Night cloaked the city as they headed downtown. Elise tightened her coat against the wind, but Layla was unbothered, her arms bare even when the temperature dropped several degrees. The arrival of fall stood just around the corner and Elise was glad for it.
She had been on her feet all day, trekking across the city with Layla. Neither of them had come to any clear conclusion about the murders. Whenever an answer felt possible to Elise, it slipped between her fingers, remaining just out of reach.
She also could not shake the unease she’d felt when she realized she had been standing in a room with two reapers, one of whom was a complete stranger. “Why didn’t you tell me Giana was a reaper?” she asked Layla.
Layla continued to stare ahead. “I thought you assumed. I spend my time with other reapers.”
“I did not believe reapers could be at a jazz club. I thought they…” Elise trailed off.
This time, Layla glared at Elise. “You thought they what? Because reapers are beneath you, they cannot participate in the arts?” A bitter smile broke across Layla’s face. “No, you believe that reapers are monsters who have nothing to live for, right?”
Elise looked away. She had never imagined reapers participating in any mundane activities; it seemed futile with their condition. “I do not think it’s absurd to assume nonhumans would not participate in human activities—”
“We were human once. Do you think we just stopped loving what we had and wanted as humans because we turned?” Layla asked. “You really know nothing about us. That bubble you live in is far more opaque than I first believed it to be.”
Elise scoffed. “Oh, please. I have done more and traveled more than you. There is no bubble—”
“That is the bubble,” Layla snapped. “Not everyone can do as they please just like you, Saint. What do you think of the people who cannot get into your fancy jazz clubs because of their skin color?” Layla demanded.
Elise stammered, “I—I have no problem and my family frequents them just fine—”
“What about those who do not have the money and status your family has? Do they not deserve to experience the beauty and sanctity of art and music? Do you even know where it comes from?”
“Of course—”
“Then how can you say something so stupid when you just witnessed people who look just like you on that stage? They are the heart of the arts you bleed for. Shame on you for assuming otherwise,” Layla muttered. She pushed forward, her strides getting faster, as if she wanted to put more distance between them.
Swallowing hard, Elise followed. She could hardly keep up and she wasn’t sure she wanted to anymore. Layla’s words only weighed her down further.
“Tired?” Layla asked. She was several paces ahead of Elise on the street. “You’re dragging your feet.”
A hot flush burned Elise’s cheeks. She scowled at the back of Layla’s head while she scrambled to catch up, trying to keep her footsteps light. “I spend my time composing music and practicing, not breaking and entering like you. I was not raised to have the stealth of a bandit,” Elise muttered. While she bristled with irritation at Layla’s comment, a small part of her remembered when they were younger; whenever Elise got tired, her entire body seemed to slump, her legs and feet especially. It bothered her mother, but Layla was always the first to notice. She would squeeze Elise’s hand and rise onto her tiptoes to whisper in her ear, “gentle steps, Lisey.” That warning would save her from getting a scolding from her mother.
Now, Layla’s words were more like mockery than a gentle warning. Still, Elise picked her feet up and tried to walk in a quieter manner.
Up ahead, Layla’s shoulders tensed. “In case you forgot, we were basically raised together. If I’m a bandit, then so are you.”
Elise rolled her eyes. Though Layla was not wrong. They had been raised together, the Quinns and Saints building their lives in a parallel fashion since Mr. and Mrs. Saint had first arrived in New York. A fateful shared train car brought them together, and their bond only grew once they each had daughters the same age. “I’m so sorry, Your Majesty,” Elise drew out sarcastically. “I will do my best to no longer annoy you.”
“I’m not worried about you annoying me. I am, however, worried about your shuffling drawing attention to us. One day you will get me killed.” Layla stopped and stared hard at Elise. “Oh, wait. You already did.”
Elise’s heart skipped a beat.
The smile that curved Layla’s lips started that painful thrumming in Elise’s chest, an electric current coursing through her. “One thing I will allow you to do is call me ‘Your Majesty,’” Layla said. She leaned closer, and Elise felt her breath on her face, warm, yet threatening. “Say it again; it sounded good.”
This time, Elise was certain her heart stopped. Heat bloomed in her chest, her pulse going hot while it rushed through her, as if chasing after Layla’s words. For once, what held her heart was not ire, and Elise almost welcomed the thorny thrill Layla’s words stirred in her. She went still, her feet fixed to the sidewalk even when Layla walked off. If she wasn’t made of flesh and pure resistance, Elise might have crumpled in Layla’s wake.
