Page 41 of The Girl Who Inherits the Dead

“That’s not a bad sign,” Gurlien says, though he too looks pale. “Look out to the street.”

It takes her a moment to break eye contact with Maison, but she glances out towards the broken pavement and empty buildings.

Flickering in the road, like a drip of a current, is a single line of gold, fluttering merrily along, completely unencumbered by the wind or any physical barriers.

“So there’s a rope?” Delina asks. “Right in the middle of the street.”

“That was easy,” Maison murmurs.

“I didn’t expect Dr. Frisse to do anything by half measures, much less any experiments on her flesh and blood,” Gurlien says, dusting off his hands, though his face is still pinched. “Of course it was easy for her.”

“Congrats, even without the Necromancy you’d be considered powerful, that’s neat,” Chloe says, completely sincerely. “Normally we’d try for a demonstration but…”

“No,” Maison immediately interrupts.

“Yeah,” Chloe finishes lamely. “Not the best idea.”

“There’s a dead mouse—maybe squirrel—in the church,” Delina says, and even though the bones are closer, the mouse reads fresher. More possible.

Like it would take less.

“No,” Maison repeats.

“And bugs in the brush, those seem small,” Delina finishes, raising an eyebrow at Maison. “A lot easier on the mind than all the bones.”

“Oh my god,” Chloe mutters. “Oh my god she’s going to be like this.”

“Though,” Gurlien starts, “why your mother would attempt to give you powers that are close to a death sentence is a bit of a mystery.”

“And if she unlocked the powers but never got trained, she’d absolutely bring down a demon on her within the month,” Chloe continues, which isn’t helpful.

So instead, Delina just focuses on the world around her.

Without the pounding headache, the gold isn’t that bad. Almost pretty, definitely surreal.

Maison’s head isn’t hurting him anymore, though his legs shift restlessly and his shoulders are tight, though she could’ve told him that just by looking at him. Gurlien’s wrist aches—worse in the cold—and the skin on his cheeks is a bit chapped.Chloe herself is a bit headachy, in the sort of lack of caffeine way (despite the espresso and the coffees), maybe dehydration.

“That’s still weird,” Maison says, voice a grumble, the same tone when she made salads for dinner. “Do all necromancers do that?”

“How would I know?” Gurlien asks.

“You’re the one who’s dealt with one before,” Maison responds, though beyond the red glinting in his eyes, he’s thoughtful.

“They hid her from me, I never actually met her, just one of the people she raised,” Gurlien says, and he shakes out his wrist, an unconscious action that momentarily relieves some of the discomfort. “They didn’t like me, remember?”

“Does anyone actually like you?” Maison shoots back, but he narrows his eyes at Delina.

She narrows her eyes right back.

“Tell me,” he says, stalking closer to the circle, which draws Delina’s back up straight. “What do you see when I do this?”

He waves his hand, some elaborate motion, the sort that he’d make fun of on their movie nights, and the ribbon of gold from the street jerks itself over, snapping around his fist.

A shiver races down Delina’s spine.

“Shit,” Chloe mumbles, then grabs a gawking Gurlien by his collar, pulling him a few steps away.

Clearly, it’s meant to impress her, so Delina crosses her arms. “The thing in the street is now in your hand,” she says, pouring every bit of authority she doesn’t feel into the sentence.

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