Tobias Saint’s voice echoed through the hallway from his study despite the closed door.
“A guard was attacked on Saint property. Then there was a murder three blocks away. What am I paying these men for if they are not doing their job?”
When Elise walked in, she expected to see her father still in his dressing gown. But he was fully dressed, his black curls smoothed down, and he had the telephone to his ear.
“Just take care of it,” Mr. Saint snapped. He hung up the phone and turned to face Elise. His brow furrowed. “A reaper was close to the estate last night. Too close.”
Elise nodded. Last night, after Layla had disappeared out the window, Sterling had wrestled the gun from Elise’s hands. She’d wanted to run downstairs and get her father, but Sterling’s eyes went wide with fear as they both realized he would have to explain to Mr. Saint why he’d been in Elise’s room and not out on patrol.
Then there had been Josi to consider. To Elise’s relief, Josi was unharmed, at least physically. Elise had lain in bed with her until she could fall asleep.
“You’ll keep me safe…” Josi had whispered before she’d drifted off. “Like Charlotte kept you safe.”
The last thing Elise wanted was for Josi to know that her nightmare had been real. And she’d made a pact with Sterling to never tell anyone else what they had seen last night.
Still, she wished there were some way for her father to know that Layla was a threat.
She took a deep breath and set her jaw before speaking. “That reaper… I wonder if it could have been Layla Quinn.”
“Not possible,” Mr. Saint said. “It must have been a rogue. No reaper who knows the Saints would think to trespass.”
“I just have a feeling it was her,” Elise said, her voice trembling. “And that it’s not safe here.”
Mr. Saint stood, his arms folding across his chest while he leaned against his desk.
“This estate is the safest place for anyone in Harlem. In all of New York, actually. We do more than the police by now. I have hundreds of men out there in the city every day, hunting those bastard reapers down—”
“You are not hearing me.” Elise’s voice broke.
Tobias Saint’s shoulders tensed. His eyes, dark and unyielding, roamed over her for a long moment. “I always hear you, Elise. Everything I do is for you and for your sisters and your mother. I must say, it hurts to know you think I don’t know what’s best for you.” Mr. Saint came around his desk so he stood closer to Elise and leaned down. “It was my idea to send you to France after that Quinn girl tried to kill you.” Elise flinched, but her father continued, unmoved. “You built a beautiful life and started your career in France because of me. As far as I’m concerned, the only words out of your mouth should be ‘thank you, Father.’ I saved your life. I couldn’t save Charlotte’s, but I saved you. Be grateful for that,” he said roughly.
Guilt plowed through Elise. She fiddled with the tie of her robe. “I’m grateful, Father. I really am. I only wish that Josi could have the same. Here, she lives in fear. In France, there would be no reapers with resentment toward the Saints; she could dance and be a normal child—”
“Josi is my only chance at continuing our legacy beyond my death since you must return to France for your music career. I cannot have zero heirs.” Mr. Saint went back to his desk and sat, his hands folded in front of him.
Any hope Elise had quickly shattered. She willed her voice to be steady. “Then let me stay here.”
“Excuse me?” Mr. Saint asked.
“I want to stay. I don’t need to go back to France,” Elise said.
Her father looked dubious. “Your career?”
“It’s nothing.” It hurt to say it. Elise remembered the pride that had burst in her when she received her acceptance letter to the conservatory. Now, she stomped the flame of that joy out, leaving only ashes behind.
As if a switch had gone off in her father, Mr. Saint looked away, his body tense. “You are excused, Elise.”
Elise’s throat tightened to the point of pain. She swallowed hard as she nodded, blinking back tears. By the time she returned to her room, her face was wet and her chest heaved with sobs. Josi stirred in bed behind her while Elise pulled a stationery box from her desk and sat down to write a letter to the director of the Paris Conservatory.
In just a few minutes, with the meeting of ink to paper, Elise eliminated her dreams and all that she had worked toward for the past decade. But the tears that fell were not for her ruined future. They were for the future she knew she could give her sister by throwing away her own.
