It was thoughts like that, however, that would get Signa into trouble. There was no choice but to cast aside her doubts, and to step into the shadows that built upon the wall. Unfortunately, Signa smacked face-first into the wall the moment she tried and rocked back, cursing the blasted space as though it had reached out and attacked her.
The ground rumbled suddenly with a deep, smoky laugh. Signa squeezed her eyes shut, refusing to turn and look at Death from where he waited on her bed.
“How long have you been watching?”
“Long enough.” He sounded smug, but Signa didn’t spare him a glance to confirm that he looked it, too. “What are you up to, Little Bird?”
Her poor nose felt as though she’d just taken a brick to the face, and she tried to rub away its aching. “What does it look like I’m up to? I’m trying to use these beastly powers.” Only when he chuckled again did she shoot him a glare so scathing that Death’s lips promptly uncurled. He tried his best to look inconspicuous, though there was no denying the amusement glittering in his eyes.
“What for?” he asked. “I thought we agreed that you’d only use those berries in an emergency.”
She glanced to her reserve of belladonna—ten berries left. If she wanted to avoid having to take more, there was no time to stand around chatting.
“Your brother is on an expedited mission to ruin my family. If that’s not an emergency, I don’t know what is.” A surge of panic shot through her, and Signa clutched her chest as the heart within it fluttered. Death was behind her in an instant, his hands on her shoulders. She settled against his body as her heart stilled once more, and lifted her hand to his.
“I let myself get too worked up,” she said. “It won’t happen again—”
“Your body is acclimating to the belladonna.” Death swept a strand of hair from her face and tucked it behind one ear. “You shouldn’t be using it.”
“Elijah is in prison.” Death’s eyes were filled with such concern that Signa had to keep her eyes trained on his chest. “We’ll discuss this later.”
Only then did he ease his hold on her, though to help maintain her current state, he didn’t let go entirely. “Very well.” He waved his free hand at the wall, where fervent shadows swarmed. “Is this what you wanted?”
She kept her chin high. “It is.”
“Wonderful. I quite like your face, and I’m not sure that it could handle another one of your attempts.” Slipping his hand from her shoulder and down to hold hers, he pulled her toward the writhing shadows. “Whenever you’re ready.”
At her heels, Gundry gave a low whine. Signa cast a cursory glance at the parchment beneath his collar—ensuring it was still secure—before she gave his head a gentle pat and stepped forward.
It was a familiar feeling to let the shadows pull her from one place to another, like slipping through a lake and emerging dry. Strange and a little unsettling, but also deceptively peaceful, given where they’d ended up.
No longer were they in Signa’s bedchamber but in a too-small room with such little light that, at first, Signa thought her sight had been spirited away. Only because she was a reaper did her vision normalize, the darkness soon giving way to reveal the outline of a small cot. A chamber pot. And, eventually, a man huddled on the cold stone floor, knees drawn into his chest.
Signa started toward him before Death’s grip tightened. “Remember that you are a reaper right now. Mind your touch.”
Signa backed toward a wall with her arms wound tight around herself. “Are we in the prison?” She was glad she wasn’t human in that moment, for the stone splitting from the ground was caked with so much dust that she feared for her ability to breathe. It felt like one wrong move was all it would take for this place to come shattering down upon them.
“Yes.” Death spoke in the placating tone he’d used with Lord Wakefield and other restless spirits, and though Signa recognized the tactic, she also appreciated it. “No light is allowed in the cells. The idea is to blind the prisoners—to never let them see each other or their surroundings, so that they might feel entirely alone. I’ve picked up far too many people from rooms just like this one, driven to madness from the isolation.”
As she looked at Elijah, Death’s words cut deep. “Go to him,” Signa whispered, summoning the hound to her side. Gundry took one look at her before he bowed his head and padded the few short steps toward Elijah. The shadows swirling around his protruding ribs slipped from him with every step, shedding from his skin until his body filled out and he was nothing but a common hound with a gentle whimper.