Page 19 of In Death's Hands
“That’s the only one you’ll get.”
The instant smile brightening her face is almost blinding. Turning to Nathan, she states, “I like her.”
I frown, not liking being talked about as if I’m not here, but focus on Nathan’s tense body. “I’m glad.” His voice is drippingsarcasm, and despite everything, my lips twitch slightly. He seems to catch the movement and his unsettling eyes find mine for a moment. “The men last night were not simply henchmen. Well, the one who instigated his own death by touching you was, but the other was something else altogether.”
I envelop his sentence in bubble wrap to obsess over and examine in detail later. I have more pressing issues. “And that is…?”
“A member of the Novensiles. At least from what I could tell.” He turns to Turan, and I feel colder suddenly, so I burrow myself deeper into the couch. “He had the same dark fingers as the ones we’ve encountered before, the same robe.”
“What do you mean, dark fingers? Like dark skin?” I don’t remember that detail. Or any, for that matter. The cloaked figure is completely blurred in my mind’s eye, which I suppose comes from the terror I felt. I certainly wasn’t focusing enough to register any sort of feature on the man.
“No.” He shakes his head. “No, I’m not talking about the colour of his skin. With the robe he wore and the darkened street, I couldn’t see that. What I saw is fingers the colour of charcoal. Like dead skin.”
My nose wrinkles automatically in disgust. It’s too easy for me to imagine putrid skin around bony fingers. I can almost smell the decaying flesh. What is more difficult for me to grasp is how someone could have dead fingers nowadays. Couldn’t they have been treated? And he made it seem like it was a distinctive characteristic of these Novensiles people. So they have a secret club where only people with damaged fingers can join? Or worse, they have to burn their fingers as a twisted initiation?
I’m so deeply disturbed by my thoughts that I barely catch Turan’s question. “And, like before, you couldn’t—?”
“No,” Nathan answers quickly, cutting her off.
“So how exactly do you know these people, Nathan?” I see Turan frown but stay focused on the confusing man in front of me. “Where have you seen them before? And, more importantly, what the fuck is going on?” My patience is wearing thin. I have put aside a lot of things to process what happened to me, but what I saw just cannot stay locked up anymore. I mean, he was using freaking shadows.
“Whatever do you mean?” asks Turan all too innocently.
“Don’t you start bullshitting me, I’m not an idiot.”
“I never said you were.”
“Then don’t you try and pretend like I imagined everything. You guys are talking about these Novensiles jerks as if they’re a normal part of your day.”
“Trust me, they are not normal,” intervenes Nathan.
“Trust you? Are you serious right now?” He has the good sense to wince. “You appear in my life, saving me not once but three times in the span of, what? Twenty-four hours? And if that’s not insane enough, you wielded shadows! Like… they were moving and everything!” My voice is rising and there’s nothing I can do to calm the emotions pouring out of me. “How is that possible? And how the fuck did you even know about what happened tothem?” Silence is my only answer. Nathan is fixated on me, seeming to wage an internal battle, and I can see Turan at my side looking at him with shock and maybe a bit of disapproval. “Who are you?” I whisper, my tone almost pleading. “Whatare you?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“I’ve spent half my life begging people to believe me. Try me.”
Nathan opens his mouth, and in response I hold my breath, bracing myself for what I know will change everything. There’s a flutter in my belly that I could mistake for excitement, but surely I’m wrong. Who’d be excited by their life turning upside down?
“You cannot be serious,” interrupts Turan, jumping to her feet, startling me.
I forgot she was there for a second, so focused was I on Nathan’s mouth and what was about to come out of it. It seems he did too, for he now looks at her, his face unreadable. I’m certain an argument is about to start, but he quickly turns back to me and says in the calmest voice possible, “I am Death—”
“Nathan!” Turan cries out.
“—’s assistant,” finishes Nathan.
Silence detonates like a bomb between us, shaking everything loose inside me. Even Turan seems at a loss for words, closing her mouth in defeat, her shoulders dropping and her body relaxing. I know I should be scared to be standing in front of a lunatic who believes himself to be Death’s assistant. Am I though? No. No, I am not. Why?
Because I’ve already met his boss.
I know it’s insane. Iknowhow crazy that makes me sound. I also know that “crazy” is not a word people use anymore.
Delusional. Coping mechanism. PTSD. Those are the preferred terms. I even got fantasy-prone personality once. I admit that one was interesting. I know the mandated sessions were meant to help me, I know the state did its very best for me, but doctors are trained for the sensible world. What happens when a child tells you what you believe in is wrong? Well, it starts as a well-meaning readjustment and exercises to deal with your trauma, of which I had a bunch. But the older you grow, the less you can get away with, and when they started me on those awful meds, I learned to keep my mouth shut and say what they wanted me to say. It’s not hard to figure out. The more I complied, the freer I was, until they deemed me healthy enough to not require sessions every week. Things became easier for me after that. It’s hard enough being in a group home—not orphanage, they don’t like that word either—without being forced to go see a psychologist and every kid around you knowing and avoiding you for being crazy.
So I know what Nathan is saying is insane, but it’s also the first thing since the accident that makes sense.
I remember it like it was yesterday. That’s always been the problem. My brain took that day and tattooed it in red in my mind. I cannot escape it. Cannot forget. No matter how many times I wish I could.
