Page 54 of Heir of Illusion

Thorne’s voice pulls me out of my haze, snapping the chord that was tugging me toward the house. I face the reaper, finding him staring at me with concern.

“Sorry,” I mutter, blinking several times to clear my mind. “Just tired.”

His eyes narrow. “I thought you said you slept perfectly?”

I give him a bland look. “I lied.”

He gasps, pretending to be shocked.

“Get used to it,” I tell him. “I do it all the time.”

“For such a beautiful angel, your hobbies veer toward the demonic.”

I shrug. “Even angels have their vices.”

“Trust me, I’m aware,” he murmurs, a faint note of sadness ringing in his tone.

Before I can ask what he means, he starts walking. I follow behind him, but I can’t stop myself from glancing back at the house one last time. Movement in the upstairs window catches my attention.

The outline of a person stands on the other side of the glass, hidden by shadows. My skin tingles as a familiar awareness settles over me. They’re watching us.

“Coming?” Thorne calls.

I drag my gaze away, finding him several feet ahead of me. “Yeah.”

His eyes harden as he shifts his attention to the house. I glance back, stiffening when I notice the upstairs window is now empty.

Brushing off the paranoia, I force myself to keep walking. After a few minutes, we turn a corner, and the Darby house comes into view. It’s small, but the contrast between this home and the previous one is striking. And when compared to the residences that line the outskirts of the Lowers, this is practically a mansion. It’s not extravagant by any sense of the word, but you can tell those who live here take care of what’s theirs.

Two soldiers stand guard outside the house. Recognizing me, they bow their heads and let us pass immediately. A few seconds after we knock on the door, it swings open to reveal a mortal woman.

Alice Darby appears to be in her early thirties. It’s clear that she’s usually quite pretty, but recent events have taken their toll. Her dirty blonde hair is tied back by a ribbon, though at least half of it has come loose. Based on the wrinkled state of her simple dress, I’d say she slept in it. Dark circles haunt her bloodshot eyes as they stare right through us. It’s remarkable the impact heartbreak can have on the body after only one day.

In this moment, I hate Grell Darby for putting her through this.

“Hello, Mrs. Darby. I’m Iverson Pomeroy.” I speak to her in a soothing tone, noting the spark of recognition when she hears my name. Even in the Lowers, people are aware of the king’swraith. “This is my associate, Thorne. We’re here to speak with you about your husband.”

“He’s not home,” she says harshly, trying to slam the door.

I catch it with my hand, using my strength to hold it open. “We were hoping to ask you some questions about him, if that’s alright?”

She glares at me for a few more moments before her shoulders slump. Mrs. Darby steps away from the door, leaving it open for us to follow her.

The inside of their home is warm. The bottom floor is a single room, divided by a half wall separating the kitchen and seating area. I’d guess there are two bedrooms upstairs. The furnishings are dated but well-made. Bright yellow curtains hang in front of the windows, adding life to the room. On the floor, a handmade doll sits with her back to the wall, a tiny wooden tea cup knocked over by her feet.

I spot three oil lamps scattered through the room. With poverty rampant in this part of the city, many families are lucky to have a single candle to chase away the night. Clearly the Darby’s are doing well for themselves.

Or they were.

“We’re sorry to bother you this early, Mrs. Darby.”

“Not sorry enough to leave,” she mutters while gesturing for us to take a seat on the small couch.

We both ignore the loud screech as she slowly drags a chair over from the kitchen, positioning it across from us before plopping down in it. Thorne catches my eye, nodding toward the corner where two travel bags sit on the floor.

“Planning a trip?” he asks impassively.

She shakes her head. “I’m sending my children to stay with my parents, not that it’s any of your business.”

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