Page 35 of All Hallows Masque

“Sorry,” I croaked, fingers scrabbling at the choker, trying to prise the metal edges from my skin.

“I’m not sure you mean it, darling,” she murmured, shaking her head.

I choked down a sob and rasped, “I’m really sorry, Cruelty. I mean it. I won’t snap again. Promise.”

“You better,” she replied in a dark tone, not extending her pinky for a promise this time. I gulped down air when the choker loosened, my neck throbbing and hot with blood.

“Moving on,”she said breezily, brushing off her anger and smiling as brightly as ever as she draped an arm over my shoulder.

I plucked a wine shot from a nearby server’s tray and threw it back. My eyes fell to the body on the floor, though I’d been fighting the urge to look. It wasn’t Death, it was a vaguely familiar man with a prominent moustache and explorer vibes. I’d seen him tonight while making the rounds, and now he was dead. On second thoughts, I dropped the empty glass on the tray and took another.

“Pick one man,” Cruelty said, sweeping her arm at all the gathered people. “And as a little apology, I’ll let you spend one hour with him tomorrow.”

Choose the man in green. Or you’ll regret it.

I scanned the crowd until I found the man in dark, velvet green, but the thought of spending an hour with a stranger made me want to scream. And no matter how many times Cruelty tricked me, no matter how dark her magic turned, I didn’t want to get closer toanyof these people. None of them felt right. The only one who had was dead at my feet, and no longer smelled like Death, no longer looked like my husband. All a big, fucking lie. I had to swallow a scream of fury.

Pick one man. Choose the man in green.

I wanted to rip my hair out, or rip Cruelty’s throat out. The only person in the room who didn’t make me feel like crying, screaming, killing, or throwing up was the bartender, and I’d been so snappish to him he probably didn’t like me anymore.

My eyes slid over the velvet and silk sea, over the perfectly painted faces, the elaborate masks, until I found dark silver fabric and mousy curls. He was the only person I could stand, so even though he wasn’t Death, it made sense to choose him. It was the only option.

I threw back my second wine shot, needing the boost of courage, and turned to Cruelty. “I choose—”

The rich bouquet turned to copper on my tongue, and I choked, staggering back. Blood. The wine had turned to blood. My stare flew to Cruelty—this had her magic written all over it—in time to see her glare from me to the bartender. Alfie.

I brushed her arm off and lunged through the crowd, ignoring the way the room had gone hazy, my stomach warm like I had more than a few drinks. Like I gulped down the whole bottle. Drugged, I knew instantly, but that didn’t stop me pushing through the tight press of Cruelty’s puppets, my eyes fixed on that gunmetal mask, the anger flattening his mouth into a firm line.

“You chose wrong, Kitty,” Cruelty said somewhere behind me, her tone too even to interpret. Was she furious? Was shedisappointed? Was she already scheming new ways to hurt me? I knew the answer to that last one was yes, but it didn’t matter as much as getting through the crowd to Alfie.

I shook my head to cast off the blurriness moving too quickly through my system. I needed to think clearly, to remember everything he’d ever said. He was certain none of my men were here, but he knew them. He hadn’t seen them in this room, but he’dseenthem. Cruelty rarely used the word husband. She said she had mybonded one.My heartbeat slowed against my will, my head fuzzy.No.I needed to hold on long enough to reach him, to demand the truth.

Are you the one she’s keeping from me? Are you bound to me, like Madde was bound to me without me knowing? Is she hurting you, torturing you? Are you mine?

The dizziness swept in from all sides. It stole me away before I could reach him.

22

Death

Mort stamped her hooves under me, letting out a cry of alarm at the opaque white fog in all directions. No landmarks, no buildings, no people. It was an endless sea of mist, and none of my loves were here.

I stroked the shadow horse’s neck, letting her feel only confidence from me, and slid a sidelong glance at the man who rode beside me. He’d been my companion since I woke up with a killer headache, alone except for Mort and the fog that stretched in all directions. He found me a few hours later, and explained this empty place as best as he could.

I call it Exile, but if it has a name, there’s never been anyone here to tell me. You’re only the second person to arrive in a thousand years. I’m the first.

“Jermaine,” he said, drawing my attention. He refused to call me Death, and refused to answer to his own aspect, not that he’d tell me who he’d been. All he’d tell me was his name was Ender,he’d broken a cardinal rule, and was exiled here. Like I had, according to him.

“Yes?” I asked, turning to face him.

Like me, he looked like flesh and blood, not made of mist like everything else in this place. He appeared to be in his late thirties, and he was both healthy and muscular, with rugged features darkened by stubble, tanned skin, and intense black eyes that currently speared me with a disgruntled glare.

“We’re going the wrong way,” he complained.

I shook my head, unable to explain the feeling in my gut. Weneededto go this way. We’d been riding for days, maybe even weeks, but this was the first time I’d felt this urge and I wasn’t about to ignore it, even if it made my new ally irritated.

“Something’s pulling me this way.” I urged Mort on, and she obeyed.

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