Chapter Fifteen

 

 

TWILIGHT HUNG over the city as we left the cellar of Two Gray Cats. The air carried the scents of smoke and cooking food, and when we descended a street lined with modest, neat houses, I heard friendly chatter through open windows. A child laughing. A woman singing.

I carried Lord Uren’s head. Jory offered to do it, but he’d already toted the thing, and I figured it was my turn. Besides, what better way to enter Tewl Loor than with a piece of dead man slung over my shoulder?

As we walked past shops shuttered for the night, Jory spied a handbill tacked to a wall and stopped. “There’s a price on our heads,” he said.

I wasn’t surprised. “How much?”

“Ten crowns for me, fifteen for you.”

“I’m worth more?” I said, barking a laugh.

“Of course. You’re the dangerous one. I’m only a thief.”

I felt the weight of Lord Uren’s head and tried not to think of Jory’s head shoved in a bag. Or my own. Although they wouldn’t bother with that nonsense. Once we were dead, they’d just toss whatever remained of us into the river. Maybe the wraiths would find us and be happy we would no longer invade their warehouse.

We saw a few more of the handbills as we passed through the Silver, but none in the Low, where few could read. Pity, really—the Lowlers would crave the bounty most ardently. Nobody stopped us as we walked down to the riverbank.

Along the north edge of the river was an unpaved path, the dirt packed solid by a hundred generations of pedestrians. Since there were no lanterns, our nighttime passage was slightly difficult. But it was also as safe as we could be in the city, because few people walked this way and none of them would see us well. Besides, most of them would be trying to avoid the guards’ attention too.

Jory hummed so softly I could barely hear him. “I miss my lute,” he said as we skirted a large pile of stinking refuse. “What about you?”

“I don’t have a lute.”

He poked me. “You haven’t been able to return home either. Is there something there you miss?”

I thought a moment. “Just the… security. I had that new set of clothing too, but I can’t say I’m grieving it.”

“Is there anything you value?”

Although I had the sense he was talking about more than material goods, I grunted. “My blades and my boots. And I have those still.” I didn’t even mention those coins sitting in the bank, because I hadn’t possessed them long enough to feel a true sense of ownership.

As we neared the Eastern Gate, the river widened and buildings grew sparser. The smell was worse here, as the city’s sewage made its way toward the ocean, but our chances of being stopped were reduced.

The city wall appeared before us, its ramparts sprinkled with spiritlights. I’d never seen it in the darkness and only rarely during the day. It was unexpectedly pretty. When the pathway passed between the wall and the river, I traced my hand along the ancient stones, wondering how many people had walked here before me.

Nobody guarded this gate; there was little to guard. Residents of Tangye seldom went this way, and the fisherfolk of Moon Harbor entered the city only to sell their wares. That left only Tewl Loor. My heart beat raggedly just thinking about it.

Soon we were out of Tangye entirely, and the path skirted the base of Seli Hill before curving north, away from the river. Out here, the sea breeze kept the city smoke at bay, so Jory and I were treated to the vision of thousands of glittering stars—a rare sight for Tangye-dwellers. But we didn’t pause to admire the spectacle and instead marched steadily ahead.

When the first of the rock cones loomed before us, Jory took my hand. “Have you been here before?” he asked tightly.

“Once.” I’d been a new member of the city guard. Our captain had sent me with three other new recruits, ostensibly to deliver a letter but really to test our courage. One of my compatriots had taken one look at Tewl Loor and fled back to the city, abandoning his new career. The rest of us had completed our task, but we’d all been pale and hurried, and as soon as we returned to Tangye we all got very drunk. And that had been a daytime visit.

I don’t know how accurate the stories are, but I’d heard that Tewl Loor had been built long before Tangye, back even before the Old Tongue was spoken. Many, many centuries ago, the people of Tewl Loor had been repeatedly attacked by dragons and water serpents, yet were reluctant to move far from the ocean. To defend themselves, they’d dug into the earth, creating a town that was almost entirely underground. Their strategy had worked for a while, until a plague wiped out most of the population and left the passageways infested with ghosts. The survivors had moved a short way inland and built a new city aboveground. I don’t know what happened to the dragons and serpents. Maybe the plague killed them as well.

“That head you’re carrying is the least creepy thing around here,” Jory whispered as we passed between two of the cones. They were four or five times my height and glowed dully, but I had no idea of the light’s source. The cones were primarily exits from the underground chambers; only a single door allowed entrance. The single exit was the doing of Tewl Loor’s more recent inhabitants.

