Blythe remembered his cold claws around her throat and the way the chill had seeped through her skin and settled within her bones, stealing the breath she’d fought so hard for. She remembered Signa standing before him, pleading for Blythe’s life.
If Signa was a killer, why would she have fought so hard to save her? If she was out to get the Hawthorne family, she could have let Death take Blythe several times over. Instead, she and Percy together had brought Blythe the Calabar bean that spared her. It didn’t make sense that Signa would harm Percy; it had to have been Death’s hand pulling the strings.
Though Blythe knew nothing about the reaper and his powers, she felt safest beneath the light’s warm glow. When someone offered her a glass of champagne, she took it with a smile, only to set it down on a table the moment the staff turned away, not about to end up like the late Lord Wakefield. She’d managed to get this far without letting Death get hold of her, and she had no intention of that changing tonight.
“Why do you look like that?” The voice came from behind her, and Blythe turned to see Aris pick up her discarded champagne and take a long sip from the flute. Blythe stilled when he swallowed, silently counting the seconds to see whether he would keel over and die. It wouldn’t be without precedent, after all. Blythe had done enough investigating of the manor’s history to know that a plague of deaths would not be a new occurrence for Foxglove. Still, she let herself relax when Aris remained standing.
“Look like what?” she asked.
Aris twirled his champagne, taking his time to respond. “Like a fawn readying itself to flee.” He took two more sips and set down the empty flute. “It’s difficult not to notice. Your dress isn’t very discreet.”
Blythe flushed. She’d packed quickly, choosing gowns she thought would suit a seaside aesthetic. She hadn’t expected Foxglove to be quite so gloomy, though it seemed fitting that Signa would live in such a beautifully dreary place. As it was, Blythe had chosen a blush ballgown that skewed on the side of pink. It had pleated frills along the bottom, and collapsed sleeves laced with ivory. The crinoline she wore beneath her skirts was so full that it made it difficult to sleuth about. She hadn’t even thought to consider that issue.
“I was looking for him.” Blythe’s eyes flickered to the corners of the room yet again. Aris followed her gaze with a frown.
“I don’t think you’ll find him on the ceiling, love. And he’s not going to swoop down and kidnap you. Relax, little fawn, and tell me—have you got the tapestry?”
Blythe wasn’t at all convinced by Aris. Still, she answered, “I do.”
Aris squinted. “Where?”
“Don’t worry about that.” Blythe shot him an incredulous look. She distracted herself from the embarrassment of admitting it was pressed beneath her corset by taking in the sights of Foxglove.
While Blythe was no stranger to living in homes with unusual design aesthetics, there was something unsettling about Foxglove. Its interior was almost too bright and cheery against the encroaching rain clouds. It was a strange manor. Quaint and beautiful, but taller than it was wide and full of twisting turns she watched people disappear into. Most guests were making their way toward the ballroom, and Blythe’s eyes darted from one face to the next, each of them unfamiliar. It was as if she’d stepped off a train into a world where she did not belong, and into a house that had her so paranoid that she kept eyeing the strange portraits, half expecting them to blink back. Never had she felt so disoriented.
She was about to turn and head to the lawn for fresh air, unconvinced that she’d made the right decision by coming here, when a haze of darkness floated past the corner of her vision. Blythe stilled.
“Is that him?” she asked through a feigned smile, not wanting Death to realize that she could see him.
If Aris was faking his surprise, he was a better actor than she gave him credit for. “You truly can see him, then.”
“Did you think I was lying?” Blythe fought the urge to stare down the shadows. “If I couldn’t, then why would I have believed your ridiculous story?”
Aris pressed his lips together, considering. “You shouldn’t be able to see him so easily. I thought it possible that you had heard whispers somewhere along the way, though I suppose nearly dying several times did more of a number on you than I thought.”
“It’s not easy,” Blythe argued. If anything, it was a constant and mounting frustration. She didn’t know whether he had a face, or if he was nothing more than a bundle of shadows. She could see him only as shadowy haze and couldn’t fathom how Signa could have fallen for such a being. He wasn’t truly even a man… was he?