And, for the first time in ages, Elise felt relief.
Jamie Kelly swiped a gloved finger down the bloody cheek of a dead man. He glanced up at Layla, blue eyes glinting in the hot sun. “If I take this off your hands, it will cost you.”
“How much?” Layla demanded. The man she had killed the previous night was slumped behind a row of garbage cans. Layla was glad to have Jamie take care of the rest of it for her.
Jamie crossed his arms over his chest. The subtle twitch of his lips told Layla there was some trick coming. She had known Jamie since she had first been turned; he was just a fifteen-year-old, getting caught up in crime before he had truly experienced life. They had that in common. Innocence stolen from them at an early age, both of them forced to push themselves to desperate extremes just to survive. Jamie’s parents were as good as ghosts. Shell shock had kept his father from holding a job after the war, and while his mother stayed home to care for her husband, there was never enough food in the cupboard and the lights were shut off more than they were on. Jamie paid the bills for some time, then became fully invested as a gangster, moved out, and never looked back.
Years later, Jamie Kelly was hardly a friend, but useful to Layla.
“You’re funny, kid,” Jamie muttered. “I know you don’t have money.”
“Wow.”
Jamie smirked. “Does Mother Reaper pay you?”
Layla fell silent. Valeriya offered her a home, and that was enough.
“That’s what I thought.” Jamie nodded to the body, sighing. “I can get my guys to move him. In exchange, I need you to pick something up for me. I’m getting a delivery at the port tomorrow evening.”
“What is it?” Layla asked.
“You don’t need to know. Just tell them you’re there for Kelly. Actually…” Jamie straightened his jacket lapels, his jaw tightening as he grinned at her. “Tell them you’re there for Vex.”
Layla furrowed her brows. “Excuse you?”
“It’s my alias. Police are getting too uptight around here and they’re starting to refuse bribes. Not everyone needs to know Jamie Kelly. But Vex… That’s more intimidating.” Jamie gave her a proud smile.
Unable to hold back anymore, Layla burst out laughing. Jamie frowned at her. “Vex? That sounds like the name of a pretty performer. I bet there’s a dancer at the Cotton Club who calls herself Vex. Between this and your gang being called ‘the Crooks,’ you’re not very creative.”
Jamie grimaced. “You know, for a little girl, you are so vicious sometimes.”
“I’m not a little girl. I’m eighteen,” Layla snapped. “If you want me to pick up your package and ask for Vex, I will, but I refuse to call you that ridiculous name elsewhere.” She started to walk away, still fighting a small smile at the absurd name.
“Quinn,” Jamie called.
Layla stopped at the end of the alley. “What?”
“Is ‘Vex’ really that bad?”
The scent of blood lured Layla more than anything. Sometimes, when she was beyond starved, it was the only thing she could concentrate on; that pulsing, delicious warmth thrumming through the veins of any living being around her. Her senses sharpened whenever blood was spilled, drawing her in like a moth to a flame.
As she neared the Harlem reaper lair, Layla’s spine went stiff. Fresh blood assaulted her nose, and she half expected to see a dead body in the foyer of the building. It wouldn’t be the first time, especially with so many new reapers seeking solace. She had found herself in a similar situation after attacking Elise. Blood had still dripped from her fingers when she arrived at the front door of the Hotel Clarice as a wounded thirteen-year-old.
Layla looked around now, searching for the source. Tracking sent her to the decrepit row houses a block away from the Harlem lair.
Something felt wrong. Layla followed bloody footprints into an abandoned building with crumbling back steps. Inside, the scent was overpowering. And immediately, she sensed trouble. Blood covered the walls in chaotic sprays, half-eaten organs scattered around the floor—death coated every corner of the room, weaving through each shadow and clouding the air.
She spotted a crouching form in the far corner of the room.
Layla shut the door behind her. The resounding creak jolted the boy to his feet. He hissed, his fangs bared and eyes glowing with malice. Layla knew this look all too well. Every new reaper struggled to control their new urges. This boy was no different. The bright sheen covering his black eyes made them glow almost gold. But deep in his burning desire for violence, Layla saw fear.