We reached the largest cone, which also glowed the brightest. It appeared to be solid stone, but I knew how to get in.

“Daveth Blyd and Jory Pearce,” I announced loudly. “We seek special services.”

A voice of indeterminate gender hissed out of nowhere, making Jory jump. “What type of services?”

The next word came out with difficulty. “Necromancy.”

“What have you to offer in return?”

“Coins.”

Silence fell, and I thought we might be turned away—a prospect that didn’t entirely distress me. But then a loud scraping began and an opening appeared in the rock.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward. Jory was right at my heels, and if he made a dismayed noise when the rock closed behind us, I didn’t blame him.

More of that vague light suffused the entry chamber, lending a faint greenish tinge to everything, including our skin and Jory’s hair. The walls around us were rough and uneven, pitted with numerous small holes. They reminded me of old bones. And in fact, a human skeleton lay slumped against one wall, its vacant eyes somehow seeming to watch us.

Jory muttered a small prayer, but I remained silent. I figured Bolitho had heard enough of me by now.

The stairway leading down into Tewl Loor was cut from the living rock and was wildly uneven. The walls pressed in close. Sometimes the ceiling hung so low I had to duck. I don’t like feeling trapped, but I continued because I had no other options. Lord Uren’s head felt heavier with each step.

Jory and I reached a landing where a corridor stretched to either side of us. But a red mark appeared on the ground, urging us toward more stairs. “How deep will we have to go?” Jory asked quietly.

“As deep as necessary.”

We descended, following the red mark down a narrow passageway and through a large, echoing chamber, then down more stairs. We saw nothing living but did pass many piles of human bones. Some were intact skeletons, while others consisted only of selected pieces—mostly skulls. I would have sworn the skulls watched us.

“Who are they?” asked Jory.

“The dead.”

“But how did they die?”

“What difference does it make to us?” They might have gasped their last breaths recently, or perhaps they’d died in the plague thousands of years ago. Either way, they were no more or less dead than the man whose head bounced against my back.

Ah—but the lifeless man we saw next was something else entirely.

Jory gasped and clutched my bad arm, making me grunt. But I didn’t pull away from him, and I didn’t take my gaze off the apparition in front of us. He’d been handsome once and hardly more than a youth when he died. It hadn’t been the plague that got him—terrible burns marred most of his torso and upper legs, his flesh looking more like charcoal than skin. His face was untouched, and he stared at us with eyes that glowed a slightly brighter green than the stone.

“Let us pass,” I said to the ghost. Conversationally, because there was no point stirring things up unnecessarily.

The ghost said something, but I couldn’t understand a word. I turned to Jory. “Did you catch that?”

“It was the Old Tongue.”

“I thought so. What did he say?”

“Um….” Jory licked his lips. Then he surprised me by addressing the ghost himself, also in words I didn’t comprehend. The ghost answered him.

“I… I’m not very good at this. Gods. I think he wants you to do something to the person who murdered him.”

“Not likely,” I muttered. Whoever had wronged this boy was centuries past vengeance. “Ask him who it was.”

A brief conversation followed, Jory’s part more halting than the ghost’s, and finally Jory nodded. “His master. Our ghost was… an apprentice, I think. I’m not sure of that word. Anyway, he worked for a smith who got angry with him and beat him, then dumped a shovelful of burning coals on him. What a terrible way to die!”

“There are few good ways.” I sighed. “Ask his master’s name.”

Jory did, and even I caught the answer: Avesanto. Not a name I’d heard before, but I supposed people weren’t called the same things back in the ghost’s time. No matter. I nodded at the ghost, cleared my throat, and uttered a short petition to Yestwi, the god of justice. He and I were normally not on speaking terms, but I figured we could make an exception in this case. And since I didn’t know any of the formal prayers for Yestwi, I tried a general request that Avesanto be punished in some way for what he’d done to his poor apprentice. If the long-dead could be punished. Judging from this ghost, they could certainly suffer.

I don’t know whether Yestwi listened; Gods are inscrutable like that. But the ghost seemed satisfied, which was the whole point. He even smiled at us. Then he disappeared.

Jory loudly let out his breath. “Has he been waiting here all these years?”

