Page 103 of The Girl Who Inherits the Dead

In the dim light of the flashlight, still held by the befuddled bartender, Korhonen points a lazy finger at him. “Kill the witness.”

The woman grabs at the air, clenching her fist and yanking, and the bartender’s neck snaps.

Just snaps.

The death punches through Delina, and she reels back, her butt thumping onto the floor behind the table, gasping.

For a few brilliant seconds, all she can see is the death, sharp against her awareness, closing around her throat.

Before the light from the phone clatters to the bar top, casting shadows through the entire bar, and everything stills.

“Good job, Frederick, at keeping some life insurance around,” Korhonen says, as Maison crouches next to Delina, his eyes wide. “We weren’t sure if she’d bother to bring you back.”

“Where is she?” the woman asks, her voice high and lilting, and goosebumps prickle at Delina’s arms. “I could tell she’s here, where is she?”

Maison settles a hand on Delina’s collarbone, keeping her down as she gapes at the death clouding through her mind.

Dimly, she sees Chloe crouching behind another overturned table, her bag in her hand, and Gurlien pressed against a cornerin the wall, just barely out of sight between the corner and a broken pinball machine.

“Capture the demon and the necromancer if you can, and dispose of the rest,” Korhonen says, still casually, as if he’s ordering a drink from the now limp bartender, when the body is still warm. “Have fun.”

All Delina can see is the shadow of the two of them, and the woman straightens, lifting her chin.

“Delina, demon,” Maison whispers down at her, and Delina squeezes her eyes shut, in some attempt to block out the death still drowning out every other sensation. “I don’t know how they can see her, but that’s a demon.”

She nods at him.

There’s death in the bugs on the floor, death in the room with the bartender, and the mouse one building over, and Delina breathes out her nose and concentrates on the closest one.

A bug, some sort of moth, desiccated by time until it’s almost dust, but the glimmering sort of gold still tugs behind Delina’s stomach.

It’s worse, doing this while her head still swims from the shots.

A snap of magic cracks out, harmlessly splintering a chair on the other side of the room, away from all of them.

Like the woman—the demon—can’t see them.

In the dim light of the flashlight still on the bar, Maison’s brow furrows, like it doesn’t make sense to him either.

But they can’t just wait for this demon to find them, to slowly destroy the furniture until they’re revealed, and she sees Chloe come to the same conclusion at the same time, locking eyes with her.

Chloe nods, then gestures with her chin to Gurlien, who shuts his eyes as if steeling himself up, taking his phone out of his pocket, like that can do anything.

Inhaling, Delina glances up at Maison, then lets her eyes fall to the dead bug. She doesn’t know if he can see it, if he can tell what she’s going to do, but he’s spooling up the magic in his hands, as if gathering ammo.

She’ll need cover, she’ll need distraction, the nearest death is still in the demon’s eyesight. It’s a horrible calculation, settling heavy in her stomach.

“Something’s wrong with her,” Maison breathes out, brows furrowing. “This is wrong.”

It’s wrong on many levels, but she’s not going to doubt him right now.

Maison twists more of the magic between his fingers, eyes reflecting red in the dim light, a detached expression settling over his face, and she hates it. Never wants to see it again. Wants to give him a life where he doesn’t have to think of violence, doesn’t have to make the decisions to defend her like this.

Then, his face screwed up, Gurlien steps out of the corner.

“How’d you find us?” Gurlien asks, and the magic cracks against the drywall next to his head, the shadow of the demon pivoting to face him.

Gurlien jerks his hand up, the flashlight on his phone shining directly into her eyes, and she recoils back once more.

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