Layla loved getting under Elise’s skin. It incited in her an exhilaration akin to the high she got from feeding. The stunned look on Elise’s face lit a flame in her so bright, Layla was tempted to fan the embers and relish in whatever destruction they brought. But she knew it was reckless to further fray the already tense strings between them.
When they finally found Shirley Redfield’s apartment building, Layla sensed something was wrong. The scent of decay followed them up the staircase all the way to the dancer’s door. Their knocks were met with silence on the other side. Though Layla sensed no movement inside, she still held a hand up to stop Elise.
“Stay out here,” she said quietly.
Elise shook her head and reached for the gun at her belt. “No. We’re working together. Besides, I don’t want to give you an opportunity to sweep your illegal activity under the rug.”
“Really? There could be a reaper who is coming down from a blood high in there and you’re worried about me double-crossing you?” Layla asked.
“Always,” Elise said flatly.
Layla’s lips pursed. Whatever Elise saw in her had nothing to do with Layla and everything to do with Elise proving herself to her father. Still, her stubbornness got under Layla’s skin more than she cared to admit. “Fine,” she said through gritted teeth. Layla tried to open the door, but Elise grabbed her wrist.
“You can’t just break into people’s homes!” Elise said in a low voice.
Elise’s fingers on Layla’s skin sent an icy shock through her. Layla released a nervous breath and wrenched her arm free. “Shirley has turned. I can smell the blood. This home is no longer for people, it’s now a reaper’s lair. Trust me, I know what I’m doing,” she said.
Elise’s jaw tightened. The hand with which she had grabbed Layla flexed by her side. She swallowed and nodded toward the door. “I don’t trust you. But go ahead.”
Inside the apartment was darker than the falling dusk outside. Shadows covered every surface where light was supposed to hit and the stale scent of old blood clung to the air. A quick glance at Elise’s face and the noticeable scrunching of her nose told Layla she could smell it too.
Elise pulled her gun out. The silver revolver glinted against the dark, her hand holding it steady while they moved farther into the apartment.
“Do you even know how to use that?” Layla hissed. “I distinctly remember you being too afraid to kill spiders; your father trusting you with a gun was a mistake—”
Elise ground her teeth so hard, Layla could practically hear her frustration. Satisfaction curled in Layla’s stomach, and the corner of her mouth ticked up into a slight smile.
Layla followed the murky scent of blood to a room in the back that had to be Shirley’s bedroom. Besides the disarray and blood spots, there was no indication of anyone living in the apartment. The kitchen was spotless, no used dishes in the sink, and the living room was orderly, throw blankets folded neatly on the couch, magazines stacked in place on the coffee table. Framed photographs depicted a happy family.
“No sign of the parents,” Elise said.
Layla sighed. “They’re most likely dead. There’s enough blood in this place to bathe in it.”
“That was unnecessary,” Elise mumbled.
Layla ignored her discomfort. She placed a hand on the doorknob of the bedroom door. “Last chance to take cover,” Layla warned.
Elise looked pointedly at the door and lifted her gun. Her thumb traced a cross over the handle. Once, twice, then a third time. “Stop stalling.”
Her muscles tensing and her senses sharpening, Layla shoved the door open. Cold air seeped out of the room, cutting straight through the atmosphere around them. Layla’s eyes went to the huddled form in the corner. Shirley Redfield. Blood coated her arms up to the elbows, and she clutched her knees to her chest while she rocked back and forth among the scattered remains that Layla could only assume were her parents. Her hair was black, but Layla could see the blood matting her curls. The rank smell told her it was more than a few days old. She wondered how long this girl had been hiding, scared out of her mind.
Layla placed a hand over Elise’s gun and lowered it. Surprisingly Elise gave no pushback. She actually stepped closer to Layla, expression bright with alarm and eyes wide while she watched Shirley.
“Shirley,” Layla said gently.
Shirley lifted her head. Her face was ashen, lips pale despite the blood splattered across them. She opened her mouth to speak, but her body convulsed and she clamped her mouth shut.
“You dance with Giana Taylor, right?” Layla asked.
Shirley nodded. She released her knees, and the damage became more obvious. The dance costume she wore was white, but the only indication of that were small white spots near her shoulders and hips. Scarlet splashes of blood covered the rest of it, causing the jeweled feathers on the skirt to stick together.
Layla stepped slightly in front of Elise. She extended her arm, her fingers brushing over Elise’s waist. The slight shudder that rolled through Elise’s body almost made Layla turn around. Whatever the reaction was, Layla wanted to see it. But she gnawed on the inside of her cheek and focused on Shirley. “Can you please tell us what happened?” she asked.
