Page 165 of The Girl Who Inherits the Dead

Slow, deliberately, the man withdraws a gun. A normal, perfectly non-descript gun, and points it directly at Maison’s mother, holding it to her chest.

And he freezes.

“How much do you want to bet you can get your necromancer to her?” the man says, sharp. “Think long and hard about what you’re willing to do, Frederick.”

Maison stares, panic in his eyes, bleeding through the stance of his shoulders.

Chloe backs up, not fully out of their view, already making herself smaller. Making herself unnoticeable, though one of the groups keep their eyes on her.

And the man smiles, satisfied.

Then pulls the trigger.

The bullet punches through Maison’s mother, blood spraying over the small cell.

Too many things happen at the same time.

The demon screams, recoiling away, clapping her hands over her ears.

Gurlien and Chloe jerk back, scrambling away.

Maison’s mom slumps over, whatever spell they put on her to keep in silent, to keep in stasis, breaking. She blinks, once, twice, before her heart gives up, blood pouring out of the artery, too deeply.

Death slams into Delina, close, too close, and she gasps, her ears and eyes filling with it. It sparks behind her mind, drowning out her awareness of anything else.

She staggers, her very balance off.

Maison spasms forward, and the man swings the gun over to him.

“Because if you give up the Necromancer, we’ll have her raise her, and everyone is happy,” the man says, and Maison’s shoulders tighten, despite it all. “They can both survive, and it’s all up to you.”

Maison inhales, terror in every motion, then his eyes flicker back to Delina.

And for a split second, she can tell he considers it. Weighs their chances, weighs what he thinks she can do, before something furious, something subversive, sparks in his eyes.

“What exactly will you do?” Maison asks, turning back to this, and Chloe hisses in anger. “She can raise my mom? You’ll let her?”

And, as he speaks, slow and deliberate, he hides his wrist behind his back, presenting it to Delina. His hand shakes, a tremor through it.

To Delina and to the death still in her hand.

She twists it between her hands, clinging closer to him, still gasping. The entire world narrows to just a pinprick, and there’s the death in her hands and the death just beyond the cell, just out of her reach.

“Oh, we can guarantee many things,” the man says, idly, and Ambra scrambles against the leash to no avail. “Your mom living, the necromancer being out of your hair, and—”

Before she can think twice, Delina loops the rope around Maison’s wrist, and everything sparks into motion.

“Hurt only them!” she yells, and Maison jerks forward, between one breath and the next he’s in the man’s face, ripping the gun from his hand and crushing it in his fist.

The man yells, and everyone bursts into action.

Maison teleports to the bars of the cell, held back by an invisible barrier, then twists back, fear and fury in his eyes. He’s panicking, he’s not thinking clearly, every line of him is scared. His mother’s on the floor, the death so strong Delina can taste it, and he can’t get to her.

Gurlien ducks back, as someone sends a spell snapping through the air, jerking Chloe away from the bolt. Chloe scrabbles for the bag, pulling out the knife.

Maison teleports out of the way of another bolt, all pain gone from his knee, then snaps the neck of the magician who sent it his way, and the death punches through Delina’s awareness, and he tosses the body to her.

Right. Another death for her to take.

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