Mei poked her head into Layla’s room early one morning. “Layla—”
“No,” Layla said flatly. She dragged the tip of a dagger across her fingertip, watching her blood bead, then admiring the quick seal of her skin.
Mei huffed from the doorway. “You don’t even know what I’m going to ask for.”
“I don’t care. You can show yourself out,” Layla muttered. She relaxed when she heard the door close behind Mei.
“Layla.” An icy voice made Layla’s blood freeze in her veins. Valeriya stood in the doorway, her sour expression cutting into Layla. “Next time, when your clan member calls for you, you answer. I have done the same for you for many years. It would be a slight against me if you did not return the gesture in my clan,” Valeriya said sharply.
Layla dropped the knife onto her lap and sat up. She tried to pull a neutral expression, but could not hide her discomfort. “My apologies, Valeriya. Mei and I are not on the best terms right now,” Layla said quietly.
“You need to fix that. Both of you.” Valeriya nodded to Mei, who swiftly left the room, closing the door behind her. The entire atmosphere seemed to shift whenever Valeriya entered a room. One glance at her told any person that she was just an ordinary woman—beautiful, with her smooth brown skin and dark green eyes, but still ordinary. Any reaper could tell she was an immortal soul with the face of a timeless beauty. Layla sensed her subtle heartbeat now, blood pooling like a calm creek in her veins. Her eyes held centuries of experience in them and they had always drawn Layla in. Years spent living in the States, not yet united, terrorizing the weakhearted men at night. The ones who threatened their wives would end up on a stake several yards from the forest line, their chests gaping and heartless. Rumors surrounded Valeriya like snakes on a vine. The one Layla knew to be true was that she kept the hearts of all of her victims. Carnage and gloom forever in her crimson wake.
Nothing promised violence like Valeriya’s calculating gaze. She stood before Layla now, hands clasped behind her, shoulders squared and eyes tense while she watched Layla’s face.
“When you came to me as a child, you were bloody and aimless and without family.” Valeriya was only just beginning, but already, Layla’s heart ached. One mention of her family threatened to crack open the vault of feelings she kept locked away.
An unpredictable bomb, a true reaper.
Valeriya’s voice hardened as she continued, “You were alone, Layla, and the youngest reaper I had met since testing first began. I don’t understand why you would spend all this time building stability for yourself if you’re just going to throw it away. And for a worse than bad reason, you’ve thrown away your life to help the Saints. The Saints, Layla. The same people who got you into this mess in the first place.”
Irritation seeped into Layla. She clenched her fists so hard, her nails nearly tore the blankets on her bed. “The Saints offered me more of a choice than you have in these trying times—”
“Really.” Valeriya’s frame went rigid, and the green of her eyes turned so dark they looked almost black. “You speak to me as if I did not let you in off the street five years ago, as if I did not sing you to sleep when nightmares shook your body and you couldn’t stop screaming that girl’s name and calling for your parents. Your dead parents. Dead. Because of the Saints. Not me, not Mei, not any of the reapers—”
“It was reapers who killed my parents!” Layla screamed. She couldn’t hold her rage back anymore. She was done trying. The vault burst at the locks, hinges flying off rusted metal, and her emotions came pouring out of her. “I watched them tear into my mother’s chest while she screamed. I watched them rip out my father’s throat while he cried for my mother. If the Saints called the reapers onto my parents, then that’s their doing, but the reapers took the bait. They took my parents from me, they took my whole life from me. Don’t tell me who killed my parents because you weren’t there to see it. I saw all of it. I remember every second. And I will not allow anyone to tell me how to grieve the life that I should be living.” Layla’s voice quavered with every emotion she had let fester and tear at her for the past few years. Her soul rose into her throat, desperate for a way to stop the hurting that consumed her from the inside out, and for a moment, she thought she might lunge for Valeriya. She imagined her fangs and nails tearing at Valeriya’s perfect polished skin until she bled as red as Layla felt on the inside.
But Layla braced herself. She planted her feet against the floor and let her fangs sink into her gums instead. The familiar tang of her blood filled her mouth and Layla let out a soft sigh as a coolness soothed her fiery nerves.
