“Of course I will,” Signa promised, staring firmly into her cousin’s eyes. “I’ll go to the party or woo the prince, or whatever it takes. We will save your father, Blythe. Of that, I’m certain.”
SIX
IT WAS TO HER SUITE THAT SIGNA SOON RETIRED, FATE’S INVITATION clutched in her hand. If she was going to beat Fate at his own game, then she needed more information. Signa locked the heavy oak door behind her, then contemplated dragging over her dresser to further block entry before deciding that would only draw more attention. The lock alone would have to suffice.
Gundry watched from the foot of her bed, yawning from behind the billowing canopy as Signa pressed her ear to the door. She moved to the nightstand only when she was certain no one was wandering the halls, then opened the top drawer and withdrew a small bundle of silk cloth. Cradling it close to her chest, Signa took the bundle to her bed and spread it over the linen, revealing a handful of berries so dark they were nearly black.
Belladonna.
Behind her, Gundry growled deep in his throat. The hellhound had been with her for the past several months, sent by Death as a companion. Mostly, he spent his days lazing away near a hearth or, when the weather permitted, flitting through burnished leaves in the yard. Signa had told everyone he was a stray she’d picked up during a trek through the woods, and though it took some convincing, Elijah had agreed to let him stay.
No one who met Gundry would think the hound much of a protector, but sometimes, as Signa watched him stir during the witching hours, she’d remember the shadows that had dripped from his open jaws and how he’d clamped those jaws around Percy with a single command.
“Hush,” she told him, bopping the beast on his wet snout. “I may regret this, but I need your help.” When Signa was in her reaper form, it was only Death who could either see or hear her. She could perhaps show that she was near with a sudden gust, or windows slamming shut on a mild day. But if she hoped to communicate with Elijah, she’d need assistance.
“Ready yourself, Gundry. We’re going on an adventure.”
Gundry’s ears flattened. He looked from her to the berries with a whine that Signa paid little mind as she drew the curtains shut and scrawled a hurried note onto a piece of tea-stained parchment. The ink was still wet when she folded the sheet and reached forward to scratch Gundry under his chin, slipping the note beneath his collar.
“We’ll be fine,” she told him. “I promise.”
There weren’t many berries left—perhaps fifteen or so—and it would be several more months until the belladonna near Thorn Grove was back in bloom. All she had remaining were dried and shriveled berries from last autumn’s stash, which would likely taste as rotten as they looked. Still, they should do the trick. It’d take at least five berries to produce the results she needed, and so it was precisely five berries that she scooped into her palms before bundling the cloth and setting it aside.
Signa took a seat on the bed and pressed all five berries upon her tongue. They were crunchy and bitter, their rot soiling her mouth. Yet she swallowed them down all the same and curled her fingers in Gundry’s soft coat as she waited for the effects to take hold.
Signa shut her eyes as her vision swam and sipped slow breaths through her lips until she could take in no more. Only then did she crack an eye open as the belladonna claimed her, the reaper’s power spreading through her veins. She greeted it like a lover, embracing the cold and the darkness that wisped around her fingertips.
“Hello, you,” she whispered to the shadows that swathed her hands. Gundry still lay with his chin on her lap, though he was changed. There were shadows where his eyes had once been, and more that oozed like smoke from his maw. The last time he’d been in this form, it had been too dark to notice that Gundry’s ribs protruded from his skin, or that his hollowed-out insides were visible through a gaping hole in his belly that swirled with darkness. Gundry looked every bit like a beast that had crawled its way out of the depths of hell, with elongated canines and massive paws that were twice the size of her face. And yet he was still the same Gundry, whining and nudging his wet nose against Signa’s hip.
“I’m all right,” she said, slipping from the bed. “Come, we should hurry.”
Signa steeled her nerves. Death had once said that her powers were about intention—want something, then take it. Facing the barest wall in her suite, she focused on Elijah’s face as she imagined a portal of shadows that would take her to see him. It was certainly possible; Death had done something similar the night he’d taken her to see the bridge of souls. Still, just because something could be done, it didn’t mean that she knew how to do it. She was having trouble focusing as slivers of sunlight cut through the windows. Her powers felt out of place in the daylight, perhaps even forbidden. Only under the cover of night could she stop thinking about how odd it was to not be able to feel the press of the springtime heat against her skin.