“I don’t remember.” Shirley’s voice trembled. “I was working, and Theo came to visit like he usually did. I know that day was special because the club got a delivery for new costume materials and there were posters about a new Harlem clinic being put up. And then Theo said he liked me a lot. It was like a dream.” Shirley’s breath caught. “I think he drank from me. But he said it would be okay and that as long as I stayed conscious, I wouldn’t turn.” She wiped her eyes. “I don’t feel like myself anymore. I haven’t left my room in I don’t know how long. I don’t remember much. I want my parents.” Her voice broke and more tears spilled down her cheeks. “I’m afraid I hurt them.”
Elise shifted behind Layla. She tried to whisper something in her ear, but Layla moved away from her and toward Shirley. This girl was so young. Layla had seen Theo in this exact same position only a few days earlier, but his life had ended in a manner so heinous and violent, Layla was determined to prevent the same thing from happening to Shirley. Even though the life thrumming through Shirley’s veins was more decayed than lively now. All the hell that was bound to come for her now as a reaper… She didn’t deserve it.
Shirley went to wipe her tears again, but smeared blood across her face. Layla reached forward and dried Shirley’s cheeks with her sleeve. “You don’t have to go through this alone; I can help you. I was in the same position as you a few years ago, and I have found my way. Do you trust me?” Layla asked. Though Layla’s heart ached for the dissipating humanity barely strung as a whisper between them, she remained strong, her voice firm in the face of Shirley’s fear.
Something broke in Shirley’s eyes. She lifted her brown gaze to Layla’s and nodded. The moment their hands met—Layla’s squeezing around Shirley’s—relief crashed through her. Elise had left the room already. Layla was so wrapped up in making sure Shirley got out okay, she didn’t notice when the younger girl’s eyes went bright, a sheen of untamed desire lighting her brown irises. She didn’t realize the reaction was a direct response to Elise until Shirley lunged forward, hands outstretched and fangs bared.
Elise’s gun went flying as Shirley’s hands clutched her throat.
A sharp gasp left Elise, her eyes going wide while the reaper’s fingers dug in.
Layla sprang up and slammed Shirley into the wall, holding Shirley’s arms tight to her sides so she couldn’t move. “Shirley. Look at me.”
Shirley stopped hissing after some time and concentrated on Layla. Her eyes were so hollow, so lost, Layla thought she was too far gone. She wanted to tell Elise to go and find safety while she took care of Shirley, whether that be putting her out of her own misery, or locking her up until she calmed down. But Layla couldn’t stomach either of those options. Her fingers tightened around Shirley’s wrists the more the younger girl tried to fight back.
“You’re safe. Shirley,” Layla gritted out with the effort to keep Shirley back. “We’re here to help you.” Shirley let out a shriek so loud the entire room seemed to shake with it. Being so close to her, Layla’s ears rang, and it took more will than the strength she held Shirley back with to keep herself from retreating and covering her sensitive ears. “Shirley. Look at me.”
Shirley fell silent. Her glazed-over eyes focused on Layla and her body relaxed. She whimpered, eyes finally settling back to their original brown color. “I need help.”
“I know. I’m going to help you,” Layla said gently. She released one of Shirley’s arms and lifted her wrist to her mouth, sinking her teeth in. “Take some of my blood. It will subdue you for a bit so you aren’t so volatile. I’ll take you to my lair, and you can calm down there. Okay?” The longer the silence spread between them, Shirley pondering Layla’s offer, blood continued to drip down her arm.
Finally, after a moment of consideration and deep breaths, Shirley nodded. She lapped up a few droplets of Layla’s blood and soon after Shirley finished, the cut began to stitch itself back together. Only moments later, Shirley’s eyes dulled. She no longer trembled in Layla’s arms, and when she looked at Elise, Shirley remained calm. No more feral cravings controlling her from the inside out.
Layla passed a lingering look over Elise, confirming that she was safe. “We’ve done enough for today. Go home. I need to go with her.”
Elise opened her mouth as if to protest, but nothing came out. In the time Layla had taken to calm Shirley down, she had picked her gun up. Layla saw the handle peeking out of her coat, but Elise made no move to grab it even when Shirley moved between them. She nodded reluctantly and followed them out of the apartment.
Layla couldn’t be positive, but she thought she saw a hint of surprise in Elise’s eyes. As if that one image she had of Layla had cracked and the light that shone through stunned her. Layla was glad to be parting ways with her for now. She was tired of being judged by a Saint.