When did I become the expert on the deceased? I shrugged and began following the red mark again. “Maybe. He died in Tangye—I don’t know when he migrated to Tewl Loor.” At the time the Old Tongue was spoken, Tewl Loor was already completely abandoned. It wasn’t until some time later—but still hundreds of years ago—that a few people began to live here again. And those select few had a good reason for living outside the city walls: they practiced dark magic.

Dark magic wasn’t exactly forbidden in Tangye, mostly because enforcing a ban like that would be impossible. It was strongly discouraged, however, and nobody wanted to live near those who practiced it. I think the dark wizards weren’t especially eager to be neighbors with the rest of us either. They preferred quiet, the absence of city smells, and near solitude, so they’d taken up residence in Tewl Loor. Eventually those too criminal or broken or diseased even for the Low joined them, and together they’d formed a community of sorts.

I’ve heard that the residents of Tewl Loor breed and produce creatures no longer human. I’ve heard that the wizards who practice dark magic live almost forever, their bodies aging but not dying or decaying. I’ve heard that some of them fish corpses from the river and drag them underground, where they give them a semblance of life, turning them into helpless slaves. I’ve heard that sometimes they want fresher meat and snatch people off the streets of Tangye. I’ve heard more than that as well, none of it savory. I didn’t know if any of it was true.

We walked through Tewl Loor for a long time. My feet grew heavy, and I was muddle-headed with weariness. Jory must have been exhausted too, but he didn’t complain. We saw three more ghosts, all of them so faded they were barely visible, but none of them demanded anything of us. One was a child who cried silently as we passed.

“Daveth?” Jory’s soft voice surprised me after he’d been silent so long. “Why did you help that ghost?”

“He was in our way.”

“You could have fought him.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know how to fight a ghost. I don’t think my blades would do much good, and I can’t kill someone who’s already dead.”

“But you didn’t even try.”

I shot him a look. “Wrestling with wraiths wasn’t enough for you? Now you want me to grapple with ghosts.”

“And struggle with spirits?” He smiled. “Actually, no. I think you handled it just fine. I was just curious why you chose the route you did.”

“Expedience.”

“That’s all?”

Exasperated, I let out a huff. “What do you want to hear? Look. I fight well. It’s the only thing I excel at. But it’s not something I want to do all the time and for no good reason.” I reflected briefly on the fact that he knew I’d killed four people within the past two days. He probably didn’t believe what I was telling him, and who could blame him? “I don’t enjoy hurting other people. I don’t necessarily lose sleep over it, but if I can avoid it, I do. It was easy to avoid with that ghost. And like I said, I’ve no idea how to harm a ghost anyway.”

“You are an interesting man, Daveth Blyd.”

I didn’t know what Jory meant by that, and he didn’t explain.

Finally the mark brought us to an uneven opening curtained by mildewed dark cloth. A pale, bony hand reached out and pulled the cloth aside. “Come in,” rasped a male voice.

The poorly lit chamber appeared to be a workspace and not intended for sleeping. But I didn’t take much time to survey it, preferring instead to assess the necromancer. If that was what he was. He didn’t appear particularly corrupt or dangerous. He looked to be about my age, small of stature, with delicate bones and big gray eyes. His long black hair was tied in a queue, and he had a neat little mustache. His clothing was quite plain, similar to what you might see in the Smiths Quarter.

We scrutinized each other. “Daveth Blyd?” he asked at last, his voice unexpectedly deep. “And Jory Pearce. There’s a generous bounty for both of you.”

“There is,” I agreed. I didn’t ask how he knew. Perhaps he’d been in Tangye that day and read one of the handbills, although I doubted it. “You won’t find it easy to take us to the guard.”

“I don’t enjoy the guards’ company anyway. But you two are intriguing. I’m Nywol, by the way. Sit.” He waved at a pair of stools.

Ordinarily I would have been reluctant to comply, but I was grateful for the chance to rest my legs. Jory pulled his stool closer to me before he sat.

“We have some fugitives here, you know,” said Nywol. “But I don’t think you want to join us.”

“No.”

“And I’m guessing what you do want has something to with that head you’re carrying.” He said it pleasantly, as if people toted body parts every day. Maybe they did in Tewl Loor. As for how he knew what was in my bag, well, he was a necromancer. He knew many things about the dead.

I slipped the bag from my shoulder and set it at my feet. He didn’t come for it, though. He stood next to a table, toying absently with what looked like a braided lock of silver human hair.

“What do you want with your head, Daveth?”

