“What do you mean? There’s nothing on her skin.”
“It glows,” the youngest added with such earnest vigor that she seemed more youthful than she was. “You can’t see it? It’s all over her, and it brightens to silver whenever any of us get near.”
Signa forced herself to keep calm beneath the spirits’ scrutiny, not wanting to give away her concern. Was it possible her powers had done something to Elaine without her realizing it?
Death must have shifted nearer, and oh what Signa wouldn’t have given to be able to hear his voice in that moment. If he’d seen anything strange with Elaine, she had no doubt that he would have said something.
“We won’t bother you,” the man promised, though his eyes were trained to a spot just above Signa’s shoulder, where Death must have stood. “But we can’t make any promises for the others.”
The windows in the sitting room flew open as a bitter gust blew in. Darkness crept through, and though she couldn’t fully make out his individual shadows, she imagined they were closing in on the spirits as the darkness spread toward them, sucking all light from the room.
The man drew his family away, stepping in front of them like a shield.
“We won’t harm anyone!” he promised this time, firmer.
Signa believed him. Still, she’d have to be cautious. All spirits who remained in the mortal world were held by an intense emotion or strong desire. For Thaddeus, he’d wanted to read all the books in the library, while Lillian had wanted to save her daughter and find her killer. Magda had remained because she was bitter and jealous and all-around terrible. It wasn’t a surprise that some of those who had died here at Foxglove might be fueled by vengeance.
Signa had no belladonna left, and even if she did, the cost of slipping into her reaper form had become too great. Even now she could feel the weariness in her bones, as though she’d aged ten years within minutes. But the spirits didn’t need to know that, let alone understand how her powers worked. They needed only to understand that she was a threat, and the weight of what she could do. She held her hand out, and at once the windows slammed shut, the darkness retreating.
“I am a reaper.” Signa imagined that she was Blythe as she iced over her glare. “I am the night incarnate, the ferrier of souls.” They were the same words that Death had spoken to her all those months ago, on the night of Percy’s death. She’d held them within her for so long, languishing his words. It was time for them to ring true. “Death is at my command. You three would be wise to remember that, and to tell the other spirits as much. Should one try to raise a hand against me or any of my visitors or staff, I will not hesitate to strike. This is my home, and if anyone here does not wish to abide by my rules, they should leave now. Should they break my rules, they will leave without choice, and there will be no future for them. No afterlife. Do you understand?”
Not a single one of the spirits blinked their wide eyes. The younger girl even gripped her father by the sleeve before he nodded to Signa.
Only then did Signa allow herself to turn from them, and toward Death.
“Please give the others that same warning,” she said, bowing her head in a silent thanks as she felt the cold slip away from her, understanding that Death had gone to do just that. Only then, as warmth slipped back into the room as the trio of spirits eased in the absence of Death’s presence, did Signa feel the prickle of eyes along her skin and know there was another watching her even now. She tried to snatch a glance at it, though as she turned, Signa saw only the hem of a dress disappear.
It was the same dress she’d seen when she’d arrived. Not a curtain billowing in the wind as she’d hoped, nor the spirit that had tried to kill her, but someone entirely new. Someone who’d been watching her from the moment she’d entered Foxglove.
Signa didn’t spare the trio another look as she crossed the floor to follow it toward a winding hall.
Though Signa knew better than to chase a spirit—though she had learned her lesson the night she’d followed Lillian into the garden and knew how foolish this was—it seemed that old habits died hard. Because at the end of the hall, Signa followed the faint flickers of blue that urged her forward, deeper and deeper into the bowels of Foxglove.
TWENTY-SEVEN
BLYTHE
IF ONE WANTED TO UNCOVER THE LATEST GOSSIP, THERE WERE TWO places to look:
First, the help. Not because they had any time for gossip, but because they were closest to a household’s best-kept secrets. Considering that so much of Thorn Grove’s staff was new, though, it didn’t seem there was anyone Blythe might be able to con into gossiping with her about what rumors they might have heard in town. Unfortunately, that meant she had to rely solely on her second source—the ladies of the season, who had entirely too much time for gossip, and loved to share whatever tidbits they’d picked up even if they were little more than flaking crumbs.