the face and the guests were gasping for air as they tried to keep up. If not for Fate’s vise grip on her, Signa surely would have spun out of control.
“If you haven’t remembered, then I have no reason to help you.” Though he held his jaw high, Fate was as stiff as a rod beneath her touch. More and more she found herself wondering just how much of his bravado was an act. A shield. She wondered what he might be like beneath it, once the layers had been stripped back.
“Surely there’s a part of you that must care, no matter how callous you make yourself seem.”
His laugh was steady, as ominous as rainfall on a cloudless night. “Do you think me enough of a fool to get attached to a life so fragile as a human’s? Why should I weep for the fates I weave when Death will take even the most magnificent of them from me?”
It was perhaps that moment in which Signa saw Fate for who he was—a man as tired of people dying around him as Signa had once been. A man who was willing to do anything for the life he wanted, just as she was.
“Then care for them because I do.” She did not pull from Fate but instead pressed closer. She squeezed his hand tight, trying to ignore the way his touch burned into her like a branding. “Care because everything I love is at stake tonight, and because I’m asking for help that only you can give. You control the living. Freeze them as you did at Wisteria Gardens, so that I can take care of the spirits. Give me a chance to learn the truth of Lord Wakefield’s death, and for once do not ask for anything in exchange. If you’re not the villain, prove it to me.”
Already the waltz was waning, and the quieter the music became, the more intense Fate’s stare grew until the gold in his eyes was all but glowing. He peeled from Signa the moment the song had finished, as though she herself was a plague.
“Do not toy with me,” he spat. “Do not say soft words in the hope that I’ll go weak. You will have your truth, Miss Farrow—I’ve already promised you as much. I will give you twenty minutes to placate your spirits. After that, the rest is up to you.”
He looked as angry at her as he was with himself, as if hating that she’d pulled this from him freely. There was no reward, no deal struck. It was an opportunity Signa wouldn’t waste, the timer beginning the moment bodies froze around her, faces stilling amid laughter and couples stopped mid-twirl.
“Thank you,” Signa said, though Fate had already turned to seek solace in another flute of champagne. She let him go, noticing then how still Death stood in the corner, watching. She could only imagine what he could be thinking. Though her heart ached, there was no time to console him.
“Later,” she whispered, wishing for nothing more than the ability to reach out and take his hand. “Help me get them out of here.”
Signa made her way across the ballroom toward her godmother, nearly drawing back as the spirit hissed at her.
“Amity.” Signa dared not let one ounce of her fear seep into her voice, even as Amity loomed closer. Her head tilted to inspect Signa, who focused on deep breaths to steady her hammering heart. The moment she started toward Briar, though, it was as though Amity burst open. She glowed brighter than Signa had ever seen, more monster than spirit as she bared her teeth. Signa stumbled back, bracing herself on the edge of the nearest table to keep from falling.
But she would not turn away. There was too much riding on the night, and Amity deserved better. They all did.
“Amity!” Signa wished she had her berries so that she might pool her shadows around her, if only to settle into their protective embrace. “I want to help! You’ve waited for me all this time. You’ve helped me settle into Foxglove when I never thought I could call this place home. Please, let me help Briar. Let me help you!”
The words seemed to break something within Amity, whose body shook with a sob. In that moment, Signa felt herself drawn to the spirits the same way she’d been to Henry.
She’d always been pulled toward them. And perhaps she finally understood why.
Only when Amity stepped aside, eyes brimming with tears as dark as dried blood, did Signa close the remaining space between her and Briar. Her face was even worse than Signa had realized from afar, the left side so swollen that one of her eyes seemed ready to slip from its socket. A gaping wound on her right temple had splinters of wood still stuck inside. That, at least, explained the stain on the banister.
“Briar?” Signa kept still and measured, and when Death drew forward, she held out a hand to halt him, not wanting to spook the spirit who blinked at her, forehead pinched.
As horrifying as it was to have the spirit’s attention, it was a good sign to have finally earned her awareness. Only, Signa wasn’t sure how she felt about having earned the attention of the others, too.
Several spirits had twisted to observe the only moving body in a ballroom that had gone still. In the corner of her vision, Death stood poised to strike.
There are too many of them, he warned. Be careful, Signa. One wrong move, and you could set off an avalanche.
Signa needed no warning. Her bones ached with the memory of possession, making each of her movements more cautious than the next. There was no guidebook for this. All her life, Signa had relied on instructions. She’d memorized The Lady’s Guide to Etiquette and Beauty from front to back. Had branded every rule of society and propriety into her mind and had been overly aware of every expectation placed upon her. Now she had only her own instincts to command her.
“There’s a reason that no one here looks familiar.” Though she stood face-to-face with Briar, the words were for all spirits listening. “Twenty years ago, you died here in Foxglove.”