Still, he continued trying to size her up. Layla stood just over five feet tall and she was slim, though lithe muscle covered her body after years of practiced hunting. This boy, while younger, towered over her.
Layla lifted her hands, showing deference. “I know you feel like the strongest being in existence right now because you just fed, but your judgment is just as poor as your adrenaline is high,” Layla said. “Unless you want me to kill you, attacking me is not worth it.”
The boy only continued to glare at her. It might have been more menacing if he did not still look so young with round cheeks and maturity barely starting to shape his features.
Layla took a gentle step forward. “I thought you were a rogue reaper, but you’re a baby,” she said. Scorn twisted his face and Layla laughed roughly. “Don’t worry, you won’t be a baby forever. You will age until your midtwenties, when your brain development stops—”
The young man hissed again, blood-tinged spittle flying from his mouth. “I’m not one of those things. Are they not all rogue?”
“Oh boy…” Layla blew hot air between her teeth. First barrier to overcome: denial. “Rogue reapers are what we call the reapers that deliberately disobey every standing reaper and human agreement, ignore the advice of wiser, ancient reapers, and live as dangerously as they want, feeding exclusively on humans. They’re usually young. You…” Layla lowered her voice as the boy’s eyes darkened. “You just turned.”
The boy shuddered. “No…”
“I know it’s a lot to take in. But you are in a highly volatile state and area, what with being newly turned and police patrolling nearby, so I suggest you come with me into the lair so you can calm down in a safe environment.”
The boy said nothing, but he did stop hissing. He finally closed his mouth, and his eyes settled from the feral gold to a more muted brown. “I can hear your heart beating… It’s so slow. Like mine… Am I dead?” he asked.
“Not quite,” she sighed. “What’s your name?”
“Theo.” His voice was rough, but Layla still heard the youth in it. No more than fifteen years old. Sweat covered his brown skin, and he trembled so hard, Layla thought he might collapse.
For a moment, Layla’s tough exterior cracked, and a flood of sympathy overwhelmed her. “I’m Layla. Do you remember what happened?”
“I-I don’t know why I can’t stop. I don’t… I swear I didn’t mean to hurt her.” Theo’s voice broke as he eyed the remains scattered around the room.
Layla clenched her jaw. No matter how many times she tried to help new reapers, it never got easier. Their desperation and guilt cut right through to her own, bringing her back to her first days as a damned soul. She tried so hard to avoid those feelings; it wasn’t her fault she was changed, it wasn’t her fault she had these uncontrollable urges. But it still hurt. It hurt to walk around with a heart that no longer felt like her own and instincts that appalled her, but were as necessary as breathing air.
“I understand what you’re going through,” Layla said softly. “Were you attacked?”
Theo shrugged. “I don’t even remember. I just remember feeling the most pain I’ve ever experienced in my life.” Frantic light suddenly filled his eyes, and Theo trembled harder as he stepped toward Layla. “I haven’t even gone home. My parents are probably worried—”
“We can help you figure that out,” Layla assured him.
Confusion crossed his face. “‘We’?”
“My lair,” Layla said. “It’s the Hotel Clarice—”
“I need to go home,” Theo said quickly. “I need my mother.”
Layla pursed her lips. “It’s best if they don’t see you like this. Trust me.”
“What do you know?” Theo said in a low voice. “I thought most reapers just killed—” He gestured to the bloody mess around him. “I’m sure you and your reapers will jump me the second I walk in.”
“Watch yourself—”
“I don’t need a lecture,” Theo snapped.
The sun was starting to set, and Layla was too tired to argue this boy down. He would have to come to his senses on his own. Layla clicked her tongue and retreated toward the door. “Fine. Valeriya probably wouldn’t appreciate a newcomer now anyway,” she muttered under her breath. “You’re more trouble than you’re worth.” In a second, her hard shell had re-formed, all the guilt she had felt evaporating with her vulnerabilities.
She could offer a hand as much as she wanted, but she couldn’t force anyone to take it. Theo was on his own.