Page 48 of A City of Smoke and Demons
He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘No, we don’t. But you might.’
‘Me?’ Analise spluttered, almost dropping her tea.
Jem leant forward, his face alive with the possibility of it. ‘We know death magic can free a Familiar from Asmael’s grip. We know how to kill demons. If we can remove some of Asmael’s power by removing his puppets—’
‘It’s the end of days!’ Analise cut in. She set her tea down with shaking fingers. ‘And even if death magic could help, I’monewitch who has no idea what she is doing.’
‘Alright,’ Jem acknowledged, sitting back. ‘But you can possibly help us.’ He held up a hand, forestalling her argument, and turned to Ezra. ‘You, we will need.’
Ezra raised his eyebrows. ‘I’m not hunting death witches again.’
‘No, but how about demons?’ Jem asked.
‘Sure, why not,’ Ezra said. ‘Can’t be too difficult.’
Analise opened her mouth to tell him he was an idiot, but then she saw it—the tension in his face, the rigid way he was holding himself, the curling of his fists.
He was scared.
‘We’ll train you, Ez,’ Jem said, and Analise realised he saw what she did. He stood, saying he needed to get to work, and was gone with a directive that they should spend some time reading; it was only then that Analise noticed he’d left a pocket-sized volume of the Book on the table.
She hadn’t looked at a copy of it since leaving the convent, but she hadn’t needed to. She slid the tiny, leather-bound copy towards Ezra, then left, her head spinning.
After two days, Analise was going stir-crazy, the weight of her thoughts felt like it would cave her skull in. She refused to think about what Jem said, but her brain kept spinning back to it anyway. The end of days. The thing she read about as a child and was so terrified of she’d started having nightmares. But worse than the apocalypse was the idea that she could somehow help stop it.
Analise laughed because, if she didn’t, she’d cry.
She needed everything to stop so she could catch up. She needed a drink. She wasn’t sure she’d taken an actual full breath since leaving the safe house. Her muscles were bunched tight, her spine stiff. The last time she’d felt relaxed was … on her back on a table. Analise groaned, rubbing her eyes until spots danced behind her lids. Everything going to shit was a stark reminder of why she was reclusive. People were hard. They were messy and complex and capable of lifting those around them up, then ripping the foundations of their new world into dust.
She’d let her guard down, and he’d filled the silences in her head, silences Analise hadn’t realised needed filling. Those silences were gaping holes again, deep, dark and without an end. If she fell into one of them, would she be able to crawl out again?
The other thing that had her on edge was how easily her magic leapt to the surface when she was angry. When she closed her hand over Ezra’s wrist and plunged her magic into him, she was taken aback at how simple it would have been to snatch his life. The anger that lived inside her was fuelling her magic. She wasn’t a stranger to anger—there was plenty in the world to be angry with—but it was the anger at herself that was proving hardest to deal with.
Now she was a prisoner once again. This was worse than the safe house. There was too much space, too much going on. She’d stayed in her room when the club was open, having no desire to go downstairs and mix with the crowd. Ezra did. She’d heard him saunter out of his room and wander off, picking up the pieces of his life as if nothing had happened.
She couldn’t do that when her old life was being held hostage. Analise stripped her nightdress off and pulled on her clothes, choosing trousers. The doors were alarmed and guarded, but Maddog hadn’t said anything about the windows. She chewed her lip as she tucked her shirt in. There was only one person in this building who could possibly help her, but he was the lastperson she wanted to ask. She opened her window, peering out. A two-storey drop greeted her. It wasn’t that bad, except her window was directly above a large pile of garbage. Wrinkling her nose, Analise stepped away, snatching up her coat and boots and taking herself to Ezra’s room.
When he finally answered the door, Analise pushed past him, going straight to the window. Without a word, she ripped it open and stuck her head out. No rubbish.
‘Why can’t you throw yourself out your own window?’ Ezra grumbled; a match flared as he lit a lamp. ‘It’s the middle of the night, Analise.’
‘Because I’m climbing out, and you’re going to help me,’ she answered, perching on the end of his bed to put her boots on. The room was slowly filling with golden light.
‘I am, am I?’ He folded his arms. ‘Why would I do that?’
‘I need to go back to the lodging house. I don’t own much, but I want my clothes, damn it. I’m sick of wearing these things that don’t fit.’ She tugged at her too-big blouse for emphasis.
‘This is a terrible idea, and Jem will likely kill the both of us,’ Ezra sighed. He dragged his hand through his hair, the muscles of his stomach shifting with the movement. Analise looked away. ‘Although, on second thoughts, he’d probably be quick about it. You’d make me suffer.’
‘You’d deserve it.’
‘Do you want my help or not?’ He sounded tired, defeated, not his usual, cocky self. That was her fault, she reasoned, but she had the right to say the things she did.
‘Believe me, if there was any other way, I’d take it,’ she mumbled, sneaking a look at him.
He was glaring at her now, features rigid and his voice was sharp. ‘You didn’t tell me what you were either. You had the chance, and you didn’t tell me.’
Analise’s cheeks heated. ‘You already knew, though, didn’t you?’