“I want it to talk.”

“Dinner conversation? Bedtime stories? Maybe your friend Jory wants to sing a duet.”

I glanced at Jory, whose face bore no expression. “No,” I said. I tapped the bag gently with a toe. “He was involved in a conspiracy and he dragged me into it. Seven people have died—that I know of—and I’m being held responsible for most of those. Maybe all.”

“And you didn’t actually murder them?”

My gaze didn’t waver. “Four of them. All four were trying to kill us.”

He laughed. “So you’re only partially responsible, then. I’m amused when you people attempt to justify what you do. And you’d condemn me for what I do, yet I’ve never caused anyone’s death.”

He didn’t explain what he meant by you people, and I didn’t ask. “I’m not justifying anything. I’m looking for answers.”

“And he has them.”

“Yes.”

“Hmm.” He put down the silver braid and picked up a glass bottle instead. The contents were cloudy and even less appetizing than water from the river Tangye. I didn’t want to know what was inside.

I was well past exhausted and had precious little patience remaining. “Will you help or not?” I snapped.

“It depends on whether we can reach agreeable terms. I’m not a charitable man.”

“We have money.”

That seemed to amuse him considerably. “Have you? A few briquets? A remi or two?”

“More than that,” Jory said. But it wasn’t much more.

Nywol shook his head. “It could be a thousand crowns and I wouldn’t care. I could get twenty-five just for turning you in. But look around, gentlemen. Does this look like the chamber of a man who values money?”

He had a point. His furniture was even shabbier than mine, the wood worm-eaten and the cloth decayed. He had shelves and tables full of things, but most of them looked like something a scavenger might fish out of the river and then throw back, not items worth anything.

“What do you want?” Jory asked.

Nywol’s smile was not nice. “I can give you an enchantment to make your head speak. You can ask it questions and it will answer the truth, although I warn you that the dead can be maddeningly literal. They seem to lose the knack for nuance and symbolism. But you’re clever enough, I think. You could get your answers out of it.”

“What do you want?” When Jory repeated the question, he deepened his voice into a growl.

“The things I do value.”

“Such as?”

When Nywol grinned, he resembled a skull. “To begin with, blood. Some from each of you. Not enough to kill you, of course, just a small contribution. Blood is a common ingredient in my work, yet fresh is hard to come by.” He held up his arms, revealing a network of scars on the underside of both. Some of the marks looked old, while some were red and fresh.

Although I’d already lost a good amount of blood over the past two days, I nodded. “Fine.”

“Excellent. I require other body fluids as well. In this case, ejaculate.”

I leaped up from my stool to glare at him. “No. You’re not going to—”

“I’ll do it,” Jory interrupted. He glanced at me and shrugged. “It’s not such a difficult thing.”

“Not for you,” Nywol said, and I wanted to beat his smug face to a pulp. I didn’t even know why I was so angry. It was, as he’d said, just another body fluid. Jory and I had already spilled some today, and for no reason except that it felt good. But Nywol made my skin crawl, and I didn’t like the way he looked at Jory.

“Don’t worry,” Nywol said to me. “I have no interest in fucking him. I always preferred women, and now, well, I’ve made certain sacrifices for my power. Sex no longer attracts me.”

Sacrifices. Had he been castrated? I shivered. “Fine. If Jory’s willing.”

“Good. But that’s not all I require.”

“You want more? Hells, Nywol, you’ve already asked us for—”

He snarled, his face transformed by anger. “Do you think that what I do comes so cheaply? A thick barrier separates the living from the dead, and you have no idea how much I’ve given up for the power to breach it. No idea! I could have had the stars themselves dancing in my palm, yet here I am like a rat in its burrow, all so I can be granted brief glimpses of what lies beyond.”

He wasn’t sane, I realized now. I wondered if sanity had been one of his sacrifices or if he’d been a lunatic before delving into the dark. I wondered if anyone in Tewl Loor was sane.

“What do you want?” I asked through gritted teeth.

His rage fled immediately, replaced by a bland smile. “An entertainment of a sort.”

“You want me to sing?” asked Jory.

“No, not that. I’m not overly fond of music. I think this will be Daveth’s chance.”

“I don’t know how to entertain.”

“You do. You are a warrior, yes?”

I shrugged. “That’s not a game.”

“No, it isn’t. But you and I have an acquaintance in common. We’ve each spent considerable time in her company, albeit under differing circumstances. I would like to watch you dance with her.”