“It was a betrayal, nonetheless.” Valeriya, the ever-cold pillar of strength and ancient history, did not flinch. A small shadow of darkness unfurled in her eyes, but she merely lifted her hand and opened the door to leave. She stopped in the doorway, still facing Layla. “Remember how the result of their orders tormented you so badly, you wound up standing on the edge of the Clarice’s roof. Months after your deadly attack and you were ready to die again. Ma fille, you’ve come so far from that night you tried to take your own life with the Saint bullet. I would hate for anything to happen to you.” She left without giving Layla a chance to respond.
My daughter. My girl.
That old nickname gave Layla pause. It had been ages since her mentor had called her that—the first time the words slipped out of Valeriya’s mouth, they seemed to startle her. They almost never came out again. Until now. Layla felt Valeriya’s honesty; the vulnerability alone made her nerves relax and her thoughts slow down. This was her home now. And she had to fight to keep it.
A droplet of blood dribbled down her chin and splashed onto her bedsheets. The tiniest splotch of ruby bloomed across the white cotton, instantly jerking Layla back to memories of similar imagery.
Mei in her bed, choking on others’ blood while Layla tried to coax her into a fitful sleep. Weeks before then, Layla pinning Mei’s wrists to the headboard while she lapped at the fresh blood falling from the puncture marks on Mei’s throat. Years before then, Layla on top of Elise in her previously picturesque bedroom, then wrecked by Elise’s blood.
And lastly, days before the attack, when Layla had sat, hand in hand with Elise, watching the sunset while Elise played the notes of her favorite song with one hand.
Layla marveled at that image now, just as much as she had marveled then. How Elise played so elegantly with only one hand, seeming to put as much concentration into the notes as she put into stroking Layla’s knuckles along with the music. The song was perfect, the sunset was marvelous, but the only thing Layla could focus on was how lovely her best friend looked in the light and how beautiful she made her feel.
A flame had come alive in her that day, years ago at the piano. How brightly her embers burned for Elise then, Layla wondered if the reapers that claimed her life had fully extinguished them.
“Don’t look her in the eye. Don’t speak to her. Don’t even breathe at her,” Elise said sharply. A fire raged in the fireplace beside her, which only made it harder to shove tight leather gloves onto her increasingly sweaty hands.
Sterling watched her with parted lips. “How does one breathe at someone?” he asked.
Elise rolled her eyes. “I’ve seen you do it before. Or heard it, actually. It’s awfully loud.”
“Okay, Lise.” Sterling paced the sitting room, one hand on the gun in his chest holster. “So if I cannot look at, speak to, or breathe at Layla Quinn, then what exactly are you bringing me along for?” he wondered out loud.
“Sterling.” Elise stopped messing with her gloves and looked at him. Her brow flattened into a frustrated line. “I need you as my damage control. Also, it’s probably better that I have an alibi tonight.”
Sterling stopped his pacing in front of her and rolled his sleeves up past his elbows. His hands rested on his hips, forearms flexing while he watched her. “Are you planning on committing a crime? That’s something I should definitely know beforehand—”
“No crime. Just chaos.” Elise flashed him a sharp smile, then pulled him out of the room.
Autumn finally began to settle throughout New York. The day was unusually cold with fog seeping in over the coast, blurring the peaks of the downtown buildings together. Perched on a railing looking over the sea, Layla awaited her rendezvous. She wore a light coat, though she didn’t need it. Her body quickly adjusted to external environments due to her reaperhood, but sometimes it felt nice to act normal. Blending in with the rest of New York, who had been excited to pull out their heavier clothes for the arrival of cooler weather, felt grounding after the whirlwind of her past few days.
“Hey, kid.”
Layla turned to face Jamie. The last time she had seen him, she had threatened him and blood had spilled. Today he looked like his normal self. Blond hair slicked back, blue eyes so pale they seemed gray in the cloudy weather. Layla searched his face for any lingering resentment from the Cotton Club incident, but he appeared perfectly stoic.
“Vex. Thank you for meeting me,” Layla said.
