Page 110 of The Girl Who Inherits the Dead

“Yeah,” Gurlien says, voice weary, before he rubs his eyes again. “Sorry, Maison.”

“I get it,” Maison says, though his jaw is tight, before he shifts away until he can lean against Delina. “You should absolutely eat something before you try to sleep.”

As if sleep is something that’ll happen at this point.

“Don’t really think I can keep anything down,” Delina attempts at a joke and immediately regrets it, everyone suddenly staring at her. “I…I killed someone? I’ve never done that? I think I’m still drunk? I don’t…”

Chloe tromps over to the kitchen and comes back with a chocolate bar, shoving it in Delina’s hands, before she sits in front of Gurlien, handing him the tweezers and pointing at her shoulder. “Fix please.”

“Yeah, okay,” Gurlien says, still a bit numb. “Sorry.”

Chloe nods, yanking down the collar of her undershirt, so he can see the mess better.

This close, it’s a bloody pulp and Delina can see what might be a muscle.

“Should you go to the hospital?” Delina asks, and Maison takes the chocolate bar from her, opening it for her.

“They’re absolutely going to look at the hospitals,” Chloe says, grim. “I’ve had worse, I’ll get better.”

Another silence descends on the cabin.

“Well, at least now we know I can fight,” Delina attempts at a joke, even though the horror still crawls under her skin. “I’m not just…helpless.”

“Jesus Christ,” Gurlien mutters.

Despite the exhaustion,despite the ghost numbness that steals over her if she’s not thinking too hard, despite the now acute hangover, Delina can’t sleep, tossing and turning in the giant bed, alone.

Oh, she’s not alone at being unable to sleep. Maison’s sitting up on the couch in the other room, back rod straight, the catcurled up on his lap. Chloe’s down in the basement, next to the dead fly, on one of those rolling chairs. Gurlien’s awake in his room, pacing the small distance, back and forth.

She’s not sure the last time she’s felt so tired, but closing her eyes just brings back an almost unnamable sort of terror, so she peels herself off the bed, clutching one of the blankets around her shoulders to ward off the chill, and kicks open the door to the living room.

Maison’s not surprised to see her awake, that’s for sure, but he doesn’t get up, the cat too nestled on his lap.

Delina blinks at him in the dim light, before grabbing a water from the kitchen and joining him on the couch.

He shifts, just enough so she can curl her legs underneath herself, tugging the blanket around her.

It’s quiet, beautifully quiet, before Maison breathes out, pointing towards the window. “It started snowing a bit ago,” he whispers, and through the gap in the floral curtains, there’s just a hint of falling snow.

“Will that affect the demon trap?” Delina asks, but he’s already shaking his head. “Oh.”

“If anything, it’ll make it less visible to normal humans,” Maison says, and there’s something sad on his face. “Just uncrossable for demons.”

“That’s good,” Delina says, and Chance the cat yawns, stretching out his paw just enough so he touches Delina’s knee. “Have you…have you had to kill someone before?”

Maison swallows, then nods.

“Does it get less weird?”

He shakes his head, firmly, before he equivocates. “Less weird, yes. Less awful, no.”

“Who did you kill?” Delina asks, almost desperately, the need for some sort of knowledge tugging at her. “What did they do?”

Maison stills, and in the dim light it's as if he’s carved from stone. “Try to kidnap you,” he says, and his voice is strange, foreign. “A splinter group from the East Coast, they weren’t…they weren’t going to keep you alive.”

“Grim,” Delina says, tugging the blanket tighter.

“You did a good job, at least,” Maison says, still soft. “Didn’t hesitate from what I could see.”

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