Page 38 of The Girl Who Inherits the Dead

“Target?” Delina asks, and he shrugs.

Gurlien scrolls up, leaning well into Delina’s personal space, until a similar text is in view, then he sits back as well.

Before she can second guess if it’s smart, before she can second guess if he’s telling the truth this time, she types it out and presses send.

And, just minutely, Maison’s shoulders relax. Just enough that she could only tell because she watches.

“You should have verified more,” Gurlien says, but he sighs, grabbing at his coffee instead. “We’re still going to turn your phone off before we get to the cabin.”

“Sure,” Maison replies.

After a brief time todrink the rest of their coffees, Gurlien drives them to a derelict corner on the outskirts of the small town.

“Oh,” Maison says, as they once more step out into the chill. “I see why you picked this place for the test.” He bounces on his toes, eyes alight.

Delina eyes it. There’s a run down, boarded up church on one corner, a burnt-out husk of a restaurant, and what looks like a house nobody has lived in for years, blackberry brambles growing up the sides of the brick.

The rain has settled into a fine mist, squashing all sound, as if they are the only people within miles. The pavement is cracked, and dead leaves blow across the street.

Chloe conspicuously heaves the backpack off of her shoulders, unzipping it and settling it at her feet.

“Okay,” Gurlien says clinically, “this is going to have three parts. One,” he holds up a finger, “we’re going to see what you naturally sense without any augmentation. Two, we’re going toput a small amplification circle, and then you’re going to try again. The third…” he trails off, glancing at Maison, who’s giving him absolutely nothing to go off of. “The third will depend on the first two.”

“But there will be three parts,” Chloe chimes in. “Standard beginning test when you find someone in adulthood.”

“Not quite standard,” Maison grumbles.

All three of them watch Delina, all of the sudden, and if she could be swallowed up by the pavement she would. “Okay…?”

“Close your eyes and tell us what you feel,” Gurlien says, and Chloe’s nodding. “Yes, this is vague. That’s important.”

With one last glance to Maison—he looks distinctly unhappy—Delina lets her eyes shut, and focuses on her breathing. Focuses on reaching for that strange bit in her mind that feels like a loose tooth, like she has to worry at it until she figures it out.

Immediately, there’s a gut punch of awareness, right past the church, blossoming and growing until all she can perceive is…there. Something on the other side of the church, many somethings, old somethings, laying cold in the ground, the dirt crawling over with damp and bugs and mold and moss and—

“Stop,” Maison’s clear voice commands, and she pops her eyes open, and wobbles. “This is unnecessary.”

“Do you want a surprised magician only using instinct? Because unless we learn specifics, it’s going to be instincts only and that is not going to be a good thing the first time she gets in danger,” Gurlien shoots back. “Delina, what did you tell?”

She opens her mouth to speak, but everything’s dry, like she fell asleep in the Arizona sun for too long.

Maison’s eyes reflect red at her, inhuman and bright, but he crosses his arms and huffs, his breath puffing out in the chill air.

“There’s something in the ground behind the church,” she says, shakily. “I don’t…”

Maison glares over at Gurlien. “We don’t have to do more, Delina, you can sit down.”

Well now she’s not going to, so she shifts until her feet are stronger underneath her, until she doesn’t wobble, then strides off towards the church.

A rickety wooden fence, half broken, surrounds the back property, back where the crawling sense of horror pulled at her. She ducks underneath one shattered beam, the throat clawing tightness just getting worse.

“Delly,” Maison catches her by the elbow again, and this time, another crackling spark hits him, but he barely flinches. “Delly, don’t…”

She rips her arm out of his grip. “Don’t touch me.”

Inside…is a graveyard. Cracked tombstones, overcome with moss and blackberry brambles, the dirt rich and black.

And underneath them…

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