Jamie leaned against the railing. Even though Layla sat on the railing, he still had several inches over her. When he shifted, she saw the glint of a silver revolver in his belt. “It’s not a great day to watch for the skyline, is it?” Jamie asked. He glanced over the sea, the crashing waves the only noise between them while Layla thought.
“You owe me money, Quinn. Either that, or blood,” Jamie muttered fiercely.
Layla’s jaw tightened, irritation making her body tense up. “I’m not responsible for the bloodbath at the Cotton Club. Those dancers were already infected—”
“If it weren’t for your meddling, there would have been no incident, and I would still have a speakeasy to run,” Jamie snapped.
Layla glowered. “Open another one. You are a man with fair skin and corrupt police on your side. If they wanted to catch you, they would have already. There is no limit to what you can do. Do not blame me for your lapses in judgment. You’re weak and stupid. That’s not my fault,” Layla hissed.
The air between them went still as heat rolled off Jamie’s body. He glared at Layla and tightly gripped the railing. “I cannot lose my income, Quinn.”
“Is that why you’re supplying for Tobias Saint on the low?” Layla asked. She knew the answer already, thanks to the Saint heiress, but she liked seeing Jamie tense up.
Jamie sighed. He moved closer to Layla. “What are you trading for these secrets, Quinn?”
“Nothing. But it’s nice to have the upper hand on your gang so I have something to fall back on should my clan go under. After all, you shot Giana,” Layla breathed. “And I wondered why you had Saint bullets.”
A true smile broke across Jamie’s face. He leaned forward and a few strands of hair fell into his eyes while he chuckled. For the first time since knowing him, Layla noticed a dimple that creased his right cheek. “You could say I have a little arrangement with Mr. Saint. And you wish you could take my gang.”
“Don’t try me.” Layla hopped off the railing. Jamie was so tall, she had to tip her head back to meet his eyes. “The fog isn’t that thick, Jamie. I saw the cargo coming in. I know you’re only here because you’re expecting a delivery. I need to know what it’s for.”
Jamie lifted his brow. “For such a small girl, you make mighty big requests.” He ran his hand over his head, fluffing his hair. “You already know, shortcake.”
“I’m not that small,” Layla grumbled. “What does Tobias need this alcohol for?”
Smiling, Jamie rested his elbow on her head. Layla glared up at him, but he didn’t stop. “You’re very tiny. I wonder what it would be like to—”
Layla flung his arm from her head and, twisting it behind his back, threw him against the railing. Jamie’s face went slack with surprise. He tried to break free and grab his gun, but Layla’s hold on him was too tight. Even though he had at least ninety pounds on her and stood an entire foot taller than her, Jamie was no match for Layla’s reaper strength. She bared her fangs at him now and saw the reflection of the rage-induced golden sheen over her eyes in his. “Still tiny?” Layla hissed.
Despite the fresh panic seeping into his expression, Jamie still had the audacity to smile at her. “Yes. Tiny, but strong.” His smile widened when she wrenched his arm further behind him. “I like this side of you, Quinn. Pull me harder and see what happens,” he snarled.
Layla focused on the pulsing artery in his throat. The temptation to drink from him and shut him up was strong. But her sanity had an even tighter grip on her. Layla let him go and backed away. “You’re all the same,” she spat.
Goddamn gangsters always put violence above everything else. They were attracted to danger like it was a conquest.
“Hey now, don’t get all sour on me.” Jamie straightened up, rubbing his wrenched shoulder. “Might I remind you that you’re the one who destroyed my—shit,” he cursed.
When Layla looked up, she realized why. Elise walked toward them, a tall and unfamiliar young man beside her.
“Jesus, Quinn, is this some kind of ambush?” Jamie went to reach for his gun, but Layla already had a hand around his wrist.
“Remember what I said last time?” she asked under her breath. “I’m the only one who kills her. She’s my Saint.”
For once, Elise didn’t have a snarky comeback. She stared at Layla, lips parted slightly. Layla dropped her gaze and studied the other parts of Elise. She was not wearing one of her signature expensive dresses, but was instead dressed in pants.
