As if able to sense the bitter thoughts festering within her, Death drew Signa close, smoothing his hands down her arms. “I understand what you’re feeling and have acted on that impulse more times than I can count. Rarely is it worth it, Little Bird. Awful as that man may be, he has a family. One he does not treat so poorly, and who rely on him. If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that we do not get to play God. We do not get to tamper with Fate, especially when he is breathing down our necks.”
Signa wished that Death had not spoken, and that those few words alone weren’t enough to plant the idea of that man’s family in her mind. It was for them that she shut her eyes and willed her mind to ease away from such vicious thoughts of death.
God, what was happening to her?
“Byron told us that he tried everything,” Signa whispered, forcing her mind elsewhere. Onto a new puzzle in need of solving.
“Then we’ll have to find out why he lied.” The more Signa let the fire within her fizzle out, the more Death’s grip eased. “In the meantime, I’ll ensure no one lays another finger on Elijah.”
Signa watched as Gundry padded toward her sitting room, shuffling in circles a few times before he settled beside her writing desk. “Elijah must believe himself mad for the things he saw today. Using Gundry was the only way I knew how to communicate with him.”
“Elijah is no fool,” Death told her. “He deserves more credit than you give him. He suspected the supernatural with his wife’s spirit, just as I believe he’s always suspected it of you.”
This made her still, a surge of fear tightening her throat. “You think Elijah knows about me?”
“He knows that you were able to communicate with Lillian. And I believe he’s always known that you are more than you appear.” His finger grazed the bare skin of her neck, and as it slid down, the coil of tension in her body eased. “Relax your mind, Little Bird. We will solve this.”
She tried to let those words hit her. Tried to wrap them around her soul and find comfort within them. This wouldn’t always be her life; they would save Elijah, and then the nightmare would be over.
One more time. One more mystery. And then she could finally—finally—have the peaceful life she’d always wanted. No more murders. No more mysteries that kept her mind churning at all hours of the night. Just a peaceful life with the Hawthornes, and the man that she loved.
Signa rolled some of the tension from her shoulders as Death cupped the side of her face and bent to kiss her with lips that tasted sweet as nectar and felt as all-consuming as winter. She tipped her head back as he peppered kisses across her skin, and though she wanted to let him continue—wanted the distraction of his deft fingers undoing the silk laces of her dress and to feel his shadows along her thighs—she forced herself to peel away.
“We have things to discuss.” Signa cleared her throat, each word forced and awkward. She would love nothing more than to back onto the bed and pull him over her. To let his body become her greatest distraction and to let it ease her worries until she finally fell asleep for the first time in over twenty-four hours. But there was still the matter of Fate, and until she knew more about who they were up against, her mind would allow no distractions. “Primarily, your brother.”
Death’s jaw tightened. “I will deal with my brother. You don’t need to concern yourself with—” His eyes fell past her to the golden envelope on her nightstand. As if instinctively, Death dropped his hand from her to stalk toward it, and Signa shuddered at the immediate warmth that consumed her body in his absence. She clamped her eyes shut, fighting the wave of nausea that ripped through her.
“Death,” Signa called, reaching out for him.
“What is this?” He picked up the envelope and tore the note free, scoffing as he read the gilded words. “Who does he think he is, waltzing in here like damned royalty—”
“Death!” Signa called again, but it was too late. She doubled over as breath crashed back into her lungs. Her stomach lurched, and Signa fell to her knees beside a wastebasket seconds before she threw up once, twice, and then a third time. Finally, she was able to sit back, the neck of her gown dampened with sweat. Her vision was a haze, Death’s shadows swaying in and out of it as he crouched beside her.
“I’m fine,” she whispered through chattering teeth, straining not to lose sight of him. It was a futile effort; it’d be only moments before the belladonna was entirely out of her system.