Seeing Layla be so gentle with that newly turned girl surprised Elise. She once knew Layla to be kind. As a little girl, she would save her dessert to split it with Elise and help her discard her vegetables when their parents weren’t looking. But surely that Layla was dead. The last image of her before going to France had been one of blood and vengeance, with Layla’s hands wrapped around Elise’s throat. Layla’s gold eyes, lit with a furious fire that demanded to be fed, were all that filled Elise’s memories, no matter how much she tried to recall their younger days. A summoner of death and darkness—for a long time, Elise assumed that was all Layla had become.
But after seeing Layla with Shirley, Elise had other thoughts.
More than anything, Elise wanted to kick her shoes off and soak in a hot bath the second she got home. But her father beckoned her into his office and demanded that she update him on her day.
“And the reaper, has she behaved?” Mr. Saint asked once Elise finished her report.
“Layla? Yes. Talking to Theo’s parents was actually her idea,” Elise said.
“Hmmm…” Mr. Saint paced his study, his arms crossed while he thought. A cigarette hung out of his mouth, smoke puffing through the side of his lips while his arms remained crossed. “I’m sure she’s told you more nonsense than truth,” he muttered.
Elise blinked. “Maybe. But there seems to be more at stake for her.”
“Elise…”
“I’m not saying she didn’t commit the crime. Trust me, I’m the last person who would ever defend her,” Elise said strongly. “But there are details we’ve come across that don’t make sense. Theo Smith was human when he died, but he was a reaper before. He had a bullet from Colm’s gun in his back. A Saint member would never shoot an innocent human, and Layla confirmed that he fed on Thalia and Colm as well as another young girl before he died. That girl, Shirley Redfield, is now a reaper. Layla is convinced Theo turned her.”
Mr. Saint rubbed his chin, his mouth curving downward.
“But…that makes Theo’s humanity at death more confusing,” Elise continued. “Reapers have existed for centuries—since the first enslaved person was brought to this country—and there has never been a cure for reaperhood. This might prove that there is one.”
Elise stepped closer to her father. Her eyes shone with hope, but it faltered when her father’s frown deepened. “You saw Theo at the clinic when we visited. Maybe Dr. Harding has started running trials on the antidote for reaper venom. We could talk to him, or Mr. Wayne—”
“And ask what?” her father demanded, his voice sharper.
Elise flinched. “Ask if he knows anything about Theo’s reaperhood?”
“You want me to implicate the man that is to be my business partner? Do you even hear yourself, Elise? I saw Theo Smith’s body, and he was human. Yet you question me and want to question our allies,” Mr. Saint spat. He took his cigarette from his mouth and stabbed it in the ashtray so hard, ash flew onto his desk surface.
The room seemed to close in on Elise. Her breathing grew shallow and her chest tightened, making it difficult for enough air to circulate. “Father, I…I do not intend to upset you. I only want to evaluate every piece of information we have. And Thalia… She wanted to cure reaperhood, so if there was a way, I would feel obligated to—”
“Thalia is dead,” Mr. Saint said flatly.
Elise’s heart skipped a beat. She dug her teeth into her lower lip as her father leaned back in his chair, glaring at her.
“Might I remind you that you were the one who insisted on becoming heir to this empire. In this empire, we kill reapers. Yet now you think they should be cured.” Mr. Saint drew closer to Elise now and the fury lighting his eyes scared her. “Without credibility, you might as well be nothing to me. Should you fail at this task you’ve been given, what will come of you next? Back to Paris, where you will have to beg to get into that conservatory? They do not accept failures, Elise. You asked me to stay here instead of your sister. You chose to be my heir, to dedicate yourself to learning this business. Will you look me in my eye and tell me you cannot do it?” he seethed.
“No, sir.” Her voice remained strong despite the tears choking her throat.
