Page 26 of The Girl Who Inherits the Dead

She doesn’t miss the word ‘we.’

“They let you in?” she asks, and both Chloe and Gurlien wince as Chloe hammers a nail in place, then quickly tucks away a step stool.

“…couldn’t…came in…sorry,” Chloe says, drawing close and sitting on the far edge of the couch, as far away from Maison as she can.

Her toes still hurt in the boots.

“Without the wards, they couldn’t stop me,” Maison supplies at her blank face. “She’s not hearing you guys well.”

“Don’t talk for me,” Delina snaps, though even her own words feel muddy.

Gurlien steps close, the pen light still in his hand, and she leans away from that. “I’ve seen this before,” he says, speaking slowly, and this, at least, she can hear. “The sound processing…in a few hours.”

“You’ll be fine in a few hours,” Maison murmurs, despite her glare.

Delina rubs at her face, and even her skin feels rubbery, her eyes crunchy.

When she thought about getting magic from her mother, she didn’t think it’d be like this.

“Why is everything gold?” she asks, plaintive, and all three give her identical uncomprehending looks. “Everything shines with gold.”

Maison and Gurlien glance at each other, and despite the fact that Gurlien had shot at him and Maison had destroyed a door, there’s still some sense of them knowing each other. Some sense of shared history that she wasn’t a part of.

“That’ll probably go away,” Maison says, though his voice isn’t as declarative as before. “Your body had a shock.”

“Don’t baby me,” Delina says, before shakily reaching for the glass again and missing it completely.

Maison grabs it for her, holding it out, and she considers ignoring it before taking it anyways.

“Why can I hear you?”

“Half-demon,” Gurlien says, slowly and deliberately, and that, at least, she appreciates. “Magic doesn’t …by normal rules.”

“Thanks,” Maison snipes back.

“What does half-demon mean?” Delina asks, before screwing her eyes shut to block out some of the glaring gold.

“I will explain it later,” Maison says, and she peeks an eye open, only to see more of the gold along the edges of his cheekbones and in his soft brown hair. “Tell us your symptoms.”

Both Chloe and Gurlien nod, and Gurlien pulls out a notebook and an honest-to-god fountain pen from the coffee table.

“Chloe is good at figuring things out, and this asshole has a ton of diagnostic knowledge,” Maison continues, gesturing at Gurlien. “If there’s something we can do, they will know.”

She stares at all of them, at the gold everywhere, at her boyfriend who was actually fake and these people she just met, and seriously considers just leaving. Just getting into the tiny sedan and getting out.

“Did you clear the tree?” she asks, instead.

“Not fully,” Maison says, and there’s still the sharp pain in his forehead, itching at her awareness.

“He wouldn’t…to,” Gurlien says, and nothing makes sense still, and she shuts her eyes again.

“Everything’s covered in gold. I’m dizzy, my ears are plugged up, and I can tell your head hurts, your boots are bothering you, and your left wrist is messed up,” Delina says, pointing to each of them, but keeping her eyes closed.

She doesn’t want to see their expressions, so she squeezes her face as small as she can scrunch it, trying to think.

Everything is still too much. Too many things she’s aware of, too many sensations.

“The scribbles in the bathroom are gone—”

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