Page 23 of Veil of Death and Shadow

She wasn’t wrong. Most of the people we’d known who’d died since The Undoing had been killed either by lack of adequate resources or by other humans.

Demons mostly kept to themselves.

“I know, I just—” I massaged my temples, fighting to find the right words, “I can’t explain it, okay? I know you don’t believe in the curse,” not least of all because no one particularly close to us had died in a few years, “but I just—it’s just a feeling I get, okay? There’s this whole new, inexplicably terrifying world now, and I’m just . . .” I took a breath, my thumb wearing its familiar path over my ring. “You run headfirst into things. And I get why, I really do.” Of the three of us, Rina had always been the adventurous one. After she died, it was like Sora had taken up that mantle as a way to honor her. We all processed grief differently. “I’m just so fucking terrified that you’re going to end up collateral damage. And if something happens to you, if I lose you too—” My voice cracked, and I shook my head, begging the liquid coating my eyes to evaporate. It was too early for this shit.

“I know that it can be scary.” Her features softened. “That doesn’t mean it can’t be exciting too. This is the world we live in now, Mars. And for better or worse, I’m in it with you.Until the end.” She nudged my foot with hers, her eyes latching onto mine when I looked up. “You’re twenty-seven today. You’ve survived some seriously diabolical shit, and we’ve built a damn impressive life from almost nothing. That’s something worth celebrating. I want you to have fun tonight, and I think you would if you gave yourself permission to let loose a little bit. That’s the whole point of the Anniversary Extraordinaire. Celebrating. For us and for Rina.” Her voice wavered on the name, but she took a deep breath and pushed through. “But if you legitimately want to stay in or go to one of our usual spots, we can do that too. I’m just afraid that you’re going to spend the rest of your life holed up on this block, avoiding everything—avoiding connecting with people—just because you don’t trust that this life we’ve built will last. Not everyone leaves, Mars.”

I nodded; my throat tight. She rarely brought him up, but I heard his name in the silence anyway.

“And, in case you didn’t realize it, I’m still here.” She nudged her chin towards my shoulder. “The crow is still here, too, right? Not everyone you let yourself love dies, okay?” Her lips curved into a soft grin. “I mean, yeah okay, Menace did die once, and we will all die eventually, so I guess that’s not entirely true, but you get what I’m trying to say. And I’ve got a pretty good track record thus far, yeah?”

I grinned, my shoulders loosening a bit.

“What was that phrase your therapist used again?”

Therapist was perhaps a generous label. Claudine, an old woman who recently started stopping by Frank’s every Tuesday afternoon, had taken to dispelling unsolicited advice to whoever would listen while she sat with her mint tea.

But Tuesday afternoons were particularly slow, so, more often than not, I was the sole, unwilling recipient of her shrewd observations.

Claudine wasn’t a psychologist, but she’d assured me (and anyone who’d listen) that she was an assistant to a very famous one before The Undoing.

For those of us who lived outside of the expensive compounds and districts scattered across the state, licensed professionals were difficult to track down—and meds were beyond expensive.

Not every sector had figured out how to come back from the instability The Undoing created, though the local community groups were working on filling in all the gaps the declining governments had left gaping open.

Until then, Claudine was probably the closest thing to a professional I was realistically going to get for a few more years.

It was at her suggestion that I start journaling in the first place—to help process what we’d all been through when I couldn’t shut my brain off.

Sora hadn’t even met the woman yet, but she was already a big fan. She’d taken to reciting the bits of wisdom I reported back to her as if she were a kid collecting jokes on popsicle sticks.

“She said—” I cleared my throat, adopting Claudine’s easy confidence and soft Boston accent, “some ships sink, Mareena. That doesn’t mean all ships sink.”

“Right.” Sora’s grin widened; her smile contagious. She jabbed her pointer finger against her chest. “I’m the floating ship, okay? I’m not going to sink. I mean, for fuck’s sake, you’re the one who taught me to swim, remember?”

Bit of a mixed metaphor, but I got the point.

“So, what if we try, just for today, to do something a little bit out of your comfort zone?” she continued. “Open yourself up a bit. And if it ends badly, I promise that I’ll join you in staying the fuck away from that neighborhood for the rest of my life. Hell, we can move to,” she paused, searching for a spot, “anywhere. We can make our way all the way to Chicago if you want.”

Strange, how big a journey that felt like now. We’d taken for granted so many things.

“Or,” I said, voice flat as I swallowed my grin, “we’ll just be dead.”

“Exactly.” She winked. “And in that case, it won’t matter either way, will it?” She slid the straps of the dress over my closet handle, a makeshift hanger. “So what do you say, birthday girl? Anniversary Extraordinaire—revived and extravagant as it was always meant to be? Do we have a deal?”

“Deal.”

4

MAREENA

Present Day

There was a time when I was younger, that my birthday didn’t hold quite so much weight. When it didn’t signify pain or survival.

I remembered when I’d rush into the kitchen at the crack of dawn, and Amto Amani would already be started on all my favorites—baked kibbeh in the oven, stuffed grape leaves on the stove, fresh fruit and labneh with pita on the counter.

We’d spend all day grazing on food, walking along the coastline collecting smooth rocks and listening to the waves. I’d swim while she waited on the shore, calling out whenever I let the water pull me out too far, but never rushing me, letting me float until my fingers were pruned raisins and I could barely feel my feet from the cold. Only then would we make our way back to the house, settling in for strawberry pie and ice cream in the late afternoon, because I hated the sponginess of birthday cake and the flakiness of baklawa.

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