Chapter 21

Though alive, I've visited the Nothing to rub elbows with the dead many times. I've learned one important thing along the way: While traveling on the Night Train, be careful you don't get off at the wrong stop.

-Hecate's Guide to Arcane Philosophy

Quiet

" Y ou're a horrible cow," I grumbled.

"So you've said," Hecate drawled, hooking her arm tightly around mine.

I squinted at her. I didn't remember saying that to her already. A few glances around revealed we were sitting on the Night Train, and I couldn't remember how we'd gotten there. Rickard stood at the head of the cabin, the plate on his conductor's cap gleaming. I rose up to look behind us and found a few stray spirits scattered about in the mostly empty cabin. Seated quietly, they looked as despondent as I felt.

"Oy," I gasped, staring down at my free hand. I turned it this way and that, flexing my fingers. It still looked like my hand, seemed no different than before, but after seeing the other travelers in the cabin I knew I was no different than them now.

Spirit. Specter. Dead.

Hecate tugged me back down beside her. "You're having some trouble with your short-term memory, but that will fade soon."

"Rorick," I breathed.

"Shh, hush now." Hecate tightened her hold when I tried to wrench out of her grip. "You can't see them just yet, you're too new to this place, but we're surrounded by souls on this train. Rickard's having a very busy night. If I lose you now, it'll be nearly impossible to find you again amongst all of them."

"You tricked me."

"I did, I suppose," she said calmly. "I left out a few uncomfortable details, but our common aim remains much the same. End the cycle. Break the curse. Right my wrongs. I promised I'd stay with you until the end, and I intend to do just that."

The Night Train bumped along. Out the window there was nothing but stars and darkness.

"End of the line," Rickard barked moments later, wings stretched behind him in an intimidating display of silver feathers. "Don't push. Don't rush. Exit the train in a single file line or I'll make you stay one full year before letting you depart!"

I started to stand, compelled by the authority in his voice.

Hecate pulled me down again.

"He said, ‘end of the line,'" I hissed.

"Not for you it isn't," she soothed, patting the back of my hand. "Rickard owes me several favors. I've traded all of them for this one ride. It'll save us lots of time. Time we don't have to push through the river of the dead to get where we need to go."

"You must see me as the biggest fool, if you think that after all you've done to me I'll just calmly—"

"Rorick is waiting for you," she barked. "Unless you want to waste your eternity trying vainly to find him by yourself, you'll stick with me!"

She was a liar and a cheat. Clearly, she'd coordinated my death at the end of a sacrificial spike so she could offer me in trade. End the cycle for herself . Not me.

My jaw clenched. With renewed zeal, I jerked and wriggled, attempting to pull my arm from hers, but the ancient witch was shockingly strong.

The train emptied around us.

"Sit down and hold on to something," Rickard said, before dropping into a chair himself, wings lowered behind him in his seat.

Hecate gripped the cushion below us and strengthened her hold on me as the Night Train picked up speed. Our cabin went hurtling through a tunnel so penetratingly dark, I could see nothing at all.

I was so afraid in that moment, I clung to Hecate. Thoughts of Rorick's panic-stricken face, his wide violet eyes consumed by suffering, chased away my own terror and put a knot in my throat. If our positions had been reversed, I'd be inconsolable.

Was he holding me now? I imagined he was. Imagined his fingers in my hair, my cheek pressed against his solid chest. I imagined his lips at my ear, whispering.

" Haunt me if you must ," he begged. " Come and scream at me as a vengeful spirit. Take me apart piece by piece. I deserve no less. Torment me. Just please don't go away from me. "

The train came to a sudden, screeching stop, the force of which lifted me off my seat. It was Hecate's arm that kept me from flying toward the front of the cabin.

Suddenly we were off the train, standing on a dark platform I couldn't see the end of. The ground was soft and fibrous under my boots. I wondered if I was actually wearing boots at all. Were they an illusion? Then I remembered Rorick sharing an old memory with me. The one where he recalled meeting Death.

My toes flexed in my shoes. We were walking on the fibers of Death's great cloak toward a circular ball of light that shone faintly. A single candle flame bobbed alone in the velvety blackness.

Hecate pulled me along, her own cloak draping down behind her.

If only her grip would loosen for just a moment. I'd grab that cloak off her body, take her stolen wings for myself and go home, get back to Rorick.

Hecate caught me staring. "Don't you try it," she snapped. "It hasn't worked either time. Let it go!"

I couldn't remember trying it the first time, let alone again . . .

A gale picked up around us. A wind strong enough to stir my skirts. Steadily it grew louder, and I remembered the first time I heard such a powerful sound. That same storm-like wind had pursued me down in the tunnels under the Circus.

Hecate dropped to her knees, hand around my wrist, leashing me to her. The sudden storm was so strong, my feet lifted off the fibers of Death's cloak.

Death, I realized, was speaking, but I couldn't understand anything that was being said over the echo of wind in my ears.

"I know I don't deserve your mercy," Hecate shouted, head down in supplication. "But she does. She's the best of me . . ."

Wind thundered around me, and the one small light flickered and brightened and flickered again.

"Take me back!" I demanded. "Take me to Rorick! Take me now!"

My words were for Death, for Hecate, for anyone in the Nothing who would hear them.

"Give me wings and let me go home!" I shouted, my hands in fists.

Hecate's grip loosened around my wrist as tears spilled from her eyes, streaking her cheeks.

I wrenched my arm out of hers and stumbled. The wind had fallen silent. Hecate bent low, laying her forehead on the ground, weeping.

No response came to my demands. Nothing happened at all for what felt like ages. Hecate drooped there, crying and clearing her throat.

Now was my chance. Take her cloak. Flee this place. Leave her to the fate she made for herself. I took a step forward and stopped. I stretched out my hand, ready to steal.

My hand just hung there, reaching. Then it dropped to my side.

I couldn't do it—couldn't take from her. Not when she was such a broken mess. My eyes stung.

She wasn't my mother. She was something very different. A mentor, a piece of me. A piece I couldn't just cast off and abandon here of all places. She was right. I wasn't like her. It wasn't in me to be so wicked.

I turned and fled instead, back the way we came—back the way I thought we'd come. I'd find the train and beg Rickard to take me home, take me to my world, to my vampire. I'd work off the debt however he wished. He could name the price.

My feet sunk into the soft carpet-like fibers. I pumped my legs and felt nothing. I would never tire in this form. I could run forever, and run I did.

The small light from that tiny candle began to fade the further I went until I could barely see at all. I checked behind me to make sure I was keeping it at my back. It was my only form of direction.

The rustle of wings stopped me in my tracks. A tall form dropped in front of me, landing audibly. It took a moment for my vision to adjust. I blinked against the dark.

"Rorick?" My voice cracked. I was seconds away from throwing myself in his arms.

"Not him," he said, in a drawling accent much like Hecate's. He looked just like my Rorick, but as my eyes further adjusted, I picked out more details. He was dressed in a pale gray robe. His black hair was shoulder-length, but still silver at the temples. Another set of smaller wings sprouted from either side of his ankles. A greater set arched at his back.

No fangs.

I felt a connection to him, though, a familiar fondness, and I reached for him, seeking comfort.

He put an arm around my shoulders, hugging me to his side. He smelled like apples. His great wings lowered, feathers sweeping the plush fibers below.

"This way," he whispered. Turning me, he pointed off into the distance.

A bright blue fire burned there in the dark, a familiar light that called to me.

The winged man kissed my cheek. "Go," he said.

I didn't need to be told twice. I sprinted off into the Nothing, chasing that distant lantern light.