“You two are off to a wonderful start, I see.” Elise crossed her arms and stared up at Jamie, who still gripped his gun in a tight fist while he glowered at her. “My apologies. We’re a bit late because I had to remind Sterling of proper reaper and gang etiquette.” Elise gave the man beside her a quick smile.
Layla couldn’t believe her eyes. The last time she had seen Sterling, he had still been so childlike, his eyes bright, face round, essence overall soft with youth. But now, not only was he several inches taller than he had been at fourteen, but he was rough cut, all previously soft curves hard with experience.
“Etiquette?” Layla asked, still focused on Sterling.
“He’s used to killing trespassing reapers on sight,” Elise said.
Layla had never gotten as close to Sterling as Elise did. She was always more fascinated by Elise, the bond between Sterling and Elise one she had never experienced. They were a proper family, like brother and sister.
“Jamie is Vex,” Layla said.
Jamie wrenched his arm free from her grasp and glared. “Wow. Thank you for selling out my alias—”
“Cut the act, Vex. We know you’re supplying for my father. Just tell us what for. This doesn’t have to be a hard game,” Elise said. She stepped closer to Jamie, whose glare seemed to sear more.
“Why not just ask your father?” Jamie spat out.
“Hell, I never thought of that,” Elise snapped. “He’s intentionally keeping it a secret. If I ask my father, he will feel targeted and know that someone sold him out. And that is good for no one. Especially the people who work for him. So if you want to keep your job and if you want your gang to take you more seriously, then answer my damn questions.” Elise’s voice hardened at the end of her words.
Jamie, who stood several inches taller than her and had the usual external fear factor a deadly gangster carried, looked small in the face of Elise’s fury. She glared up at him with eyes burning so intensely, Layla nearly felt the tingle of her them on her own face. Seeing the way Jamie’s expression went slack at her demeanor added to Layla’s satisfaction.
This was a man who stared death in the face more often than not and constantly had reapers nipping at his heels. Jamie hardly ever flinched when Layla’s fangs came out and blood sprayed. But Elise had made him shrink with her purely mortal malice.
Layla almost smiled.
Jamie’s shoulders went slack as he sighed. “We’re supplying alcohol for your father. He’s hosting a fundraising ball with Stephen Wayne next weekend.” His expression hardened. “I wonder why he didn’t tell you. He normally throws himself at every opportunity to flaunt his perfect family.”
Elise’s lip curled. “Something you would know nothing about.” She didn’t stay to watch the light die in his eyes as she finally backed away from him. Her words transcended cruelty. They weren’t even directed at Layla, but she felt them split open a raw part of her that she fought to keep protected; the reminder that her family was gone forever. Even Sterling flinched by Elise’s side.
Layla stilled; her previous awe at the Saint’s aggression suddenly vanished. Her malice instead matched the hand her family had had in the death of Layla’s own parents. She was struck by the much-needed reminder that Elise was not on her side. Everything she did was to benefit her family, whose sole goal was the destruction of Layla’s existence and reaperhood as a whole.
“We need to be at this event,” Elise said.
Layla shot an icy look at Jamie, who still looked shaken by the Saint heiress’s cruelty. He nodded. “I can get you in. It’s a masquerade ball, so it will be easy to go unnoticed.”
Sterling glared as he watched Layla. He touched Elise’s arm. “Not a word of this to your father.”
“Of course not. Layla—” Elise began, but Layla was already withdrawing.
“Send me a message. I’m leaving,” Layla muttered. She started walking away, but stopped, turning to Elise. Confusion muddled her pretty brown eyes as they lifted to Layla. “There is no such thing as reaper etiquette, by the way. It’s the same as all other etiquette rules; just be a decent person.” Layla turned and left.
“Was that how things were supposed to go?” Sterling asked.
Elise ignored him. Layla was long gone now, Jamie, too, but Elise continued to hear their final exchange repeated in her head. Just be a decent person.
Never in her life would Elise imagine a reaper telling her this. She certainly hadn’t considered that she had said something wrong until she saw dejection darken everyone’s faces, Sterling’s and Layla’s included.
