“A side effect from nearly dying, perhaps,” Death said, though he sounded distant as he continued to stare at the door. It took Signa laughing again and cupping his face in her bare hands to steal his attention, which he was more than happy to offer as he bent to her touch.
“You’re so warm,” he whispered, “I can feel it.” The crack in his voice was enough for the emotion to swell within her once more. Signa threw her arms around him, kissing him through hot, happy tears. She wound her legs around him as Death all but tackled her to the ground, squeezing her tight. Signa savored each one of her breaths as she tucked herself against his chest. They had won, and for the rest of their eternity she would never let go.
“So I take it that you’re staying, then?” Tilly stood at the edge of the parlor, her head poking inside. The disappointment in her voice had Signa cackling as she clasped Death’s hand in hers and raised it toward the spirit.
“Yes, I’m afraid we are.”
The other two spirits approached then, timid as they glanced around the room. Eventually Tilly’s mother, Victoria, looked to Signa with a disapproving pucker of her lips. “We would appreciate if you at least kept better company. The man was far too bright for my taste.”
“There was another who glowed, too, just like the lady’s maid,” Tilly added, voice conspiratorial. “I do wish you’d stop bringing them. The light is bothersome on my eyes.”
Signa felt her grin slip. “There was someone else with a glow? Who was it?”
“She’s asleep upstairs now.” Oliver was once again trying to wipe away the smudge he could never seem to clean from his glasses. “The one everyone’s making such a fuss about.”
“As they should!” Victoria piped. “She’s pregnant and unmarried! They were up all night scheming up ways to conceal it. How tasteless it is to—”
“They speak of Eliza,” Signa interrupted, ignoring Victoria’s huffing as she spun toward Death, who didn’t look nearly as concerned as she felt.
“You healed her, Signa.” He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, no longer silver. “Perhaps the glow is a side effect of that.”
“Perhaps,” she echoed, though the words didn’t sit right in her gut. “But I’ve never done anything for Elaine.”
It was then that her eye caught sight of something behind Death. Or rather a lack of something. Signa’s spine went rigid as she looked to where the tapestry had once lain. Blythe had torn open her palm in that spot, and yet despite all the blood she’d spilled, there was not a drop of it on the wood.
Cold dread swept over Signa as she thought to the ring of light Blythe had showed her, upon the finger of an unblemished hand.
“Death,” Signa spoke his name slowly, testing each word before allowing it into existence. “Amity once asked me whether there was a constant to Life’s magic. Something present whenever I used it.” From the vines in Elijah’s study, to the foal in the stables, and again with Eliza… Blythe had been a constant. “What if it’s not me who caused that glow?” She picked up the poker Blythe had slashed her hand on—uncomfortably warm from being near the hearth—only to find that there wasn’t a speck of blood upon it. Death took it from her, and the moment the iron fell upon his fingers he jolted back, dropping it with a clang.
He clutched his hand to his chest as the skin hissed and smoked, shadows swathing over it. Immediately Death crouched for a better look at the poker, and though there was a long moment in which he wore no expression, in the end his face broke into the most joyous laughter Signa had ever heard as tears rolled over his beaming cheeks.
“You found her.” He scooped up the poker once more, laughing as it sizzled against his palm. With his free hand he grabbed Signa, pulling her into his embrace. His tears were cold as they fell onto her shoulder, his voice soft as snowfall as he whispered, “After all these years, you truly found her. It would seem, Little Bird, that fate always has a way of working itself out in the end.”
Signa’s body numbed with disbelief, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts. It couldn’t be true… and yet it was the only explanation that made sense.
Signa had seen Life’s memories, but every time they came to her, Blythe had been there. The realization brought such a great relief that Signa had no words.
This was why her body burned, and why she had such trouble accessing those powers. They’d never belonged to her, but to Blythe.
Blythe was the reincarnation of Life.
“Do we tell her?” Signa whispered as she stared at the poker, unsure what to feel. For as much as she could understand Fate, Signa hated him for what he’d tried to do. But if Fate were to find out who Blythe truly was…
“No.” There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation in Death’s words. He squeezed Signa close, pressing a kiss against her temple with no care for the spirits who stirred uncomfortably behind them. “Let them figure it out on their own time. Theirs is a story in which we should not interfere.”
Signa wasn’t certain she agreed. Part of her wanted little more than to hurry up the stairs and tell Blythe then and there. But Death’s joy kept her in place, wound tight in his arms.
Perhaps she would tell Blythe soon. For now though, she would trust that Death knew what he was saying.
“They may try to kill each other,” Signa noted, though her voice held no argument.
“You once tried to kill me, and look where that got us.” Death’s eyes beamed brighter than ever as he rose to his feet and pulled her up alongside him.
“Now, Little Bird, why don’t you show me around this house of ours?” He offered his hand, and with a heart so full it could burst, Signa took it.
EPILOGUE
BLYTHE
EVERETT WAKEFIELD AND CHARLOTTE KILLINGER MARRIED TWO months later with the midsummer sun beaming down upon them.
It seemed that happiness was everywhere these days. Blythe watched it blossom between the bride and groom as he drew her in for a kiss. It was in the tender touch that Eliza pressed upon her swollen belly, and the way that Elijah laughed when she jolted from the baby’s kick. Eliza was only weeks away from meeting her child, and Elijah had welcomed her into the family without a second thought.
Signa, too, had unfurled like a flower, sighing as she threaded her fingers through Death’s as he embraced her.
Blythe supposed she should be happy, too, now that she had her father back and knew that neither Everett nor Charlotte was the duke’s killer. Even so, no matter how grateful Blythe was for the way things had turned out, there was no ridding herself of the deep unease that coiled like a spring within her.
Whatever Signa had done that night in the garden, it hadn’t just affected Eliza and the child. Blythe hadn’t told a soul of the things she’d seen, or how in the moment their lives were saved, Blythe had fallen into a sea of white light. The warmth of it had coaxed her, easing her worries and stealing her thoughts for seconds that’d felt like hours. And in that sea, she’d dreamed of velvet laughter. Of a faceless man who spun her in his arms, dancing to unfamiliar music that she somehow recognized. Music she knew every step to.
It was ridiculous, and yet Blythe couldn’t rid herself of the memories. They scratched against her mind as she watched Everett cup his hand around Charlotte’s face, reminding Blythe of a time when a faceless someone had held her like that. A time when the heat of his kiss had blazed through her body, and she wanted nothing more than to drown herself in his touch.
Memories was the wrong word for what these images in her head really were, because they didn’t belong to her. Surely Blythe wouldn’t forget falling in love. Especially not with someone whose hands felt so strong against her cheek, or so powerful as they slid down her hips and lifted—