“Stop crying. Tears won’t solve this crime, Elise. The empire’s legacy is on the line. We have an opportunity to secure more prestige alongside Stephen Wayne; you cannot mess this up. Don’t let Thalia’s death have been for nothing. And most importantly, Charlotte’s death. Remember, it was you she was protecting.”
Elise blinked her tears back. “I won’t.”
At her words, her father finally retreated. His shoulders relaxed and he lit another cigarette. “It sounds to me like there is a bit of manipulation and misinformation coming from Layla Quinn. I thought you were more careful, Elise. More exemplary.”
“I am, Father,” Elise said.
His eyes cut into her. “Then prove it to me.” Mr. Saint pointed to his door. Elise left, her shoulders feeling even heavier than when she had first returned home. Despite all that had happened today—seeing a dead body, watching Layla taste its blood, seeing a new reaper lair, and being attacked by that new reaper—the encounter that left her the most shaken was a conversation with her father.
And today she’d learned that reapers were hidden in places that she’d always considered to be only for humans. That meant the reapers she had seen dancing at the Savoy were real. Yet her father, with his gentle violence, had convinced her otherwise.
She trembled as she made her way up to her bedroom, her hands clammy and cold on the stairway railing. Elise didn’t know what to make of this new revelation. Her thoughts were too scattered and she was far too tired to try and organize them. So she drew herself a bath. The water scorched her skin as she sank into the tub, but she accepted the pain. Anything to distract her from the cold resentment her father’s words stirred in her.
Dear my dovey,
I miss you more than my words can express through the page. Please tell me about everything you have done since arriving in France. I am dying to hear about your studies and all the new friends you are making. How was your first ballet class?
I know you’re scared. I was very scared when I first moved there too. But let me tell you a secret. You’re better at making friends than I am. People like you far better than people like me. You will have no trouble making friends and meeting fun people. I promise you. If you’re ever feeling lonely, just know I am there with you always. In your heart.
I love you more than anything,
Lisey
Valeriya took a long look at Shirley’s trembling form and allowed her into the lair. “Another mouth to feed,” Valeriya grumbled. She glanced at Layla. “This one is your responsibility.” Then she was gone.
Layla let Shirley sleep in her bed that night. The young girl’s eyes darted around the room, apprehensive. Layla’s bedroom was nothing spectacular. Its purpose was for sleep, so it had just enough to fit a bed and a chest of drawers that had more empty space than clothes. The best part of the room was the large windows that gave view to the hustling nightlife of Harlem. On tense nights when nightmares made her feverish and spiteful, she cracked her windows to cool down, and fell asleep to the live jazz music that drifted down from the nearby clubs. After looking at the fear still etched deeply into Shirley’s face, Layla made her way to the windows and opened them. A cool breeze blew in, bringing with it a soft piano ballad.
“I heard this place is haunted,” Shirley whispered.
Layla laughed sharply. “Even if it was, ghosts are no threat to us.”
Shirley’s eyes darkened. Sometimes Layla forgot how long of an adjustment period there was between being turned and finding some sense of normalcy. So she settled on the end of the bed and sighed. “Rogue reapers ruined the Clarice in its first year of being open. Dead bodies kept turning up in hotel rooms and the owners spread rumors about the place being haunted because that’s easier to get past than actual bloodthirsty reapers roaming the hallways. Still, people refused to stay here. And when the owners tried to sell, no one wanted to buy the building. Valeriya ended up taking it over many years ago. She swears the moonlight guided her here, but no one really believes that. Mei and I like to think that she was the one lurking in the walls during the hotel’s working days, slitting throats and feeding on unlucky bodies at night.”
Shirley frowned. “Is this supposed to make me feel better?”
“I was never good at telling stories. I just want you to feel better. Valeriya has much worse stories,” Layla said.
“What exactly is she?” Shirley asked.
“She is one of the first reapers. Hundreds of years old. She could tell you all about the god-awful experiments they ran on her and her family that made her turn. I refuse to hear them because I have enough to keep me up at night already.” Layla sighed, falling against her pillows.
