Page 8 of Heir of Illusion

My nose wrinkles. “Who says he’s my friend?”

He tilts his head to the side. “The fact that you didn’t abandon him suggests you might care a little.”

“Maybe I need him for information, and I’m merely trying to spare myself some inconvenience,” I argue.

“Well, I’d hate to put you out.” His hard eyes bore into me, turning my blood to ice. “Give me your word that if I let him go, you will reveal yourself to me.”

“I swear,” I tell him, only half lying.

The second the stranger releases his hold, Darrow is on his feet running for the backdoor. He doesn’t spare a glance in my direction, not that he can see me anyhow. Still, I roll my eyes at his lack of solidarity.

“Some friend,” the shadow wielder scoffs, his gaze narrowing on Darrow’s retreating form.

“Eh.” I shrug. “We’re not that close.”

I spot a hint of amusement in his eyes, but it’s gone in an instant. All his earlier attempts at charm evaporate.

“Now it’s your turn,” he announces, turning to face me again.

I swallow thickly. No twoIllusionistsare exactly alike, each of us having our own specialties. Some can shift their form, while others can alter what people see. But there’s a reason we’re often referred to as tricksters. Our talents are designed to mislead and deceive.

There’s a little-known type of illusion called aneidolon: a living duplicate sometimes referred to as a shadow-self. It’s a type of apparition, typically created in the image of theIllusionistcasting it. As far as I know, I’m the only person currently alive with this ability.

Essentially, I can create a fully corporeal copy of myself. It moves and speaks exactly like me, relying on a mixture of commands and instincts. Creating one is both physically and mentally taxing, but they exist as long as I feed energy into them.

Apprehension pulses in my veins at the thought of how delicate this balance will be. I’ve never tried to create aneidolonwhile maintaining my invisibility, but right now I can’t think of another way out of this situation. I just need to distract him long enough to slip past his shadows… Gritting my teeth, I force myself to stay silent as the familiar pain rips through me.

My body burns, my muscles twisting and stretching as if I’m splitting myself in half. As if my soul is being ripped apart. Warm blood tickles my upper lip, and I quickly wipe it on my sleeve, careful not to let any drops hit the ground where hungry shadows might be lurking. Unfortunately, nosebleeds always accompany this process.

The pressure in my head reaches its breaking point as theeidolontakes shape, forming directly in front of me, so I’m staring at the back of its head. Finally, the pain begins to ease. My jaw unclenches as I gently massage the aching joint. Fuck, that was brutal. But I got through it without losing my invisibility, which I’ll count as a win.

I peer through myeidolon’seyes as she takes a few steps toward the stranger, giving me a closer view of him. At the sight of her, his brows momentarily raise, and his lips part slightly before his mask of cold indifference returns.

“Come closer,” he demands.

She obeys him. I know I should be taking advantage of his distraction and continuing my escape, but I find myself strangely frozen. My fingers itch at my sides, desperate to trace the small constellation of freckles dotting his straight nose and sharp cheekbones. And those eyes… They’re mesmerizing. His irises are such a pale shade of blue they almost appear translucent. But when I squint, I can make out silver flakes scattered throughout. As he inspects my apparition, I almost feel as if he’s looking right through her.

“I confess myself disappointed,” he says, startling me.

I blink. As his words register, I’m strangely insulted.

“I let your friend go in good faith because you promised to reveal yourself,” he continues, reaching out to trail a gloved finger down her face. “But you cheated. That’s no way to play the game, my lady.”

Something about his tone sets off alarm bells in my mind, spurring me to action. I move backward again, unable to turn away as I blindly feel for the display cases. Theeidolongazes up at him, a confused expression on her face.

“As lovely as you are” —he whispers, leaning closer to her— “you’re not real.”

Before I can process his words, a scythe materializes in his other hand, and he hooks it into her gut. The echoes of her pain sear through me. My mouth opens, but no sound comes out as I hold back a gasp. I run my hands over my stomach, trying to convince my brain there’s no injury there. Most sensations myeidolonexperience are dulled, a whisper that never fully manifests in me. But with this kind of pain, there’s no stopping it. It burns as if the blade has just sunk into my own stomach.

Holy Gods…Only one creature can summon a scythe, and they’re meant to be extinct.

“Reaper,” I whisper, the full weight of my situation hitting me.

The apathy on his face is chilling as he pulls the weapon out of her. He doesn’t bother watching as she falls to the ground. Instead, he lifts his head in my direction.

I run.

Any illusion of control I had over the situation has been shattered. I’m strong, but even I can’t fight a reaper.A fucking soul collector from Death’s Isle.They aren’t supposed to be here anymore.

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