“I don’t know what in all hells you’re talking about.” That was a lie. I had a good inkling what he meant, and the very idea chilled my blood.

He smiled and drew aside the curtain over the entrance. A woman entered.

She was tall and thin like me, dressed in a long tunic the color of the river at dawn. Her emerald hair twisted like serpents. Her face… she didn’t have one. Not exactly. When I stared directly, I saw nothing but gray, as if I were looking into a storm cloud. But if I averted my gaze just a bit, I could make out features, although they shifted. One moment she resembled Lord Uren or Myghal Tren; the next she looked like the guards I’d killed that morning. Sometimes she looked like me. The worst, however, was when she tilted her head slightly and for a shattering moment I saw the sightless eyes and gaping mouth of my mother when I’d discovered her dead.

“No,” I rasped.

Jory had gone entirely still, as if turned into a statue, but Nywol looked cheery. “Don’t deny her now. You’ve summoned her four times already in the past days—you told me so yourself. And countless times in the past. I think she’s taken a fancy to you.”

“I don’t want to die,” I said. Which was stupid, because very few people do want it, so I think it’s safe to take it as a given. Besides, I’d known since shortly after I met Jory that my hours were numbered. I was fortunate to have lasted this long. But looking at Lady Death, I nearly believed I did want her.

“You have nothing much to live for,” she said in a clear, sweet voice.

I would have liked to argue, but I had nothing to say, no ammunition to throw. Other than an occasional fuck and a lot of ale, I had few things that made drawing breath worthwhile. But damn it all, I was alive, and I wasn’t going to give that up so easily.

“Dance with her,” said Nywol. “If you survive, I’ll make the head talk.”

“And if I don’t?”

He gave another death’s-head grin. “Then you become mine.”

I didn’t want to think about what he would do with me. I didn’t even know how corpses were used—apart from what we had planned for Lord Uren—and I had no desire to speculate. But even the idea sent cold shivers down my spine.

Jory stood between me and Lady Death, his palms held toward her. “No. He won’t do this.”

I pulled him away. “I will. You’re making a payment to Nywol, Jory, and I’ll do my share too.”

“There’s a world of difference between jerking off and dancing with Death!”

“Don’t they call sexual release the little death?” When he opened his mouth to protest, I shook my head. “Never mind. If this is what it takes, then—”

“Forget what it takes! Forget Uren and the guards and all of their shit. Come away with me, Daveth. We’ll see the world.”

See the world. As if he wouldn’t tire of my company within leagues of the city. I had nothing to offer him—or anyone else. I had my fighting skills, but otherwise I surely would not make a boon companion on an adventure.

“I need to do this,” I said evenly. And when Jory tried to step in again, I pushed him. Roughly this time, so he stumbled backward and fell against his stool, sending both of them to the floor. Before he could recover his feet, I took Lady Death’s hand.

Once every few years, a cold snap hits Tangye. Ice forms on puddles and in fountains. Twice I even saw ice along the edge of the river. Beggars and trance-dreamers die in droves, their bodies found in the gray dawn, collapsed against buildings and in alleys.

Lady Death’s hand was colder than ice, colder even than the river wraiths. The chill worked its way into me at once, sending shards of pain through my veins. But I didn’t let go.

Voices began to sing. Not Jory’s, which was somehow a relief. They were beautiful yet made my stomach clench, like pretty fruit that turns out to be poisonous. Their language was neither mine nor the Old Tongue; it sounded ancient, as if the mountains and sea might speak it. And yet I felt as though I could almost understand it if I just listened closely enough.

I’d danced only once before, with Jory, but when Lady Death wrapped an arm around my waist, the movements came naturally to me. Close like this, she smelled of perfume and putrefaction. The entire room seemed to grow infinitely larger, then disappear. No furniture got in our way, and I didn’t sense Jory or Nywol at all. Just the music and the scents and Lady Death.

She looked at me, and her face became more visible as the features seemed to drift into place. I recognized them at once. In fact, they resembled me more than I’d ever realized: same narrow face and large blue eyes, same long nose, same wide mouth.

My mother had not been a beautiful woman—not even pretty, really. Except when she smiled, which was rarely. Most of the time I’d known her, and especially in the later years, her eyes had always been clouded by trance-drops or sharp with the craving for more. I’d never blamed her for that, and I still didn’t. The drops had been her only escape from misery, enslaving her in return.