Moonlight streaked across Shirley’s face and somehow she looked even younger than before. The girl was all round cheeks and hopeful eyes. “What happened to her family?” she asked.
Though she spoke gently, the words pierced Layla’s heart. She shrugged, her eyes growing distant. “She never talks about them.” Layla patted the bed and waited for Shirley to sit before she continued. “You don’t have to be afraid of her. Valeriya can be cold, but deep down she cares. She’s the reason I’m still here.”
Shirley’s brows lifted. “She helped you survive reaperhood?”
“Something like that,” Layla said. Her voice was so soft, it came out like a whisper. A memory flashed through her mind of a Saint gun in her hand and Valeriya’s fingers closing around her wrist. The memory was soaked with Layla’s tears, and thinking of it almost always brought them back. She sniffed, blinking hard. “Again, nothing to be scared of. You are one of us now, and you must understand that we respect humans here. We’re not allowed to kill humans because of our agreement with the Saints now, but if Valeriya never killed humans, she would not be the reaper she is today. She would be very, very ugly,” Layla said.
A gasp left Shirley. “So it’s true? Reapers who don’t drink human blood lose their humanity as they age?”
Layla nodded. “The true number of years that Valeriya has lived as a reaper is a holy secret.”
Shirley sat up straighter. “I heard reapers have been here since the seventeenth century.”
“Not enough people know that, but it’s true.” As Layla understood it, the reaper population began to grow in the 1800s, from just one that had survived for centuries.
“My grandparents were raised to believe reapers were myths,” Shirley went on. “But then… So many came to be after the Civil War, right?”
“Right.” According to some old stories, reapers came from the rot and ruin of the battlefields, but reapers had been around for far longer. Valeriya certainly had.
Shirley’s voice wavered. “My mother actually wanted to leave New York because reaperhood is like an epidemic here. They’re much less rampant in the countryside. But it’s spreading, isn’t it? Since they’re getting difficult to distinguish from humans. Europe has gotten good at hiding them, but they’re still there. My friend went abroad for a year and she said they only come out at night in Italy. In France, they’re given a curfew.” Shirley tucked her knees up to her chest, her brown eyes growing dark. “It’s scary to think that just one experiment caused such worldly horrors.”
A soft sigh left Layla. “It wasn’t just one experiment.”
Shirley’s lips parted. “No?”
Silence filled the room as Layla carefully considered her next words. “I could tell you more about the early origins of reaperhood, but it’s an abomination that is certain to give you nightmares.”
After a brief pause, Shirley nodded. “Okay. Maybe I can hear about it later?”
Layla stood and gave Shirley a stern look. “We’ll talk more tomorrow. For now, get some sleep.” Layla left the room, closing the door after her. But the sound of Shirley stirring behind the door made her pause. She leaned closer to the door and heard sniffles between heavy sobs.
“I’m sorry, Mama. I’m so sorry, Daddy.”
Layla’s heart dropped. Just five years ago, that had been her. Grieving for the ones she lost and the life that was taken from her. Her hand fell away from the door as if she had been shocked. Then Layla hurried down the hallway and kept going until she could no longer hear Shirley’s cries.
Giana Taylor returned to the lair at dawn. Her dance costume was gone, and she now wore her fur coat over a plain blue dress and stockings. Stage makeup still painted her face, but it was slightly smudged from sweat. Layla met her in the sitting room and chose the love seat beside her, setting a glass of blood down on the side table. “Thank you for coming,” she told her.
Giana pulled her coat off and laid it neatly across the back of her chair. “Of course. I figured she would want to see a familiar face.”
“She’s so young. I don’t think she should return to work at the club.”
“Most new girls there are around sixteen. Shirley is almost that age.” Giana shrugged.
