Page 46 of The Girl Who Inherits the Dead

“Or whoever you actually are,” Delina pushes on, and there’s still the knot of hurt in her chest, pounding. “I’m not delusional enough to think I’m easy to get along with, even before finding out that my bio-mother is apparently a psychopath. But you don’t have to try now, I don’t have to believe you, you don’t have to pretend to like me.”

He hesitates, watching her from underneath his unfairly long lashes.

“It does explain why you were so willing to stick around when I was awful,” Delina says, poking at the remnants of her sandwich again. If she’s supposed to be hungry after the morning, it hasn’t kicked in yet. “I bet the paycheck helped with that.”

The silence, with that briefly glowing rune, now itches underneath her skin. Something, anything, besides his lack of words would be welcome.

Suddenly, Gurlien sits at the booth right next to Maison, startling them both, and Chloe slides in on Delina’s side.

“The problem with silencing spells is you need to be aware of your environment so you don’t miss something,” Gurlien says, and Maison flinches, like the sudden noise is too much. “We were calling your names from across the shop, you asshole.”

Chloe pokes at the rune, and it glows briefly at her touch. “Why’d you go with this one?”

Outside the table, the world is still silent, still muffled, and Delina has to crane her neck to look out, just to make sure.

“Because people get disgruntled when you start to throw around the word demon all over the place,” Maison says, before something pokes at Delina’s brain.

Something wrong, like something at the base of her neck, brushing against her awareness.

She turns and looks at Chloe, who’s inspecting the rune still, like it says more to her than it does to Delina.

And in her backpack, in a small plastic, airless container like a coffin, wedged between an extra jacket and a thin metal clipboard, is something dead.

Delina breathes out, and it’s the small fly that Maison killed in his bubble, now perfectly preserved in the plastic container.It’s still, entirely motionless, and one of the wings must’ve bent on its fall to the ground.

Chloe finally glances up at her, raising a sharp eyebrow, then shakes her head at her.

Message clear. Don’t talk about it.

14

The fly sticks in the back of her mind the entire drive back, warping and pulling at her thoughts, until she thinks she’s going to vibrate out of her skin with the knowledge of it.

Chloe chats like it’s nothing big, and whatever she’s doing must not be giving off any of the trackable Necromancy vibes because Maison remains calm, though his face is more thoughtful than it usually is.

Normally this is when he’d lock himself in a different room and not emerge until something inconvenient got painted.

The death in the car tugs at her attention, despite all attempts to stop herself from thinking about it, to redirect her mind from obsessing.

It’s gross, it’s disgusting, and by the time they pass the downed tree and come into view of the tiny cabin, her head pounds and her hands tremble.

Gurlien and Chloe had kept up a steady stream of discussion, of magical terminology and history, but she’s retained none of it,and she pushes herself out of the car as fast as she can, barely before the car is off.

Even once past the plasticky door, she can still sense the fly outside, deep in Chloe’s backpack. And what’s worse, now the dead bird is vivid, brilliant and shimmering with potential.

Delina flops over on the couch, and Chance mrrrs at her, blinking his green eyes at her.

The wing on the dead bird is crumpled beneath it, the feathers bent and its spine broken, and even if she touches it, it would never fly again.

Even if she touches it.

She stares down at the cat, who matches the eye contact.

“I don’t want to touch it,” she whispers at Chance, who yawns at her, showing all his fangs. “This is the worst.”

“What is?” Gurlien asks, striding back into the cabin and shedding his rain gear, and Chloe and Maison file in after him. “I think it’s a nice cabin, lack of internet notwithstanding.” He gives her a brief, critical glance, then an obvious one to Chloe’s backpack as she disappears down the hall with it.

So he knows, too.

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