“Jamie said we need masks for the party,” Elise said quickly. She was a Saint. They prided themselves on purity, on good graces, on proper etiquette. Her father taught her since she was a little girl what would be acceptable as a young Black girl, and what wouldn’t. Elise had suffered too many cruel words from her father’s bitter disappointment to not have gotten something out of his treatment. “Let’s get some now.” She did not want to go home.
Their walk into the city was mostly quiet. Then Elise broke the silence. “I’m sorry.”
Sterling looked perplexed. “Why?”
“I’ve dragged you into this. And I said something so callous about family—”
“We all say things we don’t mean, Elise. Thank you for apologizing, but it’s fine,” Sterling said quietly.
Elise stopped walking. Someone bumped into her from behind and she let Sterling pull her to the side of the street so they didn’t interrupt the flow of traffic. “It’s not fine. I’m supposed to be your friend. I hurt your feelings, Sterling, I saw your face. And I know you hate going behind my father’s back because your job means a lot to you, so you don’t have to come to this fundraiser if you don’t want to—in fact, you can forget all about today.” Elise exhaled. Her head throbbed and her eyes burned. She wanted more than anything to sit and be alone, to pick her mind apart until it fell silent. But there was no time. “I can’t do this anymore—”
“No,” he said roughly, “you’re right. You were unnecessarily vicious back there. But in the face of a gangster who causes more cruelty every day and your old friend, who tried to kill you, I don’t care. What I care about is you accepting defeat before you’ve even begun. Your father expects a lot from you, Elise, and I know it’s difficult, but at least it’s something. Some people have nothing. Do not let your family and your legacy slip away from you so easily.” Sterling’s voice broke and Elise had to look away when tears filled his eyes. “There is nothing selfish about wanting the best for someone else. I think that whole idea is a myth. Because even if you’re doing it for yourself, you’re still helping someone else.”
He paused and his eyes glazed over as he began to slip into his past, rummaging through his most treasured memories. “My father married my mother out of love. I used to think that was what got him killed. His courage and his devotion to her. But I realized it was not his fault at all. It was this world and its backward beliefs. He was caught in the cross fire of a country trying its hardest to destroy itself. If anything, it’s made me realize that this world was not built for us. Even the most natural things that come to us—love, anger, fear—those things are sacred to us. We cannot take them for granted. They are what makes us human, what others try to deprive us of. Don’t ever let that part of you slip, Elise. This world killed my mother just as it killed my father. Even though he died with a noose around his neck and she died with her blood drained by her own volition, the same world killed them.”
Elise sniffed. “Sterling…”
“It’s okay. We will be fine,” Sterling said. “You are the strongest person I know. You’ve been to hell and back, yet you’re still fighting. That alone is worth notable recognition.”
Elise wanted to cry. But she didn’t want to create a new situation. So she nodded and forced a smile. “Thank you, Sterling.” It was always thanks to him. Because of him, she still lived, because of him, she was still a human, rather than a reaper, because of him, she still had something to live for. Elise glanced over his shoulder and spotted a boutique just a few feet away. “Do you think they have masks there?”
Sterling looked over. “Sure. Shall we go?”
“Yes. I’ll meet you there in a bit. I just need to make a quick call.” Elise waited until he was in the store before she slumped against the alley wall. Her chest felt heavy, like it was on the verge of caving in on itself. Elise clutched her hand over the tightening spot on her chest and turned to face the alley. Heavy breaths tore from her body as she fought to lessen the pain, but it only worsened. She buried her face in her hands and bit the heel of her palm to keep from screaming.
The situation she had thrown herself into was far too much for her to take on herself. The only way she knew his proper validation would be bestowed on her was if she handed the city to her father on a silver platter dripping with reaper blood. But Elise played with the piano, not with guns. This was not her.
She wanted comfort, but she didn’t want to explain her complicated web of feelings. She didn’t want anyone to know she was not okay. The burden was her own to bear.
Elise had no choice but to be brave. Feeling made her vulnerable. And in a country where strength was expected of her, and anger made her a target, it was best for her to wipe her tears and keep going. No matter how hard fighting got.
So, drying her face, Elise stood up and left the alley.