“Right. But the performers are getting younger and younger. The manager, Calhoun, is a predator. You’ve said so yourself. Shirley is already going to face new hell just by being a reaper. Her life will only get harder from here on out.” Layla wished she’d had someone to fight for her at her age. Sixteen being a typical age for club girls didn’t make it okay.
Giana sighed. “I understand. But she needs some part of her previous life back. It’s so much harder to transition when you’re uprooted with nothing to keep you grounded.”
Contemplative silence stretched between them. Then Layla nodded. “Promise to look out for her.”
Giana agreed. She looked over Layla’s shoulder, and her expression softened. Layla recognized Shirley’s scent and turned to see her standing in cotton pajamas, her body looking especially frail in the dawn light shining through the windows.
“Giana?” Shirley whispered.
“Hi, baby doll. How are you feeling?” Giana asked gently.
Shirley took a deep breath. When she spoke again, her voice was light, but stronger. “I feel…steadier. There isn’t as much rushing in my head. And I can’t sense every living being around me as closely as I could before. It was like… If I opened my mouth, the scent of blood running through people’s veins just infested me. I hated it, but I also craved it. The taste gives me a sensation unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before.” Shirley drew closer to Layla and Giana, finally settling into a seated position in front of the fireplace.
“I still don’t remember anything besides running home because I was scared I would hurt the other dancers. But then my parents kept banging on my door and I was so, so hungry—” Her voice hitched and a sob rose in her throat. Layla looked away when tears spilled down her cheeks. “At first, I thought I was in this nightmare. There was blood everywhere, and everything felt fuzzy. But seeing you and Giana now is the clearest I’ve felt since being turned.” Shirley sniffed. “Thank you for coming to me.”
Giana reached across the table to squeeze Shirley’s hand. “Of course. It happened to me, too, my first night in New York. I know how much it means to have someone there for you.” Her eyes warmed. “None of the dancers know you’re a reaper, by the way. They just think you’re sick. It’s probably better we keep it that way.”
“Can I still dance?” she asked.
Layla finally looked at her again. “Sure. If you learn to control your urges and prevent blood furies.”
Shirley nodded. “That’s when reapers lose control and kill anything that moves?”
Giana’s lips twisted.
Layla sighed. “More or less,” she muttered. “It’s something that happens when reapers are in a state of starvation. Don’t ignore the need to feed. Blood highs are less dangerous because they’re a reaction to feeding, so you won’t have as many impulses. In fact, you’re slightly subdued, but you will get an adrenaline rush,” Layla said. She was feeling tired herself—her muscles ached at the thought of blood, signaling the need for another feeding. Letting Shirley have her blood had only increased her hunger.
“You gave me your blood last night. What kind of properties does reaper blood contain? Yours made me feel good.” Shirley’s eyelashes fluttered as she looked down at her hands. A hot blush rose in Layla’s cheeks. She hadn’t considered the aftermath of Shirley drinking her blood; the situation needed a quick fix and that was all Layla could think of.
“Reaper blood can heal mild wounds on anyone. But for humans, it can be hypnotizing when consumed. That’s why humans might be drawn to their donor for a while. Because they’re weak. For reapers, it produces calming effects. That’s why I gave it to you. I thought you were about to kill the Saint girl.” She watched Shirley take her first sip of the blood in the glass. “And I cannot have her murdered when she’s the only thing keeping me out of prison right now.”
“How is that going?” Giana asked. She held a silver compact in her hand, fingers patting at the smudged liner around her eyes.
“So well,” Layla groaned, standing up. “Giana will stay with you for now, Shirley—”
“I will?” Giana asked, looking up from her compact.
Layla ignored her and looked at Shirley. “When I come back, we can discuss the future.”
“I’m already half-dead; I don’t think I have a future,” Shirley whispered.
The room went still. Layla looked to Giana, whose face briefly flickered with pain. But she leaned forward and gently touched Shirley’s hand, then flashed an easy smile.
“Don’t worry, doll. We’ll take good care of you.”