A Shadow in the Reaping

You did pack it. What, you don't like it?

I show him my note with an i

"No, no-"

So you DON'T like it, then.

"No I meant yes, I do like it." Ashen's eyes stray to my bare shoulders, across my collarbones, down the chain from Ediye. His gaze follows the deep neckline of the dress that dips low between my breasts. A flush of gooseflesh tingles through my arms and the back of my neck as he looks down to my legs, to the edge of the dagger that's strapped on my thigh. When he meets my eyes he looks both ravenous and petrified.

Are you sure? I can't tell from your face. It seems like you might not like it. I show him my note and then turn a full circle. I look down to my shoes and back up to Ashen again. I can get changed, I write, but there's no fucking way that I'm doing that.

"No, no. You look..."

Don't say I look like a hybrid or I swear I'll slap you. 

"You look so beautiful, Lu."

All the mischief dies in my eyes as I look at Ashen. I knew he was going to say something like that, once he spat it out eventually, but it's the way he said it. It's the way he said my name. His voice is rich and warm and almost sad, like he's looking at something he's already lost.

I feel the heat of nerves swell and churn through my belly. I take a deep breath and refocus on my journal.

Thank you, you look pretty good yourself.

Ashen looks down at his suit and back to me with the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Thank you."

Usually you look like such a slob. It's nice to see you dress up for a change. I pass him my note and when he meets my eyes I wink. A spark flares in his pupils in response and he looks away, but I can see his smile grow.

"Come on, vampire," he says, lifting a bag from the bed. He slings it over his shoulder and then offers me his arm. "Your fangria awaits."

I loop my hand through Ashen's arm and we leave the room, walking down the corridor to the stairs. When we arrive in the grand entrance hall there are a few other Reapers in the vestibule. We pass a couple immersed in quiet conversation and they nod to Ashen as we approach, but their eyes are sharpened on me. I feel the weight of their scrutiny and I wonder if it looks bad for Ashen to be seen with a soul on his arm. For some reason, it doesn't excite me to make him feel uncomfortable. I'm not sure why.

I keep my eyes on the couple as I start to pull my hand away, and Ashen looks down, his brow furrowed. He follows my gaze and traps my escaping hand to his side, grasping my fingers with his other hand and placing it back where I feel like it belongs.

"It's all right," he says, not looking again at the couple. "They're just not used to seeing a bright soul here. Not one that shines like you."

I give him a questioning look but he doesn't respond. He only lays his hand over mine and stares down anyone else we pass as though challenging a question or comment. None are made.

We walk down the road, the same pervasive fog hovering over every surface, obscuring the worst of the Realm from our view. We turn down a side road this time, and I get the sense there are dwellings or buildings on either side, but I can't see them through the mist. It's only pathways and iron fences and tall hedges. Everything beyond is consumed by the opaque fog.

We cross another road and reach a tall iron gate, the words Bit Akalum wrought into the archway that stretches above us. House of Food. Ahead there are dim but twinkling lights, the sound of music drifting toward us through the mist. With my free hand I point to the Bit Akalum sign as we pass beneath it, with a sarcastic look on my face.

"Does what it says on the tin," Ashen says, and I can hear the smirk of agreement in his voice. "We might have to rename it to the House of Fangria after tonight."

I flash a smile up at him that says he read my mind. Which he totally just did.

We follow the path to a wide, black stone building with a covered porch. Lanterns hang from the ceiling, illuminating a few Reapers standing beneath the overhang with drinks in their hands. Music wafts toward us like a beacon in the mist, low and dark, minor chords, rich melodies in deep octaves. There are no vocals, only cello and piano, but I could make something. A song about this place. A song about ghosts in dark corners and fear in the fog. We ascend the steps but I don't notice the Reapers as we pass, I'm too caught in the current of the music around me.

"All right, vampire?" Ashen asks as we pass the Reapers on the patio and head through the open doors. He looks down at me with a crease between his brows.

I nod and give a faint smile, swirling my finger in a loop and tapping my ear. He frowns and I'm not sure why.

We enter a long room of circular tables with silver tablecloths and vases of dark flowers, candles throwing light and shadow across the Reapers and their drinks or plates of food. Enormous black French Empire crystal chandeliers cascade from the ceiling like frozen waterfalls. A bar stretches the length of the room on the left toward an empty dance floor and a small stage where a cellist and pianist play. Their eyes are closed as they immerse themselves in the meaning behind their dark and winding melody.

"There," Ashen says, nodding his head in the direction of a table near the back of the room. Ember is facing us, elegant in a jumpsuit the shade of the deepest cold sea. Her long hair is scraped into a high ponytail that twists and drapes over her shoulder like rope. Cole is seated next to her and is probably the most informal person here with his T-shirt beneath a suit jacket. I was right when I guessed that I'd be wearing the lightest color here. Everyone else is in shades of grey or black, blue or even deep blood red. My white dress is a lantern in the Shadow Realm.

"Lovely to see you again so soon, Lu," Cole says, standing as we arrive at the table. Ashen pulls my seat out for me, placing me next to the newcomer. I assume he must deem Ashen 'insufferable' but a safer option than his sister. I agree.

I give Cole a salute and I turn my gaze to Ember as I rest my katana against the arm of my chair. We smile warmly at one another as though we're the very best of friends.

"You look so lovely, Lu. You're the shining light of Bit Akalum tonight. All the Reapers here have certainly taken note of the brightest soul they've ever had to glimmer in their midst," Ember says, sweeping her hand in the direction of the room behind me. Her smile is as placid as still water. I wonder if I'm the only one that knows how deceptive that stillness can be.

"I'll be right back," Ashen says, dropping his hand on my shoulder. I give a single nod but I don't take my eyes from Ember. Either Ashen doesn't notice the predatory gleam in her eyes or he doesn't believe she's a threat in this place. Maybe he figures I can hold my own with the blades at my side, which is truer than he knows. I hear his footfalls depart in the direction of the bar.

"How are you enjoying your time here in our Shadow Realm? Still so-so?" Cole asks, swirling the ice in his glass of whiskey within its ornate crystal cage.

Ember's smile grows across the rim of her wine glass. "Lu can't answer you, Cole. She can't speak."

"Really? Why?" Cole asks, and the concern and curiosity I hear in his words seems genuine.

"Damaged vocal chords, apparently. Though how, I'm not sure. Perhaps a fight with someone? It wasn't Bobby Sarno, was it?"

I give Ember a slow shake of my head and a smile that says she's playing a dangerous game. Bobby-Fucking-Sarno. As if. I'd never let that motherfucker get his slimy hands around my throat. But she already knows to give me more credit than that.