“You miss her,” said Lady Death.

“I don’t. It’s been years, and I’m a grown man.”

“But you remember the way she’d hold you when you were very small and how she’d give you her food if there wasn’t enough for both of you. You remember the time she took you to the roof on a rare clear night and told you stories about the stars. You remember how she’d call you her Dav-Davie, her little bird.”

Lady Death’s words made me bleed more deeply than any knife ever had. “Stop,” I begged.

“You think she’s so far away and you’ve lost her forever, but you’re wrong. She’s as near as I am. I can show you that.”

Gods and goddesses, I almost said yes. It would have been so simple. But then I remembered the consequences of agreeing. Nywol free to use my corpse—and perhaps my soul as well. And Jory left alone.

“No,” I said.

Lady Death answered with a small laugh. “You’re a difficult one, aren’t you? You deliberately make things harder on yourself.”

I didn’t answer. The song continued, and I wondered how long we’d been dancing. It felt like forever. Maybe I’d die of old age. Or of the cold, which now permeated me so deeply I couldn’t remember being warm.

But then Lady Death smiled. “Do you remember the first time we met?”

“My mother.”

“No. She’d been dead for hours when you found her, and I was long gone.”

It wasn’t a memory I’d dwelled on. My mother slumped against the wall on her sleeping pallet, body already stiff, eyes fixed. It was summer, and the flies—

“And what did you do then?” Lady Death asked.

“I ran away.” My legs were numb, yet I still danced.

“No, not away. You ran to. Where did you go?”

I’d been fast even then, my legs a blur as I raced down streets especially thick with nauseating odors. People were sitting in doorways and in front of walls, and they fanned themselves with scraps of paper or their hands. They seemed to move so slowly. I flew, though, my breath coming in ragged shreds, until I landed in a narrow alley. And there I marched into a small shop I’d been in a few times before. It smelled of herbs and ointments.

The witch who owned the shop was a corpulent man who stood only when he had to fetch things for customers. He always wore stained clothes and had a red, oily-looking face.

“What do you want, boy?” he’d drawled, looking up from his chair.

I was panting almost too hard to speak. “Trance-drops. My mother.”

He narrowed his eyes and peered at me. “Ah, I recognize you. Is she out already? She was just here this morning.” He shrugged, hauled himself to his feet, and held out a hand. “Five briquets.”

“She’s dead!” I screamed.

His expression didn’t change at all. “Then you want it for yourself? Still five briquets.”

“Give me three remi,” I said.

He wheezed loud laughter. “And why would I do that?”

“She’s dead because of you. You can pay for her pyre.” Because if I didn’t come up with the fee for the funeralmongers, her body would simply be tossed into the river like garbage.

The witch laughed again. “She’s dead because she was stupid and took too much at once. And what’s the point of a funeral for someone like her? Who’d come? Just her little whoreson bastard.”

My memories of what happened next are… clouded. I know I pulled out my knife. It was a good one, well balanced and sharp, and when my mother had given it to me, she had taught me to keep it clean and well honed. I know there was a lot of blood. But I don’t remember where I struck the witch or how many times, and I can’t recall if either of us made any sounds.

Then I was running again, down to the river to wash away the gore with the foul water.

“She ended up with no pyre,” I said to Lady Death. “They threw her in the river.”

“Aye, and the witch as well. But that was how we met. You’ve been my faithful servant ever since.”

I snarled. “I don’t serve you.”

“Then whom do you serve, Daveth Blyd?”

“Nobody.”

“Precisely. Not even yourself.” She pressed tightly against me. “But you could. You could serve me.”

I knew humans lied, but I’d always assumed Death was truthful. Now I knew better.

“Fuck you,” I said, my teeth chattering so badly from cold that I could barely get the words out.

Lady Death smiled again and let me go. The music stopped, and my awareness of the room returned. Nywol stood where he’d been before, watching avidly. But Jory looked pale and grim.

She turned to Nywol. “He dances well. But I am afraid I could not seduce him today.”

“I like men,” I growled.

In a flash, she transformed, her hair turning curly and yellow, her features becoming beautiful and male.

“Like this?” asked Death in Jory’s voice.

“Don’t you dare.”

“I’ll come for him eventually, you know. And for you. I come for everyone.” Then Death flickered and became a green-haired, faceless woman. “But this is not your hour.” She turned to Nywol, who bowed deeply, and then she left the room.