Page 55 of Heir of Illusion

“It is my business, actually.” He leans forward, resting an elbow on his knee. “Considering the item your husband stole was promised to the God of Death.”

Mrs. Darby’s eyes widen at that news.

“D-Death?” she stammers.

“Yes. And since I speak with his authority, you’d be wise to be forthcoming.”

The room darkens as shadows creep along the walls and stretch over the floorboards. Mrs. Darby’s face pales, her chin quivering as she glances toward the stairs, no doubt worried for her children. As the shadows continue spreading over the ground, getting closer to us, she lifts her feet onto her chair, hugging her knees to her chest with shaking hands.

“My lord?” I instill as much condescension as I can into the title.

Slowly, he turns his head toward me, his eyes colder than I’ve seen them.

I arch a single brow. “Are the dramatics necessary?”

“I’m merely ensuring she understands the gravity of the situation,” he explains. “And who she’d be angering if she chooses to lie to us.”

I nod toward Mrs. Darby, who’s currently rocking back and forth in her seat while she whispers muffled prayers to the Fates.

“I’d say she gets it.”

The reaper follows my gaze and shrugs. “Fair enough.”

The shadows immediately recede, shrinking back into the corners like a predator in hibernation. The mortal woman releases a loud exhale, both hands covering her racing heart. I offer her a warm smile, hoping in vain to reassure her.

“Mrs. Darby, would you mind if my associate takes a look around while you and I talk?”

Thorne’s head whips in my direction. “And why would I do that?”

I offer him a bright smile. “Because I asked you to.”

He watches me for a few moments, annoyance battling with something else I don’t recognize.

“Fair enough,” he says, echoing his earlier words.

I turn back to Mrs. Darby. “Well?”

“You’re giving me a choice?” she asks, shock evident in her voice.

I wonder if her thoughts are turning toward how she was treated yesterday morning, when soldiers busted through her door without asking. I remember the day soldiers stormed into my home and ripped my entire world apart. How helpless it made me feel to not be given a choice. Shame curls in my stomach. Putting on a mask of politeness doesn’t make me better than them.

“No, ma’am,” I whisper. “I’m not.”

“Then I guess it’s fine,” she says, waving off the demand. I imagine she’s reached the stage where she’s tired of fighting useless battles.

Thorne rises from the couch and wanders into the kitchen. He disappears behind the half wall, creating the illusion that we’re alone now. I appreciate him letting me take the lead on this interview, since his cold demeanor hasn’t been much help here.

But he’s not cold with you, my subconscious protests.

He was last night, I remind myself.

Shaking away the thought, I return my focus to the matter at hand. “Do you know where your husband is?”

She shakes her head.

“Have you noticed any odd behavior from him recently?”

Mrs. Darby shrugs, avoiding my eyes.

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