Page 22 of Shades of Silver City

Anything to distract myself.

Clearing the thickness from my throat, I force myself to ask, “Where are we?”

“Believe it or not,” he says, “I was saving your life. Then and now.”

“I don’t need your saving,” I mutter. “I needed you to not get me in this situation in the first place.”

“You think I’m the reason why you’re in this position?”

“No shit.” I frown. “You’re a serial killer. You killed that girl, and now you’re after me for catching you.”

It sounds ridiculous even to me.

He scoffs. “You’re a terrible liar. We both know you don’t really believe that.”

“Fine,” I say, gritting my teeth. But it’s only because of his soul-shade that I know he’s not the one who murdered the girl. I’d be hard-pressed to believe he’s hurt anyone…but then again, the fact that he knocked me out and had a crony tie me up is questionable.

Can I really trust the colors of the soul-shades after all? What if my dad’s interpretation was wrong?

The rope finally gives, freeing my legs. He grunts with success. I have half a mind to knee him right in his pretty mouth. I’m sure I can get the right angle and summon enough power to knock him out. Maybe even take a few of those pearly whites out in the process.

Fuck it.

I launch my knee toward his face, but he shoots up and takes a step back, getting out of reach right before I can make contact. I growl, squirming in the chair—my arms still bound behind me.

“Savage,” he says exasperatedly. “You do realize I’m trying to free you, right?”

Without waiting for a response, he rounds the chair and tugs on the rope around my wrists. Every time his fingers skim my skin, it sends sparks through me.

And each spark fuels my burgeoning fury.

“Hurry up,” I command.

“Savage and demanding.” He exhales a heavy breath and tugs a bit more forcefully.

The rough scraping sound of blade on rope fills the air, but it’s not enough to drown out the thumping of my pulse in my skull.

The longer I’m stuck here, unable to move, the more I feel like that broken little girl in the closet. The one I’ve spent the last thirteen years trying to heal.

He stands, but instead of moving to cut my arms loose, he leans his head to the side and regards me carefully. There’s a lengthy pause before he says, “You saw the Reaper.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He sighs. “No sense in lying.”

My lips tighten. When the Reaper inhaled my parents’ souls, I was the only one who saw. The room was flooded with Silver Scouts and other unnamed authorities that day, but no one noticed the dark, hooded figure hovering above my parents’ bodies.

No one saw their souls being stolen.

It was easy to repress the memory of the soul-sucking creature, considering I didn’t see him again.

Until tonight.

“I’m not going to tell anyone,” the Phantom says softly, pulling me from my thoughts. “That’s what you’re worried about, right?”

My brows shoot up in surprise before I neutralize the expression on my face.

Magic is banned in the city; I’d be executed just like my parents if the Scouts knew of my ability. It doesn’t matter that it’s artificial magic—injected by my faeologist father.

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