Page 13 of The Girl Who Inherits the Dead

Gurlien carries three mugs—all chipped and worn—and sets them on the coffee table next to the gun. Chloe doesn’t stop staring at Delina like she’s going to grow an extra head.

“You do have a boyfriend, though, right?” Chloe asks, after they all take a few sips of the coffee in silence. “We know they assigned someone to you.”

“Don’t know who, though,” Gurlien says, tucking his legs underneath him on the giant armchair. He’s still wearing pressed slacks, completely out of place in the rustic cabin.

Chloe, at least, is wearing functional overalls, and the pockets clink with tools.

“Yes,” Delina forces herself to say. “Found out about that fourteen hours ago, too.”

“That’s rough,” Chloe replies immediately, and it’s just enough sympathy that the hard shell of Delina’s composure starts to crack. “How’d he react?”

“Oh, I didn’t tell him,” Delina says, clutching the warm mug against her icy fingers. “I just…left.”

It still feels weird to say.

“What’s his name?” Gurlien asks, clinical even over coffee. “What, we need to know who we’re up against.”

“You think he’s going to follow me?” Delina asks, blinking at him.

“If his whole job was preventing you from finding out about your mother, he’s going to try to collect you,” Gurlien says. “Drag you off to the College and wash his hands of you.”

“Oh my god, Gurlien,” Chloe mumbles.

“So us knowing who we have to defend this place against would be helpful,” Gurlien continues. “Chloe’s good with traps, she can ward this place all to hell.”

“Ward?” Delina asks, and they both sigh.

“Just…what’s his name?” Chloe asks, way more gentle than Gurlien. “We both used to be in the College, we probably knew him, so we can plan.”

So these strangers probably knew Maison as well.

Knew him better than she ever did.

“Maison Shutze,” Delina says, and it feels like a confession.

The two people in front of her give her identical blank looks.

“So a code name.” Gurlien recovers first. “What does he look like?”

The entire conversation tugs at the sadness in her chest, but she wills her composure back into place. “Brown hair, grey eyes, about six feet tall? Has a dimple on the right side of his chin and freckles on his chest?”

Still nothing.

“He’s an artist.” she continues, her voice tilting up. “Works in graphic design?”

“Devin, Freddy, or Lutes, what do you think?” Chloe remarks, picking up a pen from the coffee table and drumming it against her leg.

“Devin would be the easiest option. If it’s Frederick, we’re fucked,” Gurlien says, and Delina’s known him for all of an hour and swear words still seem out of place in his mouth. “Lutes would give up, though, so maybe that’s better.”

“Devin is the best looking, though,” Chloe says, still drumming the pen, the muffled thumping noise horrible. “If I was to send a boyfriend to a mark for a long term, I’d pick the handsome one.”

“He is good with snares,” Gurlien remarks, and it’s like they’re discussing the weather. “He could have trapped her in a seduction spell, then got close to her.”

“Ew,” Chloe says.

Delina carefully sets the coffee on the side table away from the gun, then rubs her face. “I have pictures on my Facebook,” she says.

“Yes, because the internet works here,” Gurlien says. “Please tell me you left